Nothing Left To Say

by Clive James and Pete Atkin

The breakers from the sea that kept me sane
Were clean and lucid, all along the line
Like shavings tumbled upward from the plane
That leave with ease the surface of the pine
When the carpenter is planing with the grain
It's nothing
Nothing but a dream of mine

And I have come to nothing in a way
That leaves me with nothing left to say

Half a lifetime bending with the breeze
To buy the stuff I don't know how to use
A deck of credit-cards, a bunch of keys
A station I achieved but didn't choose
The screws are on and no-one beats the squeeze
It's nothing
Nothing I can't bear to lose

And I have come to nothing in a way
That leaves me with nothing left to say

The sea I dreamed of closes like a vice
Parading waves are frozen into place
Their veils of vapour scattering like rice
And far below, the ultimate disgrace
A mermaid crushed to death inside the ice
It's nothing
Nothing but a frightened face

And I have come to nothing in a way
That leaves me with nothing left to say

Note (from Collected Poems)

This lyric is one of my earlier efforts and clear proof that the idea of facing the end appealed to me at the start: but only, I insist, as subject matter. Just as, in the history of song writing, there are more songs about losing love than finding it, so there are more songs about winding things up than pressing on. One of the several big changes that rock and roll made to Tin Pan Alley was that it increased the vocabulary of a life worth living.