"Bells of St Nemo's" genre: Acoustic
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	Nemo = nobody. A song for all the Nemos that wars create, played entirely on the guitar's harmonics.
	CD: Inside Out   Label: Own label Credits: David Camlin: guitar, vocal, synth. Robert Woodfield: whistle
	Story Behind the Song I was experimenting with guitar harmonics, and the intervals suggested a peal of bells. I started thinking about why church bells get rung, and the song evolved from there. I've kept the lyric fairly detached and impersonal, as I want the song to suggest a universal sense of loss, rather than a particular one. Lyrics Verse 1 Somewhere familiar, somewhere in Time The bells of Saint Nemo's beginning to chime Somebody listens for what can't be heard Somehow believing in something unsaid Sometimes in silence, or half-heard, half-whole The bells of Saint Nemo's silently toll So as our train pulls away from the dark siding-shed The bells of Saint Nemos ring in my head Verse 2 As we're leaving the country to no-one knows where Our life-cords dissolving like bells in the air The mists that we march through absorb every sound And I swear that it's hard to say where we are bound Theres no time to relax here, especially when you march Through landscapes littered with what once were men. You see Their last gasps suspended on silver threads hung But I'm blind to their eyes, til my own sad bell is rung Verse 3 Above all the strapped-down adrenalin fears Above all the silence of blood brooding years Above all the deafening roar of the shells, I swear that I still heard the Saint Nemos bells And it was those bells I heard there, bronze-loud and pure As your weapons of death spilled my life on the floor And above all the blood, and the mud, and the pain A single tolling bell recedes like peace in my brain. Verse 4 Don't you grieve for me, though my young life is spent I signed up for Country; I never understood what that meant And with brothers and fathers and husbands and sons We pass into history as wars that no one won. And as Time steals our memories and mists murk the past And old graves are covered with lichen and moss The bells of St. Nemos will be laughing still, saying "Young lives are ended, but wars never will."

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