Lyrics by Polly Blue
She leaves no trace
Genres: Indie, Rock, Folk, Singer-Songwriter
When the moon is hidden and the town’s asleep She heads out to the woods till it’s tangled and deep Lending her ear to the voice that’s never fake Her limbs turn to lichen, her mind is a lake There’s no use in looking for her hiding place She leaves no trace In an old world city she has you hunting for clues By a secret door you spot her white tennis shoes Down a ceiling beam dangle her ropes To strangle your blues and stir up your hopes Her whip makes no mark that her lips won’t erase She leaves no trace Her father was a hunter, she was his only son King of courtyard scuffles, handy with the gun When her favourite hound got terminally ill Dad said: keep your eyes open and your heart still There is no pain that death won’t outpace She leaves no trace If you be her flower, she’ll guard you inside Through petrified fields as the seasons collide She will frown and see through you and pull you close But you’d better not ask where she comes and she goes Her heart is a hawk that doesn’t give chase She leaves no trace You might have met her on her morning walk Single mother by choice, dislikes small talk She teaches your kids, lives in the flat next door Buys bell-bottom jeans at the local store Sometimes the absolute wears a plain face She leaves no trace
© Polly Blue Mar 8, 2026
Shards of Exile
Genres: Indie, Rock, Folk, Blues, Singer-Songwriter
The country I live in has streets for walls Parasite prophets who preach in shopping malls Wounds like rainbows, mouths like mines Crystal skies crisscrossed by stolen power lines A desert for soul, tears like tires Mountains burning in eternal wildfires Holy beggars who stab you with a smile Sister, I’m bleeding with this blues of exile I have these shards of exile in my hands I was only trying to climb an old fence Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve They send jolts of despair through my every nerve My country of birth is choked by church bells It’s learned to relish death in a thousand hells Whether by slow indigestion of delicate foods Or the relentless flashing of underage boobs It’s got white rage seething under each monument And instant absolution for all who repent A millennium of torture folded in each secret file Can you hear my bones cracking with this blues of exile? I have these shards of exile in my hands I swear I was acting in self-defence Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve They send jolts of despair through my every nerve I made four true friends in sunny Mozambique An angel who danced all he couldn’t speak A peasant drunk on metaphors, a femboy wed to weed A trader who squandered both the fruit and the seed All of them trying in their way to be free Three are dead, one’s a refugee Some birds get to fly, others fall down in style I plummet to a crash with this blues of exile I have these shards of exile in my hands I feel like I’m sinking in shifting sands Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve They send jolts of despair through my every nerve My ancestors got chased from their chosen land First to build empire then to make the world expand In their secret books they found the meaning to it all Scattered to gather the sparks of God’s fall The meaning was consumed in a puff of chimney fire Now they’re making pretty profits on war and barbed wire Watering with bombs a land they call fertile See my sparks slip away in this blues of exile I have these shards of exile in my hands I guess it it my form of penitence Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve They send jolts of despair through my every nerve I once knew a woman who would love me whole I took her in her sleep and devoured her soul She said: thank you for lifting that burden away And died of a fever on my wedding day Teaching me that love’s about evening the score There have been others and there will be more I warn them that my heart is fickle and vile Still they ask me out to dance this blues of exile I have these shards of exile in my hands It must be by some overlord’s commands Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve They send jolts of despair through my every nerve There is nowhere to flee, nowhere to belong Except for the offbeat of an old slave song The quilombo’s on fire, under a bloody moon Hound dogs score the jungle to sniff out the maroon Whether in Pharaoh’s brick factory or in the plantation You build yourself a prison and call it a nation Soon there’s going to be nothing left to defile Can you hear my chains rattle in this blues of exile? I have these shards of exile in my hands Is there someone out there who understands? Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve They send jolts of despair through my every nerve
© Polly Blue Mar 8, 2026
Reunion
Genres: Indie, Rock, Folk, Singer-Songwriter
The wheels will screech the plane will land Behind those sliding doors we’ll find each other’s hand Fingers threading hair static on the skin Will the mingling of breath match the fire within? Our eyes will have to close our lips will come to part Will our tongues stay plugged into the currents of the heart? We rush to our reunion like sweethearts in their prime Will our fears betray us? Will our bodies chime? Headlong into our hubris to disentangle time You will steer the wheel As I hang on to your neck Will you drive us home or straight into a wreck? As the key will turn the old clothes will have to fall Our little bet with romance winner strips it all The years gifted us wrinkles and folds of sagging flesh Will nostalgia blind us or will we start afresh? We rush to our reunion like burglars to a crime Will our fears betray us? Will our bodies chime? Headlong into our hubris to disentangle time I will be the woman and you will be the man And then we’ll swap positions over and again In the sweaty frenzy you’ll poke my ancient sore Will I beg for mercy? Will I ask for more? Stark on the horizon a volcano capped with snow And further, past the ocean I can’t see, I don’t know We rush to our reunion like poets to a rhyme Will our fears betray us? Will our bodies chime? Headlong into our hubris to disentangle time
© Polly Blue Mar 8, 2026
I'll be bending my knee
Genres: Electronic, Indie, Metal, Pop, Rock, Folk, Blues, Singer-Songwriter
My eyes are wounded, my flesh is broken By the grace of your touch, my heart has awoken I’m ready, my lady, I heed your decree When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee I wear on my skin each and every ache Bow as I may, I never break Be my hurricane, I’ll be your willow tree When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee Be my valley spirit, my inexhaustible fountain This weary monk has come down his mountain Be my shining Isis, my dark Kali When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee Don’t be held back by my petty fears This body hasn’t been touched in a hundred years I know all too well what you want to see When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee There’s no need to be tender, no soul to save Is the master the master, or is it the slave? Rearrange my colours like a Paul Klee When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee Rip open my scars, spare me no blow Break me, take me, mould me, make me overflow Remember that gate? Did you lose the key? When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee I know I’m not allowed to speak my desire But I warned you already, I conceal a vampire If the thirst of blood gets me, I go on a spree When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee Make me your plaything, make me your bitch Beware, in the thick of things I may suddenly switch You may find yourself begging to be set free When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee I don’t know where you are, but I can safely bet That halfway through this song the rain got you half wet Soon that field will be as soggy as can be When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee Do keep on biting your sweet lower lip Do let me feel the crack of your whip Do let me hear your little whispered oui When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee
© Polly Blue Mar 7, 2026
Magic Mirror Honeymoon
Genres: Indie, Pop, Rock, Folk, Singer-Songwriter
It wasn’t meant to happen, we weren’t meant to be One continent too far to touch, not to listen or to see Was it an angel or a devil that turned on the device? To us the link was mystical, others called it a vice From our palms a beam burst out of mad desire and joy Like the rush of waters that renew and destroy It took one whisper only for our souls to attune We held our magic mirrors throughout our honeymoon Across the magic mirror we fell in and out of grace We called each other sweet names and slapped each other’s face We ruffled up our hair, entwined our fingertips Stared in silence longingly and stroke our lonely lips At a glance we guessed what each was thinking of When the lights went dim, you taught me to make love Time stood to a still and then ran out too soon We held our magic mirrors throughout our honeymoon We were both well versed to keep others at bay Be it by cane and rope, or whiskey and role-play To the coal of words our cold defences fell Did we really touch? Could we ever smell? Like knights under a spell we lowered our bloodied steel Did we really meet? Could we ever feel? Our bedsheets still untouched, there came our parting day What the angel gave, the devil took away Perched on a burned branch, a bird with broken wing I seek for your reflection in every living thing In every blade of grass, in the glowing butterflies In every moonlit water I glimpse your island eyes In every moving cloud, in every lost balloon I mourn our very own magic mirror honeymoon
© Polly Blue Mar 7, 2026
The Drummer under the Tree
Genres: Rock, Folk, Blues, Singer-Songwriter
The tarpaulin’s still in the tropical heat Over the dead grass a trample of feet The sisters in rags at the market sell coal The boys chase after rags tied into a ball A few lovers stroll hand in hand by the sea All but the drummer who sits under a tree His lips spell a rhythm soft as a prayer His hands strike a drum that is no longer there Consumed in a burst of kerosene flame Lost to a war that no-one can name The dance soon forgotten by all but he A lonesome drummer who sits under a tree He remembers when people spun round and round When children crowded, ensnared by his sound Now they stand in a line, queuing for rations Dumped off a truck of the United Nations He keeps his eyes shut, taps over his knee An invisible drum, sitting under a tree There’s a house by the beach all fenced in barbed wire Built like a bunker for the gas men to hire Now the gas men are gone, the house owned by a bank And to keep all the furniture from going rank The air-con must run full blast night and day A guard paces the yard to keep beggars at bay Eighty locked rooms that no-one can see Of course, not the drummer who sits under a tree The government says, you should soon all return But up in the north the thatches still burn To the famished who leave it will soon be revealed That death’s on the outlook by an unweeded field What will he do? Is he once more to flee? A runaway drummer without even a tree
© Polly Blue Mar 6, 2026