I overheard the phrase ‘a million love songs’ on the radio the other day and, though I missed the context, the words lodged in my mind. It seemed like the cue for a song but I couldn’t think of anything – especially as I’ve always been rubbish at romantic material. However I began, not knowing where it would lead. Then, much to my surprise, I realised I was writing a song from a woman’s point of view. It also became something of a piss-take. I suppose it reflects my attitude to most ‘proper’ love songs which I never could take seriously even though they form the subject of over 90% of popular material. Even hard-bitten folkies, when not droning on about worker’s rights, mining disasters or the plight of the lower orders (despite themselves barely having soiled their hands in honest toil, except gardening maybe) will lapse into romantic ballads as a default position. Love is, I suppose, a universally understood topic which can be viewed from a myriad angles.

A Million Love Songs   

You can sing a million love songs, 

Dance all night for what it’s worth.                                          

Offer chocolates and pretty flowers, 

Even promise all the Earth.                                                        

But you know what – I’m not impressed. 

After what you did I couldn’t care less.                                     

Your words are as empty as a drum.                                       

Why don’t you go back home – to your poor old mum?

You can roam the streets at midnight, like a tom cat by the old canal.

But you might as well go jump in, only thing I’d do is smile.

And you know what? I don’t give a damn. If you’re gone with the wind or kick the can.

Just like in the American Civil War, but you never were Clark Gable, that’s for sure.

You could build a golden palace, but the garden would be full of thorns.

And though you tell me I’m your princess, you can’t hide your little horns.

And you know what – my only regret? Allowing you to see me so upset.

But the tears I cried were maybe not in vain, even Jeremy Kyle said you’re a pain.

Though you sang a million love songs, every one was out of tune.

And your dancing just looked stupid, like David Brent – the Office goon.

And you know what – I will admit. Though this TV programme is the pits.

For my 15 minutes of fame – worth every bit.

But you know what? You’re still a s…….