LYRICS // Not Letting The Grass Grow (1997)

A song about moving on after the end of a relationship and finding positivity in the change.

I’ve always found that either writing songs or listening to them are good for the healing/recovery process after a break-up. Anger or sadness can be exorcised well if externalised and put to verse. Similarly, listening to someone else’s experiences can have a similar effect.

In the times that I’ve had these needs, I usually put on The Stones. Whilst there’s often a misogyny in their music that I don’t approve of (‘Under My Thumb‘, for example), they nevertheless also have a certain reverence for women too (such as in ‘Wild Horses‘) that I can definitely connect with.


The line about Bedfordshire’s wooden hills (meaning ‘go upstairs to bed’) is a steal from The Small Faces, while the mention of ‘my age of reason’ was a shout to Jean-Paul Sartre. I read his ‘The Age Of Reason‘ at the time and it seemed to encapsulate the transition between being in one’s 20’s to being in one’s 30 (a stage that I had pending then) pretty well. The lines about judges and benezedrine don’t have any particular meaning but seemed to flow in a ‘wordplay’ kind of way.

The song was recorded with The Zamora and can be downloaded here. It was also recorded by Headland, the 4-piece I fronted before The Zamora. That version can be downloaded here.

Photo of Steve, Pete and Dom of The Zamora by Dan Paton.

Not Letting The Grass Grow

I’ll climb the wooden hills to Bedfordshire,
Even though my baby isn’t here.
Go down the ragged steps to Santa Fe,
And push my last memories away.

Your words mean so much to me you said,
And I can’t seem to keep you from my bed.
I’d carry you the way to New Orleans,
But you know I just don’t have the means.

Have I reached my age of reason? Will we see another season?
Do I count my chickens before they hatch?

Wish that I could stop your sneezing, though I know, there ain’t no pleasin’
you until I’ve finally turned my back.

Don’t want the grass to grow under my feet.
Don’t let the grass grow under my feet.
I’d hate the grass to grow under my feet.
Don’t want the grass to grow under my feet.

I’ve always tried pushing new frontiers.
This one I’m going to save until next year.
Leave my former life in disarray,
And start it all again on Saturday.

You asked me see what lies ahead,
I said take a look yourself instead.
You flashed me a smile like Benzedrine,
And waited for the judge to intervene.

Have I reached my age of reason? Will we see another season?
Do I count my chickens before they hatch?

Wish that I could stop your sneezing, though I know, there ain’t no pleasin’
you until I’ve finally turned my back.

Don’t want the grass to grow under my feet.
Don’t let the grass grow under my feet.
I’d hate the grass to grow under my feet.
Don’t let the grass grow under my feet.

I’ll climb the wooden hills to Bedfordshire,
Even though my baby isn’t here.

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Filed under 1997, Lyrics, The Zamora

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