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ABOUT THE VIDEO:
“We’ve written many a song about our hometown of Sydney, and ‘A Fistful O’ Roses’ is yet another, though this one was created beneath a very dark cloud & a sorely difficult time for our beloved city.
An agenda of sweeping law reforms and increasingly heavy tactics by our state government have crushed the city’s nightlife, the livelihood, and in many cases even the lives of many of its inhabitants. Iconic pubs, bars & restaurants are forced to close their doors, elderly residents are driven from their homes and Sydney is growing more desperate & hostile with every passing day.
This is a city under siege by those who rule her, set to become a playground for the elite, while the people who made it the treasure it was are squeezed out to wherever they hell they may venture.
We performed the video for the song as a macabre ‘dry wake’, set among the decay, in a derelict pub, one of many to fall victim to the states new order. Historic footage flits across the screen like memories of a life flashing before one’s eyes. ‘A Fistful O’ Roses’ is one last great send-off for the old girl, but make no mistake..
..this is a band falling very much out of love with its muse.
“VIDEO CREDITS:
Production company: Cant Be Stopped Productions
Director: Josh Groom
Producer: Ciaran Jordan
DP: Glenn Hanns
Focus puller: Josh Hanns
Camera Assistant: Paul Brodzinski
Producer Assistant: Rebecca Gilies
Unit Manager: Bodin Rajkovic
Gaffer: Paul Hill
Hair & Make up: Rebecca Plunkett
Art Director: Ciaran Jordan
Edit: Aaron Petersen
Grade: Josh Groom
The Rumjacks – A Fistful o’Roses
LYRICS:
Oh I’ve loved you from afar, I’ve borne you like a scar,
Sung your name across the bloody Colfiorito,
But a poison took your heart, you charmless little tart,
Now you’ve nary a jot o’ bother at all for me-o,
This old town has gone to bits, all the folk are off their tits,
Screamin’, “Hoo-rah! Hurry the fuck t’blazes!”
A right parade o’ fools come to stomp all o’er yer jewels,
Like a fistful o’ half dead roses.
And we’re here again, ho again, let the whisky flow again,
Let the taps blow again, sound away the knell,
Like a fistful o’ roses, we’ll take ‘em to the grave,
Every last tale there is to tell.
Oh, this boozer is a wreck, all up & down the deck,
Like a tired old sinner off her game,
Wi’ her blood red lips, and her youth about her hips,
Still the regulars all love her just the same,
Where the mud-spat boots cut their way among the suits,
And the Sally’s come to rattle the can for Jesus,
‘Til they chain up all the doors & toss out all the whores,
Wi’ a fistful o’ half dead roses.
May all the Autumn leaves turn to Twenties at yer feet,
And the high & mighty come to know your thunder,
We could set the world ablaze, but these are early days,
And there’s still a hell of a road for us tae wander,
And there’s one here among us’ll outlive the rest,
Take a tipple to his foibles & his praises,
‘Til they strike him off the roll & chuck him doon a hole,
Wi’ a fistful o’ half dead roses.
