by Micky Dey

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    All CD's are lovingly hand cut, folded, stuck and burned by myself in my kitchen. You can again, pay whatever you like for it, but any proceeds will be going towards making a Vinyl, so I'd appreciate you helping me out if you can.

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Dedicated to Pro Tag.

This first EP’s been such a rewarding thing to make. Currently it's online for a Pay-What-You-Want download, but do bear in mind that any contribution will help to get something pressed in the near future, so I'd appreciate anything you might wanna chip, however little.


released April 8, 2014

Written by Micky Dey.

Recorded at Small World Studios, Haworth in March 2014.
Produced and mixed by Luke Yates.

Artwork designed by Jon Simmons.

Original Live photo taken by Georg Showbaer.

Vocals, Guitars, Drums and Piano: Micky Dey
Electric Guitar: Luke Yates
Bass Guitar: Rosie Hayes

Certain people require a massive thank you for helping this record come about: My parents for generously helping to fund the recording. Luke Hirst, Jack Winn and Tim Rickaby for lending and trusting me with their instruments. Jon Simmons for all the artwork. Rosie for coming up from the capital to record the bass. And mostly to Luke, for being both brilliantly skilled, and hugely committed.



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Micky Dey Vienna, Austria

Micky Dey is a folk-rock artist, born and bred in the bleak and brutal valleys of Northern England, but recently moved to Vienna. His vocal melodies soar from broken and delicate depths to defiant and rich highs, sitting somewhere within the song writing styles of Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley and Laura Stevenson, full of stories of his years living in the capital and touring this continent. ... more

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Track Name: Keep Your Eyes On Your Own Desk
This is the first song I wrote for myself. It’s about not losing yourself in the achievements of others around you, and keeping focused on actually doing all the things you tell yourself you’ve been doing for years, when really you’ve actually done utterly sweet fuck all.

The plans I’ve yet to make,
Are filling up my days,
The holes I’ve called my masterpieces,
I’m hiring out to another’s shot at fame.

And I’ll be well out of the way,
When the actions that I say,
Are bound to change some day,
It’s all out of my control, it’s all the same.

All I do is complain,
Lifting weight behind a name,
That doesn’t count for anything,
A failed attempt at fitting within the frame.

And in my mind I’m never bored,
I’ve got my future neatly stored,
Ready for the day I spring,
Majestically from my bed, and then begin.

And I’ve no proof right to this day,
That I’m anything what I say,
I’ll be sleeping through the day I bring,
Something to this table that you’ve laid.
Track Name: High Times (Get Low)
This is a sort of cryptic song about a person I’ve known for a long while who’s got unbelievable amounts of potential but just hasn’t done anything about it. The song’s kind of written from their perspective, and is about how happy I’d feel if one day they told me they were upping ship and just headed out to do something.

Let’s break into the school tonight,
There’s a place that we can go,
To get away from the clowns tonight,
And while I know that it’s cold tonight,
We both know it’s gonna be so much better come the morning light,
Without all of your ghosts.

I drank beer and you drank sparkling wine,
You wrote our names upon the desk,
And you sat down, and said that so should I,
And asked, ‘What happens next?’
I raised my hand to answer you,
And said that, ‘I don’t know.
But this seems liked the perfect time to let you know,
That I’m leaving town in the morning.
I can’t quite believe it. I guess we’ve just got to leave it, gentle soul.’

And gone is that stone from your soul,
Fear isn’t all you will know,
And all straight lives eventually go,
Crooked when high times get low.
Track Name: Floorboards on Rooftops
This is about the numerous people I’ve lived and been friends with for many years, but yet have massive, gaping differences and clashes with. Being a pretty boring bastard I’ve always needed more extreme and exciting people around me to try and coax that out of myself.

I’ve got a friend in the room below me,
We sleep on opposite sides of our rooms,
Our windows face the same direction,
But we have different views.

He knows when I laugh,
And hears me singing,
He hears me walk upon his roof.
While the things he taught me have been so important,
The things I taught he already knew.
Track Name: Roam
This song’s about the fact that sometimes, the best thing you can possibly do to correct a fucked up situation is to be the one brave enough to know when it can’t be fixed, and when it’s the best time to leave.

Collect your things, I think it’s time that you were leaving now.
This day will bring a chance to show all of your critics how.
How best to leave a town when all of your own chips are down.
Lift up that feeble frame and grace the door, you’re leaving now.

She waits for the day where the sun does not open her eyes,
She doesn’t need to hear to know the world rolls on outside.
The blue jay cries to me, ‘Another tree has fallen down.
Could the world spare a seed to keep the dark from coming now?’

I only hope she finds some place far.
Some place to call her own house of stone.
Where she can live and smile alone.
A lonely road where us lonely people roam.
Lonely goal. Find some place to call your own house of stone.
Where you can live and smile alone.
A lonely goal.
Where us lonely people roam.
A lonely goal.
Track Name: Southern Fire
London is a very dangerous place. While I lived there, numerous times I very nearly lost my life. This song’s about one particular time on the Old Kent Road. The day before that had probably been the worst of my life up until that point. The day after made that one feel like fucking Christmas. Always wear a bike helmet.

When your days are colder than your nights,
You know that, somewhere, some place down the line,
There is a a Southern Fire burning bright, in some sullied mind.

The trucks and vans they roll on by,
Despite the roads that are crumbling all the while.
Remind of when birds were still in flight in this boy’s mind.

That fire will never light here.
Those birds, they never fly here.
And I, I will not die here.

Go feast your mind on what it wants, surprise us.
For what it needs lies far beyond your horizon.
The hollow soul you bear below,
Your skin so pale it seems to glow.

Forget that meaningless resolve that you’ve put on.
To lace that waste of space you call your place,
To store your frankly shameful standing point.
Less talk, comes more hope.

Align your bones and lie down here.
Resign, your time is nearly here.
For you and I to disappear.

And I will not die here.
Track Name: Dirty Tables & Empty Glasses
This is a song I wrote when one of my very best friends was going through a really horrible time, and was numbing that situation with alcohol. I decided that the best thing I could do, in a sign of not-very-sensible solidarity was to join him on that drinking front, and in doing so completely messed up my own shit. However, it was still a time that brought us really close together, and now things are a load better.

We’ve sat at dirty tables for longer than I care to know,
We’ve danced on dirty tabletops, to rhythm, slow rhythm, swung low.
And we’ve polished up our faces, pretended that we wanted to go.
Out, to the night, to the places seen through the window.

Those are the hours that we’ll be glad that we drank away.
With all the bottles we gathered on the terms that we’d get dry some day.
I fall backwards and travel upon a path to the same old place.
Drag my corpse through midnight, through the hours, to the set of our ways.

When we’re struck by daylight, and yet that weariness remains.
And our mornings and our nights are just a single frame away.
And the forces that guide us from the one glass to the next,
Will be the same that guide us straight back to our beds.

And I, I’d like to help you mend.
Yeah I, I’d like to help you mend.
Yeah I, I’d like to help you mend.
So long as it mends me.
So long as we are we.