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Just Don't Wanna Be Lonely

from Jim E. Brown Sings His Love Songs by Jim E. Brown

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  • Meet Jim E. Brown, Manchester's hottest up and coming poet and singer/songwriter. His autobiography "Brown on Brown" is a no-holds barred romp through the streets of East Didsbury to the hills of Chorlton-cum-Hardy....and everywhere in between. Jim E. spills the beans on East Didsbury, his alcoholic years at his favorite pub Ye Olde Cock, his love of Gushers candies, his Father's Pus-filled soars and much more! Purchase of the book includes digital download of "Jim E. Brown Sings His Love Songs," a £250 value! Enjoy!

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about

This song is one of two on this album that I didn't write the lyrics to.
I pride myself on my lyricism (which I refer to as poetry) but I find this song to be so resonant that there's no need for me to write anything new. In other words, I couldn’t have said it better myself. This song was originally recorded for Philadelphia International Records by Ronnie Dyson and then by Blue Magic. I love these old American soul numbers but I think I put a UK twist on it that I quite like.

No one wants to be lonely, least of all me. But I’ve experienced loneliness repeatedly. I remember when my brother Mark F. Brown was caught behind the Tesco with a jug of wine and sent off to the dreaded Shacklebury Heights. I was very close with Mark F. Every morning we’d boil our eggs together then walk to school and get into mischief. He’s the reason I became an alcoholic as he introduced me to Bellhaven Scottish Stout at the age of 5. When the Headmaster of Schacklebury Heights dragged him from our home it was the saddest day of my life. The image of his tear stained face pleading to stay home will be forever burned into my memory.


One day I decided I’d try to visit him at Shacklebury Heights. I knew no visitors were allowed so I devised an intricate plan. Due to degenerative conditions I looked to be in my twenties when I was five . I dressed up as a cafeteria worker and snuck on the premises. I witnessed firsthand all the horrors that Shacklebury Heights had to offer. The stories were true; it was as hellish as imaginable. Boys from the ages of 7-12 tied up with chains and locked in cells. This looked more like a prison then a school. I made my way to the cafeteria and snuck into the Kitchen. They were preparing a gruel made from pig hoofs, eggs, flour and condensed milk. After stewing the slop for 8 hours they’d garnish it with vitamin and mineral tablets. This was all the boys at Shacklebury Heights ever got to eat.

Lunch Lady Grizelda Walters saw me. “Who in fuck’s name are you?” She shouted. I could smell the cigarettes and brandy on her breath. “I’m new here. Jim E….” I realized I couldn’t give my real name . I didn’t want Mark F. To get in trouble. “Jim E. Walters is my name, I’m new.”

“Walters? Why that’s my last name too!” Said Lunch Lady Grizelda Walters. “Well, you distribute the slop to the children Jim E. Each boy gets one ladle full of slop. After you ladle the slop in the bowl sprinkle the vitamin and mineral tablets on top.”

“No problem Grizelda!” I said. She looked at my longingly for a moment. “After you’re done come to my office. I want to speak with you.”

I began distributing ladles of slop to every child in line, just waiting for my brother Mark F. Over 10,000 unfortunate boys lived at Shacklebury Heights. Each child looked sadder than the next. After 6 hours of ladling slop, I finally caught glimpse of Mark F. He was now 10 years old but he looked solemn. He had a black eye and was shaking nervously. I locked eyes with him. For a moment he looked excited to see me. But the trauma of being punished by the staff of Shacklebury Heights had given him a severe case of PTSD. He was abused and incapable of sharing even a brief moment of time with me for fear of retribution. When it came to be his turn I ladled the slop in his bowl but I topped it off with two hard boiled eggs which I had kept in my pocket, our favorite breakfast treat. He darted his eyes nervously around and quickly gulped both eggs down without chewing. He nodded to me and walked off. So that was all I’d see of my brother, the person I adored more than anyone in the world. I felt deeply saddened, but I knew I had to do due diligence to Lunch Lady Grizelda Walters before exiting the premises.

I stepped into her office. She was wearing ingerie, which I had expected. She had seemed attracted to me.
But I wasn’t expecting that she’d be dead. Her fleshy round belly protruded from the scant lingerie as she lay in a pool of her own blood. Her head was caved in. And in her left hand was a hammer. I shrieked in horror. I had never seen a dead body before. On the table was a note. Handwritten.

It said “Dear Jim E. Walters, I waited all afternoon for you but I couldn’t wait any longer. Too many men have stood me up in my time, so I have decided to take my own life. I’m going to smash my skull in with a hammer. If you’re reading this note it means you did come to see me, and didn’t stand me up and my death was in vain. Love, Lunch Lady Grizelda Walters”

I was shaken. I had barely known Lunch Lady Grizelda Walters but her death was untimely. I felt lonely living in a world without her. I shed a tear. My single tear drop landed in her pool of blood like rain in a puddle. I vowed never to return to Shacklebury Heights.

credits

from Jim E. Brown Sings His Love Songs, released March 5, 2021
Written by Bobby Eli, John Freeman and Vinnie Barrett

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Jim E. Brown Manchester, UK

Poet and Artist/Activist Jim E. Brown was born in Manchester on September 10, 2001, just one day before the 911.

He is an alcoholic and has several degenerative conditions.

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