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About 甘 Thomas Kam

I am  a singer/songwriter, writer and performer. My music combines folk, spoken word, pop, electronic and neoclassical.  Reflecting my background in classical and jazz piano and poetry, and inspired by Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, Bon Iver and Keith Jarrett, my music is often lyrical, emotive, and improvisational. I touch on the spiritual and sensual, personal and philosophical - life through death, memory, healing, love, water and the mystery of consciousness .

I have performed music and poetry at festivals and venues including Camp Bestival, Lyra Festival, Cheltenham Jazz Festival, Valleyfest, Manchester Bridgewater Hall, and Exeter Cathedral.

The songs below reflect my range of styles from the neo-classical piano and close poetry of "She Has Forgotten Me"  to the expansive prose-poetry and folk guitar of "The Skin Of The Water' or the anthemic "Between The Lines"

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Count the stars and don’t forget

The light that hasn’t made it yet

Nothing needs to be explained,

Not the flower, not the flame.


Watch the window, paint it blue.

Count the shadows, paint them too.

Write your dreams and read the signs

Finding space between the lines



I’ve been living between the lines,

I’ve been waiting my whole life,

Just give me something to hold on tight

As I let go of my old life.

II. Broken glass on empty street

Sleeping bags on freezing feet

Busy eyes that dart away

The “pious” who forget to pray


They clothe the dark and close their minds

Dreaming, blind, with open eyes

But I’ve been counting my own time,

Finding space between the lines

III. Through the dust, a shaft of light

breaks the mirror before my eyes

From the now, already seen,

To the Now that’s always been


At the end of every breath,

There’s a moment I forget

Where I was, or why I try -

Who am I between the lines?

IV. Where do happy children go?

I forget, the truth I knew

Why do my eyes no longer see

What still stands in front of me?


Count the stars and don’t forget

The light that hasn’t made it yet

Nothing needs to be explained,

Not the flower, not the flame.



Her body of scripture

A living mythology

All that she promised me

Under the moon


All that we could have been

Lost like an empire

Burns in the night

Magnesium fire


Her mouth was like wine

Sour and red

She slipped from the vine

& onto my tongue


Yearning for more of this

Whispering promises

Willing & hopeless

& hopelessly young



There’s too many lines

In my plasticine mind

She alone listened

‘Cause hers was like mine


She clung to my skin

like a stitch to the seam

But we dreamt in the dark

And day killed the dream




I woke to the smell

Of her hair

Briefly forgetting

That she’s not there

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