1. |
Kerosene
03:42
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O, let the ghosts lie down but keep them close.
And don’t let go. Keep your lantern lit and make your way home.
I was a headstrong heart
yet to be humbled;
too young and dumb to doubt
that I was too sturdy to stumble.
Biting ankles, trying to wrangle the throng.
Callow as hell, but
not half as withdrawn.
Now I’m a fair-weather flake;
a toothless cattle hound.
I’m a fun mistake to make
when your Mr. Mystery’s out of town.
A mess at my best, I’m less than I’ve ever been.
What better time to begin?
O, let the ghosts lie down but keep them close.
And don’t let go. Keep your lantern lit and make your way home.
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2. |
Lonesome Calvary Anthem
06:54
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Mamma stows a lonesome calvary
underneath her bedtime gown
and reads her boys a well-worn tale of two coonhounds.
As Taylor dulls his claws against the
rigid walls of circumstance,
we learn the laws of nature and their indifference.
But when the inevitable arrives
again; an angel telling you where to find
a respite at the dusty valley floor
where you can rest forever more,
we will not hesitate for a second
to divorce that witch from her weapon.
We are a force with which to reckon.
We are a force with which to reckon.
You will find your temper;
stashed beneath a stone carved in its absence.
And try hard to remember
steps you’ve taken tracing fading footprints.
You will find a reason
for rising tall at dawn to lend your labor
when a changing of the seasons
strikes hunger in the bellies of your neighbors.
And you will find an answer;
a fern atop a grave dug by your brothers
for a dog you lost to cancer
who never got to see his boy recover.
We will find that rhythm;
a beat the men we used to be could march to.
And we’ll learn to forgive them
for losing sight of everything they valued.
For we have all been tortured
by the paltry bit of time we get for living,
and yet failed to see the orchard
for more than merely fruit we’re yearly given.
So if they find a fault line
between the victims and the ones deserving blame
and put you on the wrong side,
we’ll stand there with you when the earth begins to shake.
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3. |
Windmill
03:32
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she said I could be her windmill and she could be my wind
if the energy that I put out was less than she put in
so I figured, what the hell? this is a roundabout bargain.
‘cause all I really wanted was for my three blades to spin.
then time went by without a sign of wind or whistle through the pines
and somehow I convinced myself that it was not her fault, but mine
and everyone who needed me was so dissatisfied.
they left me in the field, stared up at the sky
and said,
“why do you mock us, sun? we are stardust.
why do you haunt us past? you’re disastrous.”
she said I could be her candle and she could be my flame
but I was sick and tired of her metaphors and games
besides, all the girls I’d known before were just about the same
I'd show a sign of weakness and they'd send me on my way.
but I’d salvage just one lesson from the wreckage of the past:
that I must not be worthy of the kind of love that lasts.
and I’d settle once again to be a mill without the wind
but this time it will be different, I know my blades will spin
either
clockwise or counter and I’ll know that I’ve found her
and if she deserts me then she doesn’t deserve to be happy.
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4. |
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Girl, you know I’m living like
the things I don’t believe in leave my
heart encumbered and my days are numbered.
And yeah, part of me knows that it’s not true,
but that same part knows it’s not you
who’s gonna save me from the grave I’m clearly craving.
‘Cause I gave up on us
when I gave up on me,
quit strumming chords and went
to school to hone my blasphemy.
Then I found that ideas on paper
tend not to do much more than stay there.
Ooooh!
So go ahead and chalk up every sign
I’ve lost my mind to cosmic
contemplation or a lack of inspiration.
But don’t be caught off-guard,
don’t let a scrape become a scar when I take
all your lipstick and start running with the circus.
Of course I’d love to stick around
and listen to you cry.
But it’s time to trade a dead art form for
one that’s not yet quite done dying.
So girl, you’d better save that heart of gold.
I never know the hand I’m dealt until I choose to fold.
Ooooh!
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5. |
Ankles to Stone
04:17
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the walls of sunflower stems
are calling for winter to end
and I sit alone with my
ear to the phone and pretend
you don’t see
all the holes you could poke in my lofty design
you don’t need
me to talk till I choke on words I can’t find
baby you’ve got the touch
and every stroke of your brush
blooms like the cherries
beneath which I buried my crutch
so tie both my ankles to stone
with the thickest of threads
‘cause I’m staying a while with you
outside of my head
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6. |
Revelin' in Reverie
03:16
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Keep on reveling in reverie
‘til you can't recall
where its boundaries are, darling.
You keep on floating around in fantasies
‘til the day is through
and I’m afraid it ain’t good for you darling.
‘Cause all that wishing
for the riches you daily envision—
it won’t do a thing on its own
to fill those hands you’ve
cupped and outstretched like your old man’s religion.
It won’t bring your wishes to fruition.
Keep on rifling through rivalries
with the best of men
as if that makes you one of them, darling.
And as for fuckin’ around in fantasies
‘till the day is through,
I should say the same for you, darling.
To fly the good flight
is a pipe dream you’ve sorely mistaken for foresight and
you’ve been returned to the ground
to craft and cradle
an ambition to filter a fact from a fable—
a skill you take pills to enable.
And all this wishing
for the day you betray your depraved dispositions—
it won’t do a goddamn thing on its own
to silence the sirens
and nurture some less hedonistic volitions.
It won’t bring your wishes to fruition.
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7. |
Non-celestial Nighlights
04:21
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The forest and the feral children.
Cold of snow they’ll never know.
A dormant, dreaming algorithm.
Places nature never goes.
A hymn of empty-worded verses
sung to some invisible
bringer of all gifts and curses,
maker of our bellies full
with nuts and brightly colored berries,
a silent answer to our prayers
Night will bring once more the fairies
darting homeward through the air
Over trees of leaf and needle.
Past a dusty valley grave.
Beneath the sunlight we are cousins.
Beneath the moon we are the same
untamed
dizzy spiral toward the lantern and its phantom starlight.
aerial insects led by antiquated instincts toward oblivion.
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8. |
Providence
04:21
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Costumed and cross-faded, you walk alone again
without a battle hymn.
Sore knees bear the weight of a prayer your mother sings
for providence to bring
the strong and steady hand
of someone undaunted by the darker side of man.
Silent on the citadel you sat still among
the barking of their tongues
while deep inside an innocent heart they forged a fear;
a whisper in your ear.
The sun don’t rise or fall.
This wicked world was not designed with you in mind at all.
But soft light, it casts your shadow long.
And somewhere you’ve heard it all before.
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9. |
Day Remains Golden
06:34
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Morning brings a verse rehearsed and settles it upon my lips, ‘every shadow cast is an eclipse.’
Evening sun – a conflagration – vitiating all desire for another sent to tend the fire.
Yellow moon, you’ll find me slightly shaken at the memory of one who held me tightly; might she still?
As if to let me know she’d never dream of letting go?
As that illusion fades, her innocence is all I take.
So please forget my callous heart ignored
your claw marks on the door and your paw so full of splinters
And please forgive my leaving you forlorn;
I knew I couldn’t keep you warm through winter
‘cause fair and square I won the body of the man you’d chosen and now the blood that frolicked through his veins is damn near frozen.
Attenuated memory is
a bee sting beneath a comfrey poultice.
A photograph in sepia
of the foxglove blooms in the springtime,
two little wings suspending
a hummingbird.
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