1. |
Cold Air
00:53
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2. |
Jam Jars
03:16
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falling asleep in the cracks on your forehead
please smile in your chair by my window til’ we’re both dead
we’re grinding our toes in the dirt by the water
the sun on us, dancing, like nobody taught her
please give me the light on our sheets in the morning
your eyes in the dark next to mine, laughing or yawning
the broken down noise at the back of my knees
when you walk in and lodge there like shivering pine trees
and I will hold all the worries you can find
and you will build little houses in my mind
and we will speak with your footprints and my hand
and we will wail like a hot-sidewalk brass-band
you are digging your roots in the roads I am crossing
I’ve got all my sights on the coin we are tossing
please fill all my jam jars with flowers you stumble
and sing when it’s so late that we should only mumble
your words in the doorframe, my letters on your ceiling
climbing up trees like our hands won’t need healing
oh I wish I could tell you 100 enough times
that I do plan to give you every clock that I can find
and we will grow and wilt, on the shingles of the roof
and we will dance our way through long forgotten truth
and I will bleed all of your bruises from my eyes
and we will never really trouble with goodbyes
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3. |
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never been a load bearer
sorry if it seemed so
truth is you're a suitcase full of bricks
never been a dream catcher
don't mean to get your hopes up
nightmares have these teeth sharper than sticks
Darling, I'm not pulling my weight
Darling, we aren't sharing the load
I'm scared I might leave the cinderblocks
at the edges of the frontage road
Darling, there are shoes I have to fill
I'm getting pretty used to your bare feet
maybe we will ramble until we bleed
maybe we will never feel complete
no, I'm not a carpenter
I've bitten all my nails off.
not even sure which bridge
I'd have to fix
no, I'm not a promised land
don't trust my compass needle.
gnawing at your toes
out in the sticks
Darling, I'm not pulling my weight
Darling, we aren't sharing the load
I'm scared I might leave the cinder blocks
at the edges of the frontage road
Darling, there are shoes I have to fill
I'm getting pretty used to your bare feet
maybe we will ramble until we bleed
maybe we will never feel complete
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4. |
Dolor
01:15
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5. |
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I rode to her house with the sun bearing down on my shoulders all beaten and dry
Looked at the bricks and the vines, trapped just outside the gate by her year-old goodbye
Found both my feet in the dirt, cut a notch in my palm when I felt myself sigh
Ran away softly and thought of the roots that will grow on my bones when I die
Stood on my skeleton
Eyes folded up at the sides in that way that they do
She laughs me to sleep every night
With her hair made of silk and her feet made of glue
Pale slender fingers all tight at my neck
And her shoulderblades shaking right through
She laughs me to sleep from her bed far away
I remember her heartbeat untrue
Beating me still from the sunrise I turn seven steps where I started to run
And think of her safe in those walls while I wander alone and take bites from my tongue
The gate doesn’t stop me this time and my breath doesn’t fog any window or eye
I think of the future she painted up and down my spine, such a beautiful lie
Stood on my skeleton
Eyes folded up at the sides in that way that they do
She laughs me to sleep every night
With her hair made of silk and her feet made of glue
Pale slender fingers all tight at my neck
And her shoulderblades shaking right through
She laughs me to sleep from her bed far away
I remember her heartbeat untrue
The door still remembers the day it slammed shut on my face and slit open my throat
The way it spat back to the sky all the wails that I gave and the letters I wrote
I leave it again, for the day, but the time drips ahead like a shivering road
And the hotel room beds, they have arms far too weak to be helping me shoulder this load
Stood on my skeleton
Eyes folded up at the sides in that way that they do
She laughs me to sleep every night
With her hair made of silk and her feet made of glue
Pale slender fingers all tight at my neck
And her shoulderblades shaking right through
She laughs me to sleep from her bed far away
I remember her heartbeat untrue
I’m leaving the bible in the bedside table and throwing myself to the rain
A gun in my pocket, a flower in hand back to knock on the front door again
I’ll sit on her skeleton
Fold up her eyes in that beautiful way that they do
Sing her to sleep in my arms
With her hair made of silk and her feet made of glue
Wrap her small hands round my neck for the last time
As if it were all I could do
Listen to that last thump thump and wish on my own gun
That she could have been true
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6. |
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Down in the willow garden
Where me and my love did meet
As we sat a-courtin'
My love fell off to sleep
I had a bottle of Burgundy wine
My love, she did not know
So I poisoned that dear little girl
On the banks below
I drew a saber through her
It was a bloody knife
I threw her in the river
Which was a dreadful sight
My father often told me
That money would set me free
If I would murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
My father sits at his cabin door
Wiping his tear-dimmed eyes
For his only son soon shall walk
To yonder scaffold high
My race is run, beneath the sun
The scaffold waits for me
For I did murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
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7. |
Windows Painted Shut
04:12
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two small canary birds, melting in a pet store
he met her at spring's ceiling, eyes like an open door
she asked him to find a lion, wanted to hear a roar
he drove her down to the zoo, danced on the kitchen floor
he brought her canary birds, wings would help he supposed
home to their little house, all of the windows closed
held her head in his hands, caught what he loved the most
two small canary birds, never to leave their post.
two small canary birds, watching a life drip by
bare feet on kitchen floor, days they would laugh and cry
he drove to the hospital when she had a broken arm
the bone never healed quite right, call it a good luck charm
two small canary birds, listening as she sings
perched on a rusty bar, not going to need their wings
one day she dropped herself down to the kitchen floor
cheek pressed to tiles where their feet had danced before
two small canary birds, I wait but I don't know why
caged by the curtained panes, so close to that damn sky
she lit a cigarette, the windows still painted shut
wait for the birds to sing, smoke like a paper cut
two small canary birds, whistling as they choke
fumbling with narrow bars she lets them out in the smoke
she lets herself to her knees, scribbles on yellowed page
birds don't belong in here, nothing deserves a cage
our lions are behind bars, our windows are painted shut
I'm losing sight of the sky, tired of hearing, but
let her canary birds down on the kitchen floor
and left him at spring's ceiling, but didn't go through the door
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8. |
Got To Get Down Somehow
01:44
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could have walked away, but I stayed here on the pavement
did I make the right decision?
she had my hair cut in a deadlock and a blade between her fingers--
and I gasped at the incision
found the tallest tree to put myself in
by the river, but I've got to get down somehow
there are branches to the bottom, gray-green water thick with shiver
but I've got to get down somehow
the sun sunk and I slithered (from my high horse)
but the swing-sets are like spiders in the sand
found another way to make the whole world rush beneath me
held the trickled streetlight's hand
found the thickest air that I could swim through in the tree tops
but I've got to get down somehow
kicking myself up and glowing, and just waiting until the ground drops
but I've got to get down somehow
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9. |
The March
01:10
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We’re marching on out on the backbones of mountains
With drums at our backs and with leaves in our hair
We’re marching on out on our full moons and cracked feet
Out of this town on to no one knows where
We’re rambling on out on the backbones of bent dreams
The words of our mothers still hot in our ears
We’re rambling on out on the well-wishing high street
Out of our tall trees and tire swings and tears
We’re stumbling on out but we stretch when we dust off
Shaking our scraped knees for some higher ground
We’re stumbling on out to the golden horizons
Maybe we’re lost but you’ll know when we’re found
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10. |
The Scratch In My Throat
01:00
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11. |
Crooked
02:59
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maybe we should have run away
past the words we could never say
then our crooked reasons could unwind
and our crooked smiles could go on blind
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12. |
Saplings
04:08
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sing sleep to the saplings in your brains, love
(the beetle in the right place fells the tree)
sing sleep to the saplings in your earlobes
(save all of the summer skin for me)
sing sleep to the birds upon your branches
(sand can do so much between your toes)
sing sleep to the birds that peck the meat off
don't leave room for waiting, cause it shows.
the wind knows that the lightning gets the tree trunks
and takes itself some branches all the same
sandpaper could take my aching skin off,
but quicker could the acid in a name.
sing sleep to your bones and watch them lie there
I'll keep hold of the thorn that struck you down
and wish there was a way you could remember
don't let any cracks show in your crown.
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13. |
Burning Out
05:24
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He covers his face with his hand, waits to smell stale cigarette breath
Slips out the back door and tells them he's taking another step closer to death
Some of them laugh, and some of them just drop their heads down
Some of them play at disgust, and roll up their lips to frown
But the door never stops swinging and the matches burn silent
No amount of his shuddered breaths in stop his heart beating violent
One day the alleys, they bring him a girl with a bent shield
She falls to his laugh like a sword, sways in arms like a wheat field
The days drag themselves into nights and he tells her he's quite sure
She looses her hands to the sky, and he tells her he loves her
But the door never stops swinging shut, and the matches burn silent
And she's never quite sure what to say, because his heart's beating violent
One day she makes him a promise that for every inhale
She's going to swallow one too, till he stops or she goes stale
He bleeds as he watches her smoke, but he just can't help himself
It goes on for weeks until one day she goes back to the shelf
She wails little tunes to her pillows, says he doesn't love me
More than the tar in his lungs, all I want is him healthy
It doesn't take long after that, one broke-down day he leaves her
Drives himself down to the west coast and tells her he's quite sure
He grows up and plants little seeds in the yard while his children are young
On her twenty sixth birthday the doctor says ma'am, we might have to do tests on your lungs
He grows up and thanks every sunset he can
That he put down the pack for his wife
While she burns out in bed with a spark in her eye
For the man who she's given her life
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14. |
Kindling
02:21
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