1. |
Razor
06:20
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There's a razor in my gut
that when I swallow
stitches age into my
esophagus
A seagull dying in my bedroom
that keeps me up at night;
I've swallowed several vitamins
to keep me wise
A shedding stretched across
my lovers couch
My sharp, sweet stomach,
which, in its wisdom,
swallowed the razor,
in vital beat forgets infection
of the dirty bird
Its filthy wings,
the clumps of gris and
tatters as they flit
Tufts of fur in my mouth,
like a gross vegetable wig,
wrap around my
tonsils and sing
not my words, not my song;
too sharp, too sweet, and
certainly not wise
Did I shave this, is the
razor at fault my fault?
Is it different than the
screeches of the struggling gull
down there that never speaks--
down there that never ever speaks?
A loop of words completely unheard.
The bird is unfound and
wholly absurd.
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2. |
War/won
03:32
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You say all, you don't mean some
You say trigger, you need gun
You won't end a war until it's won
This pale pall and the system it has spun
It's killing me, it kills me
You say silence, I hear a voice
Screaming terror, screaming love
The cat still got eyes, still got whiskers
And it senses all the violence
That vibrates within your thud
It rattles bones, it writes cliches
You say my smile makes you feel like you are dead
You say that what I want is not inside my head
I disagree
I know that what I want is not in that menagerie
and ooh, ooh, ah
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3. |
Suite #1
02:37
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When I see the light is fading,
I go to the shore. I see you there
towering and toppling cairns.
Oh, little bird, what is that
a-pushing through your pores?
It gave me bleeding to my mother
It gave me glowing to my pa
My ma and pa have taught my many things,
of bowing strings and smaller stars
O my heart, it's aching back
Show me the others that I lack
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4. |
How Many Birds
03:54
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How many birds
live in that tree?
I'm guessin maybe two
maybe two or three.
What are the words
of your song from that tree?
What is the lesson,
little two, little three?
Perfect spinning diamond
spinning opposite me
Born oak dance
Dagst'he dag-a-sth'ee
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5. |
Slop/writhe
01:06
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6. |
Little Ring (Bonedigger)
05:01
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Am I a bonedigger?
Am I afraid to leave the dirt alone?
Am I a back waiter--
do I try to take your dirty dishes home?
Is it that I can't stop
digging bones?
Is it my fault, really,
that I'll never trade you in for fading leaves?
Darling, could you blame me
if I fill this bitter urn with little seeds?
Empty, I'm singing
Empty, I'm tall
Empty, bell ringer ringing,
belly filled with nothing at all
Growing from inside of me
Singing down from fields
Fill my tongue with bone and grease
Singing up from empty roads too
What grows from inside of me?
Does it grow from inside you?
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7. |
Hot Mess
04:11
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Venerate me, concrete whore;
tell me which chemicals they used to pour
a love undoubted to deride.
Do or don't you want the test
to find out where your bones will rest?
Beauty's only in your flesh--
give me the words to make it last.
But Derrida, who said it best,
loved beautiful men, and butts, my flesh
propped up by forest wooden buttress.
Tufts of my hair, pooling in a hot mess.
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8. |
Trout
05:26
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I was a trout
when you were a father,
saying, too loud and for too long,
you couldn't be bothered.
I was too soft
when you potted tall plants
I gave you legs
but you needed both hands
I was looking to the deep blue
You were looking at muck inside you
Spilling blue, spilling blue, spilling blue
You needed out of spitting brume,
leaking out of your tomb
And we know there's a way
to weave something soft,
something brittle and complete
There's a riddle
under both my feet
There's a cage
around everyone I meet,
and we all see
the cage is harmony
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9. |
River If & River Is
03:14
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The burst If growth thru falling leafs
River current If strokes of the running thrush beneath
Choir swelling seeps (leaf, leaf)
River current Is, in lazy heat
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10. |
Someday
04:50
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Someday, someday,
someday, someday,
I will step out of my shadow
someday
My legs are stiff,
my hands are sore,
but some day I won't feel
so tired anymore
I told you I was fine
and I was not lying
It's just, my inkwell's dry.
Someday, when I rest
my face in hands
I won't feel
how small I am
Is my heart all wrapped up?
Is it in a paper bag?
Could I get it back to me
if I asked?
I told you I was fine
and I was not lying
It's just, I find it hard to find the time.
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