1. |
Find Out If It's True
02:27
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Find out if it’s true,
I don’t think I even care about it; it’s such a trivial thing.
In the mountains painted blue,
I’d expect at most one listener on a visiting trip.
And I’ve got an ocean to grasp your smothering grip.
Find out if it’s true,
I don’t think I even care about it; it’s such a trivial thing.
When the scene gets a modern view,
I’ll open up another coffin; the atavist slip.
And I’ve got a generation of voices, with their tongues clipped.
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2. |
Batting the Trails
02:11
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Batting the trails
With a cat o’ nine tails hanging from his hip
A fist firmly clenched
With the rotting stench of corporal kinship
Swing away the rattan
The baton of a law man, lay waste to your fingertips
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3. |
Hunger Blues
02:01
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4. |
She's Come Down
02:11
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Finally she’s come down, from whatever she’s been on.
Power cables and a buzzing static,
My light shines across the attic.
Dust piles and matted hair, a spider lingers in the open air.
And whatever she sees has become a part of me.
Ancient books piled on one another,
Faded toys from the first born daughter.
And whatever she sees has become a part of me.
Finally she’s come down, from whatever she’s been on.
Faded clothes in a plastic bag, memories I forgot to pack.
I don’t care anymore; the silverfish live in the carpet’s core.
I don’t care anymore; the paint is peeling off the bedroom door.
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5. |
Season's Night
00:48
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Forward in time, I just caught another season’s night
Glistened stem of a tree trunk, luminous emblem of a store front
Waiting, waiting, waiting for all the figures to pass my way
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The Milky Baskets San Francisco, California
Pop melodies telling weird things.
NOW
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