1. |
True
03:55
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so i had this idea
that this is all before we wake up
our little hearts at peace
and our little pills still in their cup
one night i had this dream
that i could not wake from at all
then i fell through my bed
but you were there to break my fall
then you put me down and you were gone
and i'm wondering what the hell i did wrong
i'm starting to think that it wasn't true
i'm trying so hard to remember you
so i had this idea
that i cannot quite recall
and memory might serve
if i could just bend down and crawl
but i'm pulled up tall and i feel dumb
when everyone laughs at what i've become
i'm starting to learn that this isn't true
i'm starting to remember things about you
yesterday i would have known to put one foot before the other
and one thing inside another to hide it away
but yesterday i also would have clothed the naked truth
and over serendipity i would have favored proof
see, even now it's hard to close my eyes and know that you're still there
and know that my control is slipping swiftly away
and even now it's hard to know that science is just proof
and serendipity is just another flavor of the truth
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2. |
May I Have This Dance
03:14
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here's what i would say to you
if you and i were lovers
even if we wanted to
we couldn't clean these covers
cause you mean nothing to me
cause i mean nothing to you
cause you mean nothing to me
cause i mean nothing to you
stains so set we could have traced
their borders with our eyes closed
with fingertips protected by
the prophylactic of our choice
that you mean nothing to me
and i mean nothing to you
cause you mean nothing to me
cause i mean nothing to you
even though you shouldered me
that time when i was down
this dance we do
is a ritual prescribed to provide comfort and
convenience to the weak knees of the dancer
this dance we do
conforms to all the rules and regulations
put forth by the bodies
keeping seats warm for THE MAN, SIR
and I would dance with you
but you can't dance and otherwise pretending
only gives us both a fucking cancer
in the head
do you ever see
in the faces of your friends
the skull bones underneath
and how everyone pretends?
do you ever picture
the hard hospital bed
where one day you'll be clear on
who you should have been instead?
may i have this dance, you'll say
and i could play that part
but i mean nothing to you
and you mean nothing to me
and so this mattress might see
a rhythm
but never
a heart
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3. |
Ghost Prelude
00:55
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this is the voice of a ghost
this is the permanent footprint of the dead inside
almost
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4. |
Grace Note
03:29
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she died on her birthday years ago
she lived on her deathbed
but she didn't know the way he looked at her was a sin
and he didn't know she never felt the wind on her skin
he climbed her a mountain
he built her a home in his heart, a prison
and waited for her to come and save him from castration
but he didn't have the balls to send the invitation
and there but for the grace of god go you and i
you and i have breathed enough of this air to be sleepy
to all the things we used to only dream would be
but we are propped up on one elbow each and staring
and i belong to you and you belong to me
and we're awake and we can see
and we have seen enough of this light to be blinded
to all the stuff we used to have to squint to see
but you're already on my retina forever
and it won't be long for you
and neither will it be long for me
so listen to me when i say there is no time
we only get a moment
and the words have to rhyme, given the modern format of song
a verse and a chorus to persuade you with their love song
she died on her birthday
all alone in her head, a prison where she waited with her telephone
but all its bells were silent as he stared at her number and her photo on his island
and there but for the grace of god go you and i
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5. |
Ghost Note
08:25
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This is the voice of a ghost.
This is the permanent echo of words from a mouth sewn closed.
This is the voice of a ghost.
This is the bifurcated pulse of a broken heart without a host.
This is a note from a song that doesn't care.
It's decomposed.
Blowing out the candles again, and I am spitting in the wind.
Clawing at the curtains of relevance, and trying to pretend with my best laid pretense that this is not the end.
I tried to call myself up on the telephone.
I tried to knock on the door at my old home.
I used my old phone number and everything,
but the old me just wasn't answering.
This is the voice of a ghost.
This is the cheshire smile of the kid who played guitar,
and the wash of a fading reverb scar.
The disembodied voice of a ghost drank a little red wine, and dreamed that he was a portmanteau, haunted in the ear by some beautiful dissonance that drowned everything but the descant of his beloved family.
Well, quid pro quo, baby.
They see the confident walk of a man who fits well in his clothes.
But in the shrug of his shoulders is a darkness that nobody knows.
This is the voice of a ghost.
This is the canned refrain of a spirit now passed on.
He used to walk there next to you, but now he's gone.
He told me the only thing we have to do is fall,
and that our echoes are not permanent at all.
Wake, my boy.
Come out and feel the sun, and tend the garden of all that you have been.
Wake, my son.
Come out and smell the rain, and tell me the story of who you are again.
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6. |
Swim
06:07
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Dizzy, but steady in the wind.
Sweating, and waiting to begin.
But beginning never happens and my foot up on the starting block is sore.
The empty gun is silent, and I feel as though I have been here before.
Swimming with legacy in tow.
Dancing around the maypole we must go.
Patient Persephone is pleased, and she smiles before we know.
I poured my heart out into a vessel I drink from now.
Just like the river flowing into desert sands that showed me how.
I poured my heart out into a vessel that you have drained and buried in the sand.
Now it’s been forever since it’s rained.
I did not plant you, but gave you water and soil and sun.
I can not help you swim with holes in me that you dug one by one.
If we could only see only sea, how it could be.
Flight without wings.
The emperor's new clothes.
Water.
All the things the action figure knows.
Cake on the table, enough to go around.
Fight naked and don't look down.
Darling, do you remember when
(with the salted waves of ocean crashing in)
you caught me with a look that I could not misunderstand,
and as we sailed into the storm I held your hand?
He blew out his candles till the wax had formed a crust.
And every day he played his dirge as if he must.
Played with himself until all his instruments ground to dust and settled in here,
in the groove with the needle just inches away,
where no amount of RPM that he could muster would make it drop in and play.
This is the voice of a ghost.
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