1. |
The Cavern
03:50
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Are we not, getting better?
Did we quarrel over nothing?
Did we rejoice when we said there...
would be times, under the moon, that
revert us back to infancy, to line-drawn cartoons...
of our hearts falling out of our chests,
into a hole in the ground, with a bib on, that reads;
"Im a cavernous mess.”
What is our nature?
We fade more each time.
Whether husky or diminutive,
it’s a matter of the sadness that seems almost infinite.
Tussle by our lonesome, gather for a round.
Its a gun shot slinger, type of deal, to keep from goin' down.
But here we are, on a skiff by the jetty.
Buddy system is in place, we got snacks and supplies on the ready.
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2. |
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What turns this world on the shoulder and takes us home at night?
Just as the thoughts collide; of how we're gonna get out of this one.
By the skin of our teeth, an oil sprayed beach,
where Micky used to surf and return the debt of his stress to this unpaid earth.
It’s a salty flavor savor, with an aftertaste of how we'll love amidst this waste.
We're burning up in these D-O-G days.
We drift further.
We shred the swell.
Down the pipeline to a time.
When I knew you well.
Mick was takin her easy, a respite from the teasing.
The waves were a reasonable healing,
like to this world the market caps unfreezing.
It’s a steady avalanche of the free market dance;
one in which, Mick and Co. weren't built to last.
So they're roastin one up behind the stands.
When they come for his board, when they tell him he was told,
he'll push off for Nautical Treasure Trove
and with a tip of the lid he'll let this world go.
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3. |
Pivot in the Post
03:35
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The days linger on, in the western world.
Where the siren song plays from the TV mural.
It’s all rearranged from the milieu maintained.
Where we all hang...by a thread.
Shoot...I had it for a moment.
On and on and on again
you pivot in the post, you finish at the rim.
On and on and on again,
remember who is close to you and hold them to the end.
The sea swallows and foams,
while we're at our homes,
being torn and let asunder,
while the sneaker wave carries us under.
Contort and somersault,
the pace of the waves comes to a halt.
As the sun sets,
I skip a stone into its big yellow stomach.
Limiting the range
of how we'll say "I love you", "I need you”...in our future days.
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4. |
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5. |
Last Gasp
02:51
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It won't take long.
I'll clock it til it’s gone.
The speed of light has never known the liking of this one.
SO FAST, SO QUICK!
A locomotive motor with an aerial spirit.
But when we come down, we come down hard.
Falling like an ember from a smoldering log.
SO HOT, SO BRIGHT!
Slicing through the core of earth like a buttered hot knife.
We split...molecular rip...in the fabric, stitch it up...
we're all trying to conceal our guts...
from the ever shifting eyes...
they'll hold you for a moment then release you from their sights.
If we all cash in, what will be the fashion?
Of a time and people in a rat race towards inaction.
WHO KNEW?! SO COOL!
But the stench of accrual doesn't mean its something new.
We'll run the engine, until its gassed.
We topped out then we dropped down to our last remaining gasp.
AGHHHH AGHHHH!
We're short of breath, we're counting steps, we're sitting this one out.
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6. |
Reg
03:55
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Hey Reg, I hear you got the touch.
Well how much?
To sharpen life's dullest moments?
Do you promise?
I've got a deal for you.
I'd give it all away,
for you.
Do you consider yourself a lover?
Does it make you wonder?
About all the ways you can possibly love her.
Take the one you love,
spur the divisional properties of some and make it one.
And bring into the fold,
her mother and father and sister and all she loves.
I break form, but I will not break hearts anymore.
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7. |
Harvest
04:12
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I think about it all the time.
How we shepherd our bodies and our minds...
through a corn maze that whistles and whacks...
as the corn stalks grow tall behind my back.
Its harvest time again...
so we hum along to "Four Strong Winds."
It’s a country song from way back when.
Here let me show ya, bring that pedal steel in.
A scorched earth policy.
A trash can fire jamboree.
Did we get high on it being free?
Stoned in bliss at the artifice.
Where do our stories go?
And to whom are we telling them for?
Do we mimic the earth's gentle pattern?
Or is it the pain and tumult that matter?
As the earth splinters, we splatter...
off our axis, what's the praxis? How we got here?
In the bedlam of the bedrock there's a sign...
now the season's coming and it’s harvest time.
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8. |
The Boogie Down
05:04
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