1. |
On the Origin of Gold
03:03
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When we were young we thought the mountains and the rivers were designed by God to give us satisfaction.
A sinking feeling from the sculptures and the paintings caused us to feel an intimate abstraction.
We felt that swirling rain upon our hands, upon our face, spinning down the road just like a wheel.
And in that bitter chill engulfing mind an body we knew that it was productive just to feel,
What we felt.
I never.
I’d never
Although they’ll take all of your bones away,
Before they burn you to the ground.
Despite your fears and reservations,
We’ll ignite the tales of others lacking any sight.
It’s a calming glow that coats the sea at night.
I never will get older.
I will never age a day.
I’m twenty three already.
You’re twenty three already.
But what have you done?
Now that we’re older we can still believe the mountains were designed by God to give us satisfaction.
The pieces of the puzzle split apart and merge together forming a more relevant abstraction.
I still love that swirling rain, upon my hands, upon my face, rolling down the road just like a wheel.
And in that bitter chill engulfing mind and body I knew that it was productive,
Though potentially destructive,
I only mean to be constructive,
And to feel.
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2. |
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Way back in ’72,
I was reading Pierre Bourdieu,
And he taught me that culture is not as simple as it seems.
Flash forward to ’78,
Now I’m watching Alan Resnais,
And he’s showing us that cinema is a dream.
Cause when they sing it takes me home again,
Back to a time when I was so inspired.
Though it’s easy to feel stifled as the world goes spinning by,
Losing your fight, waiting to die but still alive.
Thumbing through Roland Barthes’,
Literature and art,
And realizing I wasn’t alone in my affections
Listening to all my friends,
Their beauty it never ends,
And I wonder if Bodega has found new direction.
Cause when they sing it takes me home again,
Back to a time when I was so inspired.
Though it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by all that you don’t know,
Searching your soul, looking for gold,
You can arise.
Yes,
We have accomplished everything that we’ve set out to do.
And yes,
We get overwhelmed by emotions just like any other fools.
Write on.
And sing,
Sing like the rain is pounding ready to beat down your door.
And live,
Live like a child with a heart as if you’ve never lived before.
Write on.
Cause when we sing it makes me whole again,
And i’ve never felt quite so inspired.
Though still I do get stifled as my thoughts go drifting by.
Losing my sight,
Wanting to die,
But still alive.
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3. |
Crawling Back
03:34
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Lormier can be gloomy this time of year,
Like a rainy day in November she sang to me,
Though she never really sang at all.
Took her hand and we stumbled past the taxicabs,
Full of dreamers, lovers, and oh, how she danced for me,
Looking like a caryatid about to fall.
You and I,
We thought we had to climb, oh no,
Crawling back.
Did you ever think that I'd change,
When there's so much to change,
And it always seems the same?
Why did you run away?
I tried to be a nice guy,
Bet they always play it that way.
I can find your place alright.
People never change,
Another gust in the wind, the apple fell far from the tree.
I'll never blame you again.
I'm a year older now and there's a developed sense of security.
You and I,
We thought we had the time, but oh no.
I think I fell in love.
No shut up, you only kissed her once and she left the country.
Maybe that’s what makes it beautiful?
I've had time to think.
No shut up, you never think about anything, anymore.
Maybe you’re right.
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4. |
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Synthetic midnight on a cool walk alone gives a shaken memory.
Wild incantations from a fatalistic drum invoke a burning melody.
The moon regard her and her terror that does cross and cross across her mind.
So soon, to simplify a thought as it’s decaying, stiff and white.
Who is this woman that does hesitate towards me in the lamp light?
I am in the incarnation of evil on a lost night.
Nocturnal reminisces, cigarettes and cocktails are a poor life.
Unearthly woman who approaches please tell, what caused you to arise?
A twisted thing a twisted branch a memory thrown up to dry.
The moon! The fear and isolation of a world that has been left to die.
The bed is made and the shoes by the door it must mean something tonight.
A madman can shake a dead rose but that won’t make it right.
There is still something, I still have memory. I still have a fight.
Prepare for sleep, prepare for life the last twist of the knife.
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5. |
Tess
03:24
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Oh, you don’t know about stars or worlds,
But the spirit of a girl, a ghost, can be made to rise up too.
Oh, we are all subject to consequence,
Or a drunken lack of sense, a sense of what is commanding you.
How can God expect you to be whole again,
When you were broken from the start?
Were you a martyr or a part?
I don’t know.
Oh, the ache of modernism comes to rot,
The little pleasures that you’ve got,
Pastoral fields, a bastard yet sown again.
I know, a sense of faith can so easily mar,
Though it can also take you far,
A crashing of the Earth, the breaking of a wave’s end.
How can God expect you to be whole again,
When you were broken just for fun?
Tess, I long for your embrace though tattered.
Shores of South America call again.
And he turned to me an asked,
“Are all the stars worlds like ours?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “But I think so.
Just like the stubbard-tree some are splendid and sound, and a few are blighted.”
“Do we live on a blighted on or a splendid one,” he asked.
“Blighted.” I replied, “And tis very unlucky.”
A dank and foggy July morn encompassed their knole.
Two halos encrusted over our heads in the image of you, Tess.
We look to the West and we can see a flag through the window.
The Aeschylean phrase, the smirking of God alone.
Tess, I long for your embrace though tattered.
Shores of South America call again.
Light, lost as Milton’s paradise is shattered.
An image is the only thing we can’t mend.
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6. |
Confessions
03:14
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Sitting down it’ll pass you by,
It’s an abstraction of time and you’ll be send into the night singing,
“All along the road I see the same thing.”
Seeing the way that people stutter through the days,
As you’re finding a fight that’s aligned with your right,
It’s time to go alone and try and live.
Oh, these are confessions,
Long ago it’s something I was told.
It’s easy to find what was written on a page,
But if you say something wrong then they’ll still stab you in the back.
And if your heart can rise then your gut can fall,
and when you’re singing about death your book’s already a tell all.
I don’t know when to breathe,
And I don’t know the right time to ask you how you’re feeling.
I can look into your eyes, see a part of you die,
We’re just a few more passengers trying to get by, saying,
Oh, these are confessions,
Long ago in a time when I was bold.
Monica was an obsession.
Fast to follow that which I am told.
Sitting down it’ll pass you by.
Trying to get some sleep at night but your knees are numb.
Hardly make it through the days, as you’re living a malaise.
Finding reading and writing doesn’t fill that space.
They say all along you’ve had what you need.
Then tell me why do we struggle just to breathe.
Oh these are confessions,
Long ago in a time when I was bold.
Monica was an obsession.
Fast to follow that which I am told,
I own,
I know.
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7. |
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Aligned and arranged,
The Golden Dawn will come back through shadows one day.
Frightened and malaised,
A right of passage for all of the chosen one’s to play.
I can’t remember all of the metaphors.
All the mythology has got me on all fours ready to die.
Pronounced and ashamed,
A blighted star on a lazy passage through the haze.
Broadway and Grand,
Crushing, aching, breaking down the body of our man.
All the analogies make my head spin.
Contradiction in terms, past thick and thin,
Ready to explode.
Fell asleep for six days and when I awoke I saw the face of God,
and they’ve got nothing on us now.
Dying in our own sacred way, I will not come back in four days,
Oh Lazarus I’m sure we’ll meet in Hell.
If you’re not hip to all of the undertones,
I’m sure that a monster will come and break your fragile bones and make you.
Shall I kiss the viper’s fangs?
Or sing like a muted choir,
during the death of man.
Passages narrow down,
but the world grows grand.
Repeat a mantra, Vipassana,
Try to find the righteous and the holy,
Did they all die with David?
Aligned and arranged.
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8. |
Forest of Mirrors
03:50
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Riding on the backs of all our lovers,
As tensions build and there’s a new world mirror.
Keeping track of all the propaganda is nothing new,
When nothing is clear.
I had a bitter dream last night.
Ruminations of your friend’s and family,
Are culminating into a feudal tier.
All around you praises being sung to the echo chamber of international fear.
I had a better dream last night.
Hold it back, cut it out, tear it down.
There’s a forest of mirrors that we can bring crumbling down,
When you and I, stop to ask the questions, “Why?”
Take it off, turn it in, throw it out,
There’s a banquet of deceit that surely will come pouring out,
As we keep holding on down the line.
Rise up to the moment, take it.
Deliberations of an epic theatre,
Protract the profit from their chilled delirium.
Excite our minds and when our senses have cooled we’ll see,
Exactly what we’ve become.
I had a better dream last night.
Signs live for wonders we would see.
A word, within a word, unable to speak.
I saw Christ the tiger coming up to me.
And he said,
A better man said.
Hold it back, cut it out, tear it down.
There’s a forest of mirrors that we can bring crumbling down,
When you and I, stop to ask the questions, “Why?”
Take it off, turn it in, throw it out,
There’s a banquet of deceit that surely will come pouring out,
As we keep holding on down the line.
I believe that there’s a fight.
But I’ll still be there.
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9. |
Starchild
03:23
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Hello little starchild,
Did I catch you tripping through the wind or was it you who caught me?
Fresh off the tracks from another Glasslands ball.
I lost a weekend,
I misplaced my heart but worst of all I lost my sense of security.
Could it be more relevant there was never anything there at all?
If it's so amazing,
Why does everything feel like a hazing for a lack of both parties?
You told me you were depressed,
And I guess that's what impressed me most of all.
So if you're a starchild,
I can see the fireworks exploding like a twisted New Year's Eve,
Golden fireballs and spades, arrows of malachites & jades.
Could it be that a man like me is incomplete, as an individual,
That he needs the image repertoire as represented in the other.
Images of my demise linger with me.
I'm only mourning over something that's perceived,
And you the other would go on, without batting an eye.
If it's all beginning to fall apart, I can tell you right now,
You'll always get over a broken heart.
If it's all the same to you and me,
I never thought it'd come down to my sexual insecurities.
I'll never see you again.
If it's so amazing,
Why does everything feel like a hazing?
I never thought I'd die this way.
Like Job I look back and reflect on the mistakes that I've made.
All the little pieces, though they're shattered, broken, split, and scattered,
It still haunt us to this day.
What a surprise to find it was just a fling from my better days,
My redder days.
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10. |
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Pound for pound we took all that was said of her.
Had mother’s courage reaped what it had sown?
The breaking of a son and the twisting of a daughter,
Riling up a scene for times of old.
Tried to break a wave and catch a glimpse of her.
Have all our efforts fallen on deaf ears?
Be that as it may we have may we have made ourselves for you, and we’re sinners.
And we haven’t seen Monica in years.
And I believe in Golden Hearts.
I believe that violence will sway towards those who play the part.
Though reactions and confessions are bound to upstart.
Long ago in a time when I was bold.
We could write alone and be a sedative,
Lacking lover for naturalists at play.
Werther behind us now, St Augustine above,
And our death won’t be a lonely day.
But I believe in Golden Hearts.
I believe that violins don’t play for dancers in the dark.
Though reactions and confessions are bound to upstart.
Long Ago In a time when I was bold,
I used to scoff at ideas of growing old,
I used to know there was something better,
Reach out to touch it and it’s gone.
I believe in golden hearts.
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