1. |
Doe-Eyed Nightling
03:08
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the horns raised in silence,
bathed in serrated leaves.
the flora mocks the fauna
with its cool, unnatural ease.
And I, a doe-eyed nightling,
wild in my dreams.
dead oak lines the hallway,
covered in red moss.
a woven map,
a barefoot path
to brooklyn's lost green.
And I, a doe-eyed nightling,
wild in my dreams.
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2. |
Good Heart
03:25
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i played along--
my shoulders three feet high
black under my eyes.
the game was long--
sunset on the field
followed by a silent meal.
four sisters sulking pink and red,
but i was doing it for them.
i had a good heart.
i had a good heart.
i married young.
she was a planned surprise-
white veil trailing behind.
(collecting dust, collecting dirt, collecting dust, collecting dirt)
the drive was long--
sunset on the dotted line
followed by a silent meal
in middle america,
hoping the night wouldn't find us
in middle america.
i had a good heart.
i had a good heart.
it was too polite to talk.
i never did know what it wanted.
now it's changing,
palpitating in a morse code.
telling me what it's owed.
speaking up too late.
telling me what it's owed.
speaking up too late.
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3. |
Hand-Me-Down
02:48
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from one son to another,
what's bad blood between brothers?
good fortune--better if it's stolen--
all for the first born.
third child is crying,
old winter has our house whining.
in time, when no one replies,
they'll bury those sounds with me.
all things are a hand-me-down,
even your mother's love.
softer the last time around,
but not a lot of warmth.
we all come home tired,
selling all our time for quarters.
and you'll always owe
that debt your father sewed
is pouring over.
share the pie with eachother.
it's not sweet, it's not dinner.
if the pie seems much thinner,
maybe you should quell your hunger.
from one son to another,
it's all blood between mothers.
and we're told our worth
in the afterbirth--
she always said I was a simple girl.
all things are a hand-me-down,
even your mother's love.
softer the last time around,
but not a lot of warmth.
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4. |
Imprint
03:46
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who was at the shoreline
shaking their fists or crying?
how long did you take to turn your back?
what expression were you hiding?
you didn't write it down,
you hoped that it would die,
but it never does,
it only grows with time.
a name change
on the edge of a new state,
that's what you gave them,
that's what you left.
and the bad dreams
still float in our bloodstreams,
and when i'm sad i'm sure it's an instinct.
when i'm sad i live in your imprint.
set up shop in cleveland,
selling junk that no one needed.
when you found him bludgeoned in
did you sigh or did you scream?
was it the first blow
or one of many?
you didn't write it down,
the news came and went.
you thought that words were wounds
so you kept tight lipped.
a name change
on the edge of a new state,
that's what you gave them,
that's what you left.
and the bad dreams
still float in our bloodstreams,
and when i'm sad i'm sure it's an instinct.
everyone thinks it ends in them,
but i am convinced each silence is where it begins.
i carry on your disposition-
a flag without without a coat of arms.
and the bad dreams
still float in our bloodstreams,
and when i'm sad i'm sure it's an instinct.
and when i'm sad i live in your imprint.
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5. |
David
02:46
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david in an armchair,
looking at the camera,
ready for the judgement
with his ever-present cigarette.
all that smoke weighed against a photograph.
what would ammit think
with so little to eat?
if we can't disown our namesake
we want more of you--
not just the space your vices kept,
not just the stories second-hand.
if we can't disown our namesake
we want more of you.
what can you give?
what can you give?
david in an armchair
smiling like a martyr,
is it a comfort to know what's killing you?
why prepare to meet your god?
you know you could've stayed with us.
if we can't disown our namesake
we want more of you--
not just the space your vices kept,
not just the stories second-hand.
if we can't disown our namesake
we want more of you.
what can you give?
what can you give?
take a breath and hold it.
claim your fate in poses.
anybody's son.
falling out of orbit,
landing in a moment.
candid for no one.
we want more of you.
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Mountainess Los Angeles, California
mountainessmusic.com
The earth shifted,
Bubbled,
and out she sprang:
Mountainess.
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