1. |
Her Majesty (I, II)
05:47
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Her Majesty
I
The slightest seed elegantly
grows from the ground,
its roots in me.
Then, through the grass, the stalk will pass
from earthy den
until at last...
Breaching upwards towards the light,
with glowing love
it defines the night.
So we might learn, to some degree,
the colour of
Her Majesty.
II
From seedlings and saplings,
the forest, she grew up –
her canopy glows
with a radiant sheen.
And just like Her Majesty
I guess we grew up,
and now it’s our turn
to decide what that means.
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2. |
Up & Up
04:26
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Up and Up
“Do you smoke enough?”
“Just one hit. One toke on the up and up.”
An over-opiated wreck,
he craves a calming effect –
a small adjustment to cura te ipsum.
“Us Christian-Jews can lose a father too…”
Yet, we glow in unity.
Our new resplendencies
grow young to show us how
we grew up old.
Can’t sit. Can’t stand. Can’t speak for long.
The ones we love are the dialogue.
Once a palliative wreck,
his heart is beating a ghet –
a subtle murmur that whispers everlong
“Just live for you, and you’ll for him too.”
Yet we glow in unity.
Our new resplendencies
grow young to show us how
we grew up whole.
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3. |
All That Fire
02:56
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All That Fire
You’re not too strong,
living on your own.
But the end crept in,
and settled in my bones.
I guess it’s in like a lamb,
out like a lamb. I said,
“Come in my dear.
Hold on to my hand.”
“Hold on to all that fire”
Pastel and tubes
in this god-forsaken room.
“Quit that” you said
as the curtain drew.
You said, “It ain’t in like a lamb,
out like a lamb.”
With dried blood on my lip,
I’m too weak to stand.
But there’s still all that fire.
Don’t talk about it,
don’t talk about it, my love.
Just hold me as I fall asleep, my love.
Don't talk about it now.
“Hold on to all that fire.”
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4. |
Paddle Away
04:29
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Paddle Away
I’ve been around.
I’ve played a hero, and I’ve played
the villain that you drowned in that lake.
I’ve heard the sighs
of teary eyed children
when their parents come to take them away
from starry nights
and a fear of heights
that was abandoned when their feet left the ground.
So that they wonder now,
“whatever was it for?”
For pushing off of that shore,
to paddle away.
We grew into men,
we grew into women,
running from the bears in the woods
and in our hearts.
There’s fall in the leaves
and stains on our knees,
so we pack up our canoe in the dark.
On the shoreline sand, an open hand
with a needle that points to the north –
if there’s a lesson learned,
whatever was it for?
For pushing off of that shore,
to paddle away.
I’m pushing off of that shore,
to paddle away.
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5. |
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Someday, I’ll know.
III
Sound the kettles!
Alert the talking heads!
There’s a little toy warhammer
hidden underneath her bed.
And on the vanity
awaits a spool of thread.
Will she sew it into elegance
or unravel it instead?
“Do we live in history?
Is that something we can know a priori?
Do we live in history, or does it live in us?”
“Someday, I’ll know.”
Clutch the paper!
Articulate the pen!
From the furious young pugilist
to the unforgotten wren;
the characters she’s lived,
and ones she hasn’t written yet,
all crawl those darkened hallways
for five-and-a-half minutes.
“Do we live in history?
Is that something we can know a priori?
Do we live in history, or does it live in us?”
IV
“Someday, I’ll know.”
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6. |
Snow Song
04:05
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Snow Song
Your fingertips are cold,
like they just held snow,
so briefly crystalline
until it succumbs to your body’s heat.
It makes you wish for the days
you were too young to understand
this pallid tragedy
playing out in the palm of your hand.
Yet, just as winter fades into the glow of spring,
you’re bound for fields of green, and what they bring.
But these flakes remain intact.
What I’d give to turn them back
to droplets on your skin,
radiating its warmth again.
Makes me wish for the days
we were too young to understand
the snow that’s falling down
is a beginning, and not an end.
Just as winter fades into the glow of spring,
we’re bound for fields of green, and what they bring.
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7. |
Sour Milk
03:45
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Sour Milk
Isn’t it just the way?
They grow up and then move away,
leaving all of these hours
and the milk has gone sour.
It’s been a gradual decay,
until it was too much for her to take.
And I’m sleeping on the couch still,
so it feels like the beds are filled.
I’m nothing if not lonely,
but I guess that comes with age.
Oh help me out...
Born the runt,
I’ve always dreamed of a yard,
or something,
that I can run around in.
So when I catch a clip in your stride,
these hours of captivity fade.
I’m nothing if not lonely,
but I’m not one to break
your optimistic gaze
when you’re thumbing through
the keys that fit my cage.
It’s too early for me to wake
as the frost kisses the blades
of the grass in our backyard.
Its colder than I'd hoped for.
But you listen to what I say,
and you’ll love me anyway.
I can finally feel the warmth again
as we turn to go back in
The air is crisp
as I wait here at the door,
at dawn –
the kind of morning the glows.
So let’s go,
let’s put some tracks in the snow
of our own.
Isn’t it wonderful!
Now, I’ll never be so lonely
as I was in those days
before I met your gaze.
And I’m hoping that I’ll never be away
from table-scraps and full days
in the fields out past the gate.
So if I could, I’d say
“Here’s a kind of love that stands upon six legs.”
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8. |
Skeleton Key
03:58
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Skeleton Key
Heading down south, past the border guards,
the Ambassador is a parade of cars.
You’d tried to warn me of their weight -
such heavy locks on those pearly gates.
I see an open door in the
light that’s slipping out through your locks
from down the corridor, and I’m
turning that key to open up
your deepest pride, and your tallest love.
After simmering in the Ohio heat
I’ve a sudden urge to start cutting keys
Is there a fragile end?
One that could break or bow or bend?
They’re cleverly built, but all I need is time.
I will push the pins until they step aside.
It takes a discerning eye...
I see an open door in the
light that’s slipping out through your locks
from down the corridor, and I’m
turning that key to open up
your deepest pride, and your tallest love.
Your prince-rupert’s-heart is made of gold,
and even Prince Rupert’s heart is made of gold.
I see an open door in the
light that’s slipping out through your locks
from down the corridor, and I’m
turning that key to open up
your deepest pride, and your tallest love.
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9. |
Coyotes
04:32
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Coyotes
The path she took was crooked,
a winding road on the east coast.
When the word got out that the girl’s here,
the beasts and birds were all ears.
When mother takes her child away,
who are we to say
“the truths enclosed in our lies
leave our lives justified.”
The canids came to auger
the mourning of a daughter.
The skyblue sky, it reigned over
this foliage, once green – now red.
When mother takes her child away,
who are we to say
“the truths enclosed in our lies
leave our lives justified.”
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10. |
Engine Parts (V)
05:31
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Engine Parts
V
There once was a way
to feel her love on your face.
We’ve lived through the days
when you could hold her heart in your hands.
Her blue eyes have gone grey.
They gaze at ice covered, barren landscapes.
Freeze dried and twice a day,
vitamin D and vitamin A.
With flat lungs and blue hearts,
it’s less like a body, more like engine parts.
Oh, let’s see how far we can go with
flat lungs and blue hearts.
Oh no! She’s gone, but we’re awake with
flat lungs and blue hearts.
It’s less like a body, more like engine parts.
“Are you hurt, have you heard?”
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11. |
Three Bells
02:45
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Three Bells
Above my head
there hang three bells.
One of rust and another one gold,
while the third wears a shroud of white snow.
And they’re ringing for me.
Perched here, the last
sun sets such that,
in a sudden maneuver of light,
all my shadows and vices combine
in a memory stream.
I misplaced the ring and had to ruin the surprise,
then overheard mother sigh with teary-eyed pride.
And when she started dropping days in the fog,
I helped her cherry tree grow roots in the yard.
She spoke of hope, and how it comes at great cost.
Well, I’ve got a pocket full of lint for those moths.
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12. |
Yearlong Vigil
04:03
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Yearlong Vigil
I was drifting through some backroads,
wasting made up time
about seven clicks south of the county line,
when I stumbled ‘cross a man –
just a mirror in the woods.
A roughneck: 60% whiskey, 40% wine.
He said “Somewhere down the line
there’s a bridge over the river
where my kid jumped off last summer and died.
You can still see the candles from the vigil,
lying melted on their side.
But his mother comes on Sundays to light ‘em up.”
Now the summers out here get hot
and I seen that I’d sweat through my jacket,
so I slipped it off and hung it on my arm.
I pulled the kerchief that I stole
from the organist in Melville
out of my pocket to wipe my brow and clear my eyes.
He said “Greif’s the kind of thing
that lives on both sides of the whip,”
and he motioned to the box of candles in his hand.
He said “His mother’s never questioned
‘bout how there’s fresh ones every week.
And I come out here on Saturdays to burn my receipts.”
Now, I roll my own cigarettes
‘cause it’s what my father did,
and I offered one to him but he declined.
He said “I don’t need the help in dyin’.
I do it each day on my own.
But some people, they just wanna skip the line home.”
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13. |
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Majesty, too...
VI
The exodus has begun,
though it’s by no means the first one.
And she’ll be with us again,
in an endless cycle – no beginning or end.
Yet we’re terrified to resign
and let-turn-to-ash our fragile designs.
But, would you know?
The jackpines won’t grow
without the raging inferno.
She falls,
she falls to her hands and knees
And we call,
we’re still calling out for Her Majesty.
If we quench the burning night
and set sail in silence, her magnificent roar
would reach down from the mountain tops
to say “the lakes and the lovers, the will be restored!”
So set your billows up,
deep in the woods, and strike up a match
‘cause, wouldn’t you know?
The jackpines won’t grow
without the raging inferno.
She wakes,
and she rises from her hands and knees.
And we sing,
yeah we’ll be singing out for Her Majesty.
VII
As we glow through duress,
all her kingdom pales to hear her softly speak,
and feel her warmth lift the curse.
When we tire, she will hold our colours again.
Feel the warmth lift the curse!
As we tire, she will hold our colours again.
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Long Range Hustle Toronto, Ontario
If you’re new to a Long Range Hustle show, it only takes a minute to feel how their contagious energy connects with everyone in the room. From a sweat soaked club to a breezy festival stage, Long Range Hustle brings the warm infectious melodies, driving rhythms, and gorgeous harmonies, in spades. ... more
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