1. |
White Wax Glove
05:55
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Don't look down, you'll feel dizzy
Your equilibrium will return, in just a minute
Yes, your hands are still tied, and yes, you've been blindfolded
Now that the black wrappings are about to be unwound
...prepare your eyes to focus
When the lightning's timed flashes trigger in a line's
When you'll see the phosphorescence of the body's outline
No one sees the hand in the paraffin bath
Everybody cries when it rises up, a white wax glove
Among we three, love abundant there must be
For I love the one who's missing, and the one who dismissed him loves me
They call his disease the unruly hand
In which the one inflicted believes his body is not his
One fights the other, one strikes himself upon the cheek
One busies itself among the cutlery while the other seems to sleep
No one sees the hand in the paraffin bath
Everybody cries when the sun comes up, a white wax glove
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2. |
Waving at The Enemy
02:37
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We've known each other for some time now
Such that between us there are no important secrets
Like a jigging leg, incinerating surplus energy
The table beneath this conversation is quaking
Surprised to find us, waving at the enemy
Identifying positions as the crow flies
Surprised to find us, beckoning, dismantling
An evening's entertainment: plotting home
Let me tell you all about my safe house
My smiling face at the end of a selfie stick
Embedded overhears of my soliloquies
A hand between my buttocks and underwear
Surprised to find us, waving at the enemy
Identifying positions as the crow flies
Surprised to find us, beckoning, dismantling
An evening's entertainment: plotting home
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3. |
Long Old Road
04:54
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It's long, long road, but I'm going to find the end
And when I get back, I'll shake hands with a friend
On the side of the road, I sat beneath a tree
Nobody know the thought that came over me
Picked up my bags, baby, I tried it again...
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4. |
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5. |
Raise The Ark
03:07
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My father split the atom, brought the bright stars to heel
Don't wake him when he's passed out in the map room, extended for all the world
Now who's going to raise the ark & cover up his drunk
Now who's going to raise the ark & wipe up his spilled religion
One day too early or one day too late, the raven arrives on the wind
The cargo's carrying-on reverberates, we see the swells and sweep the bough for hills
And now who's going to raise the ark & cover up his drunk
And now who's going to raise the ark & wipe up his spilled religion
An enemy is stretched with his legs spread, an enemy in only a helmet
An enemy is stretched with his legs spread, and only a hood
My father split the atom...
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6. |
Pater Hall Requiem
03:52
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Pater Hall requiem, the gem burns
The traveler spreads the seeds of return
The road is terminating at the town
The town is levitating above the ground
The townspeople gather 'round
The window pane, look down, look down again
Pater Hall requiem, the seed glows
The shepherd's reed a rustic melody blows
Emanating between the cracks
The couples coupling, the undulating backs
Entwined and riding down the highway in a wave
The garden's leaking something green out of the grave
The apple is ascending up the branch
The snake un-stretches and commences a second chance
Pater Hall requiem
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7. |
Sebastian's Arrows
03:02
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Sacred lands have been turned to mines
Alan Lomax and a shoulder strap recorder in a camp for turpentine
Stuck like resin on the palms of hands O sing to me
Of the company store and barracks that will never let you free
Wilson Pickett went to see Jesus in the midnight hour
On his way entered the crossfire of Sebastian's arrows
Shoot you when your back is turned
Shoot you when you're walking away.
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8. |
Pyramids of Egypt
03:13
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Keep the things you love from harm's way
They are in it anyway
Glow on the raiders' weary faces flows
Not from gold, but the radiance of clay
And don't forget to write the missionary
And tell him we're converted
Dig a ditch, call it the pyramids of Egypt
And leave these camp meeting ground deserted
I thought you disintegrated years ago
Instead you just eroded
Giant lion facing east but the sources of defeat
Are wind and sand, and the heritage site explosion
And don't forget to write the missionary
And tell him we're converted
Dig a ditch, call it the pyramids of Egypt
And leave these camp meeting ground deserted
A single finger to you lips is louder than this broadcast scripture
Nothing's everlasting, especially the wine
On a bed of dust we raise the dead engender flesh for sculpture
Eternity is a waste of time
And don't forget to write the missionary
And tell him we're converted
Dig a ditch, call it the pyramids of Egypt
And leave these camp meeting ground deserted
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9. |
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The fog on the interstate was dense
Just to keep pace with the brake lights ahead
Pursuing the last candles in the world
Exceed the speed limit
In the gray there are red eyes
They reveal themselves again like the punchline of a joke
After which the world resumes and is never the same again
Have you ever pursued guidance so fervently that you court catastrophe?
Or is catastrophe courts you, posing as a librarian?
O my unmaker, lights on the shoulder of a hill...
We emerge from this museum of rain
Into another possibly perfectly ordinary moment
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10. |
By The Drift Mouth
02:19
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Rise, shine...a light is coming
Came as far as the schoolhouse, as far as the jailhouse
Maybe saying a thing won't make it so, but maybe so
There's a man on the inside, they say he's asking questions
Keep a stone inside my palm and razor up my arm
Cause there's a light that's coming
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11. |
Seconds to Rise
03:28
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She looks your way, her lips are smeared with what seems like paste
A wave of tongue, and a fraction of a second and then she's gone
She leaves the body on the ground, as of a wardrobe rummaged and tossed around
Entrails in a sphere of glare, glow until you can no longer bear
She admits into deeper blue, and you cannot separate her from the view
Behold the ground you stand upon a tunnel's opened down
In the deep a violin is talking in its sleep
Message in the caverns of their eyes, read they are second ones to rise
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12. |
The Pilot's Radio
03:52
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Sand dunes overtake the public fountain, the tower clocks are dead
Sun in the sky 24/7, under a branch-hung plastic tarpaulin the pilot made his bed
He does not remember crashing, just woke to find his chute deployed
Hanging from a tree, legs dangling free, dropped into the conifer-shaped interior from the void
And he recovered only his radio, broadcasting school children taking fire
He recovered only his radio, and what he hears appears before his eyes
He wandered through the classrooms, no signs of panic, no rushed exit
He found the unplayed, unplayable quarter score, right where the band teacher had left it
He recovered only his radio, which voices are the ones he's longing for?
He recovered only his radio, the ones that time has prolonged
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Menchaca Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Menchaca is a Pittsburgh-based artist, composer and writer.
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