This imperfect light
This water table
The first significant snow fall
It’s a guesthouse in the middle of a crisis
It’s the the sound of a speaker when the battery starts to die
It’s the sound of the arctic sea ice
This man’s voice
Talk, talk, talk in the back ground
Jazz, jazz, jazz
This luddite machine smasher
This luddite machine
It’s a guesthouse in the middle of a crisis
It’s the the sound of a speaker when the battery starts to die
It’s the sound of the arctic sea ice
It’s a guesthouse
Oh say can you see
It’s a gold rush
Oh fuck that, I won’t play that game
It’s the the sound of a speaker when the battery starts to die
It’s the sound of the arctic sea ice
Adding to the cost now, adding to the cost now
Adding to the cost of getting by
New encounters and the otherwise
Be curious, find passages
Non-linear, be surprised
Celebrate these affirmations
Emergence from the wreckage
Uncertain is where to begin
Don’t panic, we’re in the wreckage
Uncertain is where to begin
No blueprints
No road map
No critical reflex
No lack finding
No guard against mistakes
No impulse
No impulse
To squash everything
A real deep thinker
A real stargazer, volcano chaser
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
The revolution will not be on the internet
There will be no cupcake, no snapcase
Hell no frosting
We’ll cover the walls in it
Its the end of the world
It’s the end
I want to feed the birds
I owe you an orchestra
One hundred steps into the sea
I owe you an orchestra
So you’ve got a ladder
From every floor to every ceiling
You’ve got this flashlight for wine
So you’ve got a ladder
From every floor to every ceiling
This hi-vis blue collar
So you’ve got a ladder
From every floor to every ceiling
These footsteps have no place
So you’ve got a ladder
From every floor to every ceiling
I owe you an orchestra
I want to feed the birds
I owe you an orchestra
Rubber neck air guitar
I owe you an orchestra
I want to feed the birds
Everyday the drywall gets closer and closer and closer
But don’t worry, I like us both equal
But I hate drawing people
I owe you an orchestra
I want to feed the birds
I owe you an orchestra
One hundred steps into the sea
I owe you an orchestra
I want to feed the birds
I owe you an orchestra
Rubber neck air guitar
I owe you an orchestra
Punching up into the air
I owe you an orchestra
I owe you
Lamps with no light bulbs
Televisions unplugged
Children looking out their yellow bus windows
Looking out, looking out
Lambs undercover
Looking over their shoulders
Looking both ways, waving black flags
Looking out, looking out
Five hundred years of war
Painted in their words
Haunted and wounded
But getting through this
Looking out, looking out
There’s nothing to see here
But a book of short stories
Walking by, shined and waxed
With convictions, built on the flood plains
Pushing through
Pushing
In a public meeting
In a town hall
In confrontation centre
In privatize
In the water cooler
Everything priced to sell
Can everyone take their seat
We are so grateful for this opportunity to speak
In the politics of the microphone
There are two elections next year
Double talk and buzzwords
Expensive as hell
These excellent wait rooms
Shaking breath
Oh what could it be
Oh we came to listen
Everybody scream!
Perched in a glass palace, jointed woke and washed
Spying on the planes landing on the island
Wings hand off to wheels
Touchdown to the ground
From this far, everything is silent
Some are taking off, others sitting idle
The city is a dead dance and this is its gown
Traffic-snapped elastics
A book on the sounds
We call it, lull and lifeless
Double talk and buzzwords
Expensive as hell
These excellent wait rooms
Shaking breath
Oh what could it be
Oh we came to listen
The river is all dried up, evaporated
The birds have stopped
Their awesome chorus
Cardinal goodbye
No spring buds
Or leaves in fall
Only fallow
The lightness came
And left again
No kind walk home on winter bridges
No sleeping in
On Monday mornings
No Monday mornings
No silence
Exhaustion
In the hollow
No Cohen records
In the living room
Under the mattress
The table is barren
No fruit
Empty pages
Painting over
We are at war
Hold tight for dear life
Burning idol
Snow clothes the wild
Defeat postponed
Croesus uproar
The destruction of…
The destruction of…
Pay the balloon man
Pay the balloon man
We are at war
Hold tight for dear life
Burning idol
Snow clothes the wild
Pay the balloon man
Pay the balloon man
Near, so far
Near, so far