From a dry wall filtered atmosphere
We venture out now, on this blanket of leaves
Undressing, we can sleep and dream
Lay peering out at the ceiling of stars
A similar scene that we saw in spring
We see now, but it`s fall and the wind is rushing to steal our breath
From a dry wall filtered atmosphere
We venture out now, on this blanket of leaves
No show of subjective response
No circle with a back-slash on it
The oceans are coming
The oceans are coming
The oceans are coming
The oceans
This is the king’s version of the truth
He’ll knock on wood but kiss and tell
The oceans are coming
The oceans are coming
The oceans are coming
The oceans
What are we waiting for?
No show of subjective response
No circle with a back-slash on it
The oceans are coming
The oceans are coming
The oceans are coming
The oceans
What are we waiting for?
Don’t look away, don't look away (what are we waiting for?)
One hundred percent, one hundred percent (what are we waiting for?)
All boats don't rise
Colour us in the jewels and lay us in a mine
For street silver and fool’s gold rush
Colour us in the future because it’s the only thing we ever had
Paint your favorite photographs and draw on the memories
What’s your name I’d like to get to know you
It seems like we might share some things in common
We don’t share the same last names and backgrounds
But we might grow…we might grow
NOWHERE TO GO
Another structure, another caste
Stoke the fires that radiate
Take the pen when the page turns white
This body is so thin
Enclosure, debasement
But it’s not just and it’s not funny
When the commons are not so common now anymore
Are they?
And they might never be found…
It’s the bursting that was ever wanted
It’s the blasting that was ever needed
Enclosure, debasement
But it’s not just and it’s not funny
When the commons are not so common now anymore
Are they?
And they might never be found…
It’s the bursting that was ever wanted
It’s the blasting that was ever needed
There’s nowhere to go
It’s the bursting that was ever wanted
It’s the blasting that was ever needed
Another structure, another caste
Stoke the fires that radiate
Take the pen when the page turns white
When this body is thin
There’s nowhere to go
She fell, it was a Sunday
In nineteen-fourteen
Her house, it was in shambles
And they're killing all her animals
Get out, I mean it
This is no place for you
Get out, I mean it
This is no place for you
Just like tattoos of bruises
Make the saint a soldier (a soldier)
Just like cigarette ash fall
They fall to the water
Get out, I mean it
This is no place for you
Get out, I mean it
This is no place for you
St. Lawrence edifice that I helped build
More than just iron, more than just stone
Hanging on
These are my limbs … set to ashes
My fire poems, my sinking ships
This lonely artifice that I can’t break
More than just gardens, more than just a wake
Hanging on (hanging on)
This is my flesh … set to ashes
My fire poems, my sinking ships
I went for a walk and I went down the main street
The main street of my home town (on a windy day)
And I walked to the mansion, the mansion that all the tourists go to
For a little museum tour (on a windy day)
And I spent three dollars to walk around
I saw the ivory room and I saw the billiards (on a windy day)
I saw the room that all the prime ministers came to,
to eat their dinners with the patriarch (on a windy day)
And I saw the establishment and I saw the parliament (on a windy day)
And I saw the bourgeois and I saw the opulence … set to ashes
My fire poems, my sinking ships
We lay on the river bed, the river bed (on a windy day)
On the fractured moon streets
In the back to back yards
By the school ground`s path
In the half empty garage
We would meet
When your parents went away
When you would borrow their car
We would ride
On the fractured moon streets
We`d lie about where we meet
When we would meet
We`d have eidetic evening
When we would meet
We`d lie about where we`re sleeping
And just sleep
We would sleep
On the fractured moon streets
We`d lie about where we sleep
Sleep
Oh heart and lungs
Your lips and tongue
And bottomless poems that I sink into
Every time I think about you, I think about you all the time
You said you thought you would never hear my voice again
I said I thought it was oh so hard to speak
when we were 3000 kilometers
Away a way away a way
There's blood on the snow
And it's rushing like water
Down, down the crimson falls
And bottomless palms that I sink into
Every time I think about you, I think about you all the time
You said you thought you would never see my face again
And I said I thought it was oh so hard to see you
when we were 3000 kilometers (apart)
Away a way away a way
We use art as a weapon (provinces apart)
We use art as a weapon (providence at heart)
In finite speeds, a worried look
From the old world, from the old world
You’re the hangman
Don’t lay your hands anywhere near here
No static world, no static world
Tip toe through the gallows, a haunted look
Gross symbiosis, gross product
You’re the hangman
Don’t lay your hands anywhere near
No static world, no static world
With the ancient plains of energy
Veins of youth seize glory
The quiet riot of passivity falls on steep ears
Beginning just another day
But so new and resounding
The ensemble of points realize that they are made
So I'm sitting there and this guy comes up to me and he's like,
'I'm going to call you an offer'
And I'm thinking, 'this could be a blessing in disguise'
All over the place there's unnecessary evil
And he says, `it's a necessary evil`
And I'm thinking ... and I say, `no, it's unnecessary evil'
So I'm sitting there and this guy comes up and he's like,
'I'm going to call you social motion'
And I say, 'that cuts like ice'
And he says, 'but it’s something to write home about'
And I can't argue with that, I can't get it out of my mind
It’s something to write home about, it`s something to write home…
Stones thrown make a path
Cause we are disparate
Start all over (make a path)
This guy, he won't leave me alone, he just keeps repeating these phrases over and over again:
'A discount for the wordless...A discount for the imperial'
I don't know what trying to say to me but all I keep saying to myself over and over again is:
'There must be something to write home about`
Over and over and over and over … `there must be something to write...'
Stones thrown make a path
Cause we are disparate
Start all over (make a path)
These ancient ruins are … something to believe in
There`s crumbling limestone reflected in your eyes
When the photographs get old, when the sun turns cold …
Come visit me
These drunken poets are … something to believe in
There`s perfect language infected in your blood
When the bottle gets low, when the flowers won`t grow …
Come visit me
These forbidden fruits are … something to believe in
There`s pathetic fallacy dripping in your lungs
When the shit hits the fan, when you`re Frank comma Anne …
Come visit me
Come visit me, come visit me, come visit me
(c) 2015