1. |
Glacial Blue
03:01
|
|
||
Glacier within melts glacier without.
Arctic curtain descends, and there's a mental whiteout.
Comforted by sweet crystal codes,
when I still dream in real alpenglow.
I push and pull everything away,
and desecrate clear water with those who stay.
But from the old, from the hold,
I know I'm going to escape glacial blue.
I'm going to rise past the antitwilight arch,
past polar dark, into the center sun blue.
|
||||
2. |
The More It Shows
01:19
|
|
||
When you get good time,
when you get the clearest sign,
tread light, narrow sight.
When you get the line on the latest way to hide,
the more you cover the more it shows.
You're undefined.
The past and present are intertwined.
Day fright, cold head, tread light, narrow.
When you get the line on the latest way to hide,
the more you cover the more it shows.
|
||||
3. |
Your Wall
02:13
|
|
||
Are you impressed? Are you in awe?
If not, what's the point?
Your old fire babes on cold numbered streets,
youth's heat choirs don't come with us,
so you won't have me on your wall.
Crease of map. Ink on form.
They're all got up and gone.
But their flares still arc on your watertop.
It's a shame I'm not here to stay,
because you won't have me on your wall.
|
||||
4. |
|
|||
Started way back, trains grieving down tracks a nocturne.
Call it a feeling, a stirring in the kid's head.
Something's off, something's wrong.
Blue ceiling, if I stop laughing the walls will fall,
and darkness break from the trees.
When the light starts changing,
and all the shadows leave this vestibule,
I'll be staying for forever,
and I'm the only one who doesn't know.
It's too late, I've gone through the gate, I had no banner,
hanging high in the graveyard after school.
It's starting to hail, it's starting to snow.
Foul weather, please wash away illusion and vanity.
When the light starts changing,
and all the shadows leave this vestibule,
I'll be staying for forever,
and I'm the only one who--
All the other circles led to this final circle.
You put my vapor bust up in the hall of bad jokes,
and I'm the only one who doesn't know.
All the ends come colliding with their fiery beginnings.
Can't see and caught between, the only one who will not leave.
|
||||
5. |
Down The Lighted Strip
02:10
|
|
||
Grey palings. Fluorescent halls and neon eyes. Racing engines reverberating all the way to the cramped thin houses in the glare at the end of the road, that slender bruise. Moving circulars in abandoned lots, in the gash between blownout dept. stores. Buildings with no name. Electric humming below night jets. A rash of signs and language. Headache cornucopia all-night constant repair. Violent mechanical trembling. Night crews awake. Deals everywhere in broken words and I'm not on digital time. The color of every product. Wires divide the sky, rainbow galaxies born in slick black chasms. More trash. Never has inanition had such a voice. Paper money tossed in small winds. Family packs of beer. Hungry math and vacuums. Cough syrup waking dreams amid burning stations.
|
||||
6. |
Erase
03:26
|
|
||
Red cross. Looming pinebox.
Don't wait.
Xs on southern homes.
Debt plague. Dead zones.
Young rage.
The sick are the strong.
Desire-cinders that won't go out.
Erase.
Stuck in helices on finite timepiece.
Hold it.
You're numb again,
using fingers to count friends.
Don't miss.
Unclaimed and undone,
unmade and ever-stunned.
Toil in dreamsweat.
Erase.
|
||||
7. |
No Wait No
02:27
|
|
||
Take these thoughts from my head.
The sirens are coming, my notions are dead.
Curved earth finds its worth: failed-poultice circle.
Love lost in coin toss, frost sheet on my bed.
No wait no. I was born in half.
Take these thoughts from my head.
The hearses are coming, my symbols are dead.
Faces in the sun are laughing it up.
I'm love-filled and love-starved, betting on luck.
No wait no. I was born in half.
Will I come back? I don't wanna come back unless I'm whole.
The words that we can't find are the words we'll never have.
I can't see past my mind, and your mind's in the past.
|
||||
8. |
Leaning Home
03:20
|
|
||
The calling card of that highway star
was a pretty thing that never went far.
The down times were a nursery rhyme.
My father sold the dead new clothes.
A sleight-of-hand, a confidence man,
with ears in the wind and eyes that count.
Cable light on a golden hour street.
My father sold a loser's mold.
Bottles slide in a suitcase life.
Antenna rooves and his father's father's knife.
My mother was an oil painting blur.
My father sold a leaning home.
He used to enchant and talk to butterflies.
He left me with a horrible love inside--
the Viet Minh will be back again--
and I want to blame him for everything.
|
||||
9. |
All Tenses All Time
02:57
|
|
||
*much hand waving*
Goodbye culture! So long, circumstantial mind!
I belong to all tenses and all time.
Fucked since birth. Deranged forms on a power trip.
Kindly punt me into the chasm infinite.
The body is a lie, dust in the hidden eye.
Is it too late to find all tenses and all time?
|
||||
10. |
Island Of Broad Streets
02:05
|
|
||
The bridge and lights are out.
The nameless are smoking and driving around.
I've got my AM mind tuned
to all the vicious things they're planning to do.
But this is my time.
Mine are the hands that hold the night.
I've been waiting since I was young.
This glowing room is the world,
and it's finally bleeding out the window.
This is my time.
Mine are the hands that shape the light.
My reason's across the country in another's embrace.
I've got no path to claim, too many plans weren't made.
Now I'm on this island of broad streets,
the people here think I'm weak.
Well that's nothing new, but they don't know,
I'm no longer asleep.
|
||||
11. |
I'm Not Concerned
03:57
|
|
||
I'm not concerned when you don't turn.
Happened before and it could happen over and again.
I've learned to take my grains of salt.
Lens vaseline, big deals, and sour spoils in hazy microschemes.
You've got your name, I've got my games.
I'm not concerned when you don't turn.
Fields burn in a train window.
Hey let's hope this is a one-time linear gag.
Rock moves slow. We get comfy, fuck around, and go.
You have your neat mess, I've got my vision I guess.
|
If you like Even Hand, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp