1. |
The Knave
03:31
|
|||
|
He's not very far from the castle gates or the guillotine. Beds with the whores but they never get paid he just sleeps there at night.
If he speaks out of place they'll carve his tongue out with a shiny blade
no one around the castle these days has any respect for the knave. All on his own and three feet tall.
Blacksmith's son born on the southern coast had to learn to survive. Caught the eye of a lord, entertaining the knights, it was the hand of the king that brought him in from the cold. Juggles fire, sings for king and court and all the while his family deserted on the other side.
If he speaks out of place they'll carve his tongue out with a shiny blade. No one around the castle these days has any respect for the knave. All on his own and three feet tall.
Some will harbor sympathy for a maiden in an ivory tower but I will always side with a fool before a knight. All on his own. All his own.
In the horrible sun, the hounds on the hill, the drop of a blade.
|
||||
2. |
Ducks In A Row
04:03
|
|||
|
Can't go where you've gone before. Running around soaked in sweat. Every harbor anchors a boat. You can lose a lot of peace stowing away on the wrong ship
Listen up for what she says, listen up for what he says but I can't live my life singing someone else's song. Another routine, another dead dream, another part of your scene.
Why can't you listen? Why can't you follow along? Act the same. You're no different. Records go where the clothes are sold, and the silence in the car? The numbers won't tell you what you are. As you pretend you're young. As your hair turns grey.
and I can't live my life singing someone else's song. Another routine, another dead dream, another part of your scene.
Leading me on.
Leading me on.....
Your ducks in a row. Your ducks in a row and I cannot compete with you.
Your ducks in a row and I'm back to work pouring drinks for the drunk.
Another routine, another dead dream, another part of your scene.
|
||||
3. |
Highway Prayer
04:11
|
|||
|
Run as fast you can.
Fly as far you should.
Dream of the road just out of sight.
Drink till the well has run dry.
You in my heart. You in my soul. You in my bed. You in my clothes.
Sing till every song has been sung.
Write till every war has been won.
Love till you leave what's left behind.
Cry till you find peace of mind.
You in my heart. You in my soul. You in my bed. you in my clothes.
Burn till every fire burns bright.
Sleep till the light catches your eye.
Fear till there's nothing left to hide.
Drive down the highway line.
Drive down the highway line...
|
||||
4. |
Sean
04:35
|
|||
|
Dead eyes staring back at me, a hollow shell without a soul. Don't think I can take it, I'm beyond repair. Still another day comes, still nowhere to run. If you were here you would say keep your head, up you'll be ok. So I sleep in as long as the sun will let me, the poetry is gone, there's no sense behind the songs.
Miss you in the morning. Miss you in the evening. Miss you in my heart. Death in a major key.
Tired hipsters, rich kids in new cars, on the sidewalks in and out of the bars. Shouting at you while another bag drains dry. No sentiment, no letter writ, no prayers offered when you're living sick. Everyone stays away. Saving up their sadness. The poetry is gone. There's no sense
behind the songs.
Miss you in the morning. Miss you in the evening. Miss you in my heart. Death in a major key.
All those damaged invisible rings, cells multiplying under microscopes. Light shines in your living room, stars on the river so bright. All those damaged invisible rings. Cells multiplying under microscopes.
And I'm sinking. I'm sinking too.
|
||||
5. |
Born To Ride
04:57
|
|||
|
Climbing up Box Hill I wish I was. With my teammates by my side and the eyes of a country on us. Dodging the dogs. On our way down to Hampton Court.
And every morning at first light I'd hug the kids and kiss the wife goodbye. It's not easy a sportsmen's life but it's better than being stuck here in this ward. Stuffy old people. Telling me where and when I can go.
My mum always said I was born to ride. I would sit on the handlebars of my father's bike and we would spin down to the river Thames.
Summers on the banks so fine to Brighton on the railway. The palace pier and the clock tower, the Royal Pavilion live on in my mind now. I was a man with the keys to a car and a home.
But once committed it's so hard to get out. Hare's test brought a perfect score so now I live behind locked doors and watch the riders on the tube.
Bradley Wiggins, Froome and "The Missile from The Isle Of Man." The painted cars of the caravan, the cameramen on the motor bikes on the BBC every TV on the wall of every patient's room.
But all the letters I sent returned by the Royal Mail. I guess it's hard to find the time to read with your head down and your heart in your mouth and still so many miles left to go.
Doctors coming in the room now to show me some pictures of some squares. White coats taking so many years now trying to find out why I just can't care. Currents in my brain, Ativan drip swimming through the ocean in my veins and slowly my heart beats out of time. Pumping my blood out like old wine. Beautiful lights begin to shine.
My mum always said I was born to ride and we would spin down to the river Thames.
|
||||
6. |
And Then Nothing
04:14
|
|||
|
Don't take me to the grocery store don't wanna eat that shit anymore. Yes I'll die someday but it won't be that way. The crazy quiet has abandoned me. That leaves no one but a shady tree. I'll rest my head underneath her falling seeds.
Round in circles is not A to B, I don't need to move to find what I want to see
and wall to wall, up from the grass, across the water, a bridge that offers me sleep.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
I would trade in sex I would trade in food, trade in my drugs but I won't trade me for you. Out in the sun you move the earth around, here indoors I stay underground with a pen and strings and my mind to store what I have found.
Round in circles is not A to B. I don't need to run or fight for something I don't believe
and wall to wall, up from the grass, across the water a bridge that offers me sleep.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
Oh it's not the largest of lives (it's so very small)
Still someday the circus will leave town or else I'll rip the tent up from the posts and wall to wall, up from the grass, across the water a bridge that offers me sleep
And then nothing
And then nothing
In the city there's no money for school but another hospital will always be built you will find a place to die if you can't pay to survive. My fathers left the wife abandoned me that leaves no one but a shady tree I'll rest my head underneath her falling seeds and wall too wall, up from the grass, across the water a bridge that offers me sleep.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
|
||||
7. |
We Grow Old
04:26
|
|||
|
All maps point the same place in the cold, cold light but I still keep my eyes on the road, take my place at the back of the line. Maybe I care too much. Maybe I don't care enough. Maybe it's not that complex I just came at the wrong time.
I painted every wall the same. I hammered every nail. Scrubbed every window clean but you won't give me your name. Another memory filed away on my hard drive.
And it just amazes me how far we'll go to get outside ourselves. Another fantasy, one more clue add it to the proof that you can't be pleased.
So I move and I move and I move....and I move again.
I've been moving all my life. It takes the pain away.
Another summer is calling. I put the gas in my car and if the sun is shining another city is not very far.
And we grow old, old enough to laugh it off.
(and if you wanted to be here yeah I know you could. Don't act like there's something I've misunderstood.)
And we grow old, old enough to laugh it off.
And we grow old.
|
||||
8. |
Hometown Trash
03:01
|
|||
|
Hometown trash take it out, empty all of your pockets. Old conceits, tickets paid. Papers say forget it all tomorrow. Don't be afraid. No one cares anyway. Still they'll spend every day up and down the digital feed. Yeah they'll push and they'll shove.
Hometown trash take it out. Empty all of your pockets. Anthems shout celebrate the self but what could be more pious than those ghosts? Haunting me up and down the feed, tracing the old designs, pictures of the ex. Wonder how they'll cope? Yeah they'll push and they'll shove.
Up and down the feed yeah they'll push and they'll shove.
Hometown trash take it out, empty all of your pockets. Looking out, looking out. Round and round and round we go in the wash. Everyone gets soaked, hung out on the line. Up and down the digital feed. Yeah we'll push and we'll shove.
We will push and we'll shove.
|
||||
9. |
Oregon To Washington
04:25
|
|||
|
Don't answer any calls, park the cars out on the lot. Closets full of moths, cats on the lurk.
Stand still long enough and maybe you will find yourself.
Calm down,calm down you don't have to fight.
Toothless and blind. A squirrel with a nut. A bird with it's food.
Stand still long enough and maybe you will find yourself
Calm down, calm down you don't have to fight
Walden of Thoreau, gardens of Hendricks park. Can your heart be wrong? Can you let them in tonight?
Now the cities are asleep and the highways come alive and the canals on the sound outside the window's melting ice.
Calm down, calm down you don't have to fight.
You don't have to fight.
|
||||
10. |
A Map Of The Stars
03:03
|
|||
|
Paper turning yellow, tearing at the seams, stuffed into boxes, buried under leaves. The morning malaise and our hands are so tired we'll go back inside and tie another knot into the tie I don't want to leave.
But Saturday morning won't come.
I followed you down all the way to a stream where you gave me your hand told me it was all just a dream, still I followed your course with a map of the stars and when I got to the end you had me start it over again.
But Saturday morning won't come.
I'm walking on my own.
On my own.
|
||||
Sherman Baker recommends:
Pain is Beauty
by CHELSEA WOLFE
It's beautiful and different and goth in the best ways.
go to albumIf you like Sherman Baker, you may also like:
The Convincer (20th Anniversary Edition)
by Nick Lowe
Released in 2001, “The Convincer” is a gentle gem in the Nick Lowe catalog; an anniversary edition provides opportunity for rediscovery.
go to album
The Woman You Want
by Eliza Shaddad
Haddad returns with cinematic soundscapes that include introspective folk, post-grunge, and indie-pop influences.
go to album
That Bridge Washed Away In The Storm (EP)
by Lowpines
Avi Buffalo had a hand in producing this cassette of Lowpines' serene, self-described "Lo-fi-Anglo-Americana pop songs."
go to album
The Ohio songwriter navigates gender, queerness, class, and privilege through a powerful mix of country rock, folk ballads, and bluegrass.
go to album
Thin Lear's sophisticated rock music is tempered with soaring chamber pop accents and an undeniable gift for melody.
go to album
