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Piano
03:53
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In the string chamber of the piano/ I found letters written in braille/A length of frayed red ribbon/tied to no avail /I hit it with a hammer/ I struck it with my palm/ And in the face of a sea of faces/ I pretend to keep my calm/ The phantom is in the clavichord/ So I stole away to the storm cell/ The tempest asked why do you grizzle so? The duchy said I don't know/ Transmitted on unnoticeable wires/ In a white room where I turn pink/ The beauty of flashing lights/ And my refusal to blink
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2. |
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I dropped and fell across the line/ In shambles—a discarded shrine/ I lay face down in the sediment wishing I could be with my klediments/ I will get out of this. . . alive/ Drawn into villain currents and I had to laugh/ writhing and coiling like a swine in the bath/ when I drew the water, I drew it in red/ I made it all up and then I made the bed/ Beneath a star-lit asterisk/ Under some silver lunar disk/ At times when I feel I'm all alone, I'll think of the things I have overgrown
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3. |
Night Jacket
05:07
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Yes, I'm a green horse/ In the boreal I'm creeping/ Trying hard to keep it down/ While you are sleeping/ I'll stitch a gold lining in your night jacket and play you soft piano tunes/ As we scurry into a darker desert/ Climbing higher and higher on the dunes/ Yes, I'm a fey horse/ Oh, I know, how pagan of me/ Bucking against a memory/ Gracing a breath of Eurydice/ I could be a sea horse/ Or a wheel upon a wagon/ Spinning and spinning and gaining ground/ In flight from the komodo dragon
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4. |
Oh Desire
06:00
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I'm singing like an animal with a sideways 8 above my head/ You're walking naked on beach/ I guess I'd rather stay in bed/ Oh desire. . . desire got me on fire/ You're like a hospital lobby: Sterile—spick and span/ You get it when you want it/ I guess I get it when I can/ And the wreckers on your moors know better than to plunder your shores/ You throw butterfly knifes from your eyes/ As the village runs for their lives.
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5. |
Brilliant Red Berries
03:20
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It's the end of summer/I woke up too late/My feet are cold on a wooden floor/ Rain has smeared the sky grey/ Here the trees turn brown/ There's snow back on the parries/ Growing outside on a holly branch/Are brilliant red berries/I place my hand on the window/ And breath fog on the glass/ And from outside I hear the revving of an engine/ In my head I hear brass/ playing... (Lo and behold: Again I find myself tipping into great waves of melancholy/ But I linger here not/ For, as the days grow short, I will take comfort in knowing that sometimes I sit at my piano and wait for something good to come out of me/)
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6. |
Orca Whale
04:07
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I lift up my youth—give it back to the moon/ While it is waning—Oh, Ulalume/ I'm a killer whale—I fight back the current/ The moon is a satellite—We are congruent/ I am an orca—I am an orca whale. . ./I lift up my youth—with a mouth full of blood/ I pray for the moon—I pray for the flood/I fight back the tears and I fight back the tide/ I fight for survival and the ocean is wide/ I lift up my youth—Oh, Ulalume/ If the ocean is my home—then the sky will be my tomb/ I'm a killer whale and this is my wake/ I'm weary and I'm tired—I am wide awake
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7. |
Death Metal
04:40
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I saw the proletariat on the terrace as I snuck out through the fire escape/ He was lighting up a cigarette/ He was leaning on the balustrade/ And I saw you down by the harbour, staring out at the sea, listening to death metal. . ./ Saw you tessellating your fingers as you waved them in the air/ Your castle was encased in amber, obscuring my view into your lair/ Threatened by your miasma, which pervades the dilettante, I'm gushing from an open wound/ As blood drips down your baroque font
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8. |
Pelts
07:29
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Five pelts hangin' from a flagpole/ One striped, one grey, the others just old/ The gust up there was a nattering tongue/ Threatening to make them all come undone/ I walked sideways down the stairwell/ Found the spider in your navel— who spun webs around my fingers; decapitated my stinger/ I distilled into water/ Formed resin on the auger/ Gripped the hilt of your umbrella/ dug a gape into the cellar/ Five pelts burning on a heap of coal/ An old tin latter wound up in the hole/ strong words spilling from a glass jaw/ I'd like to contend, but I agree with ya
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