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Where the Moon Meets the Lake

by Cam Girard

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1.
1 // Any Good Crook At the turn of the 18th century I was homeless and hungry, when I stumbled wearily onto the manor’s date palm tree grove Now my Momma said “be the better man, don’t you ever lie or steal” Oh Momma I’m doing the best I can, but the want in me oh it’s just too real, and so I’ll eat my fill And I’ll stop biting my nails, when you stop grinding your teeth when you sleep They gave me the choice when I was caught there glutted in the shade “Either serve this manor forever or take those iron shackles you’re wearing to your grave” Lord my choice was made And I’ll stop biting my nails, when you stop grinding your... Now It’s been 15 years since my last free meal and I’ve been worked over like a sweatshop table, Only knowing dearth and labor and the awful sound of those well fed hounds, passing down their scraps that Lady Jane would feed to me, Lady Jane would feed to me But my calloused hands too numb to bend, could no longer grasp And I won’t mask fact that I ain’t no saint, though neither is Lady Jane Like a short man knows who he’s taller than, any good crook can see the hooked teeth of a demon With my last ounce of strength and her back turned, I took my shovel from the earth, and I laid that spade between her shoulder blades Oh my Momma said, “be the better man, don’t you ever harm or kill” Oh Momma I’m doing the best I can but the want in me oh it won’t be still, and so I’ll eat my fill And I’ll stop biting my nails, when you stop grinding your teeth when you sleep And I’ll stop biting my nails, when you stop grinding your teeth when you sleep
2.
Dying Dreams 03:39
2 // Dying Dreams Like an old abandoned Ford factory you sit cold and empty save for the chill, still lingering, from those dying dreams Oh a single feeble fist, tightly gripped, underneath the table, does not resist, when you insist to bitch fits about your sister Aren’t we just a little bitter? Talking shit when you’re not with her, jacking off like a ticked off teenager. Oh yes I confess you are quite fine, not unlike the bite of an old white french wine, but you get passed around like cinnamon schnapps at a high school prom, getting sipped by tipsy chicks and jockey kids in their well kept kakis, Their legs and lips getting tangled like bangles Like an old abandoned Ford factory you sit cold and empty save for the chill, still lingering, from those dying dreams On my second night in Brooklyn, I got caught on Coney Island at 3 am looking for something besides this dimly lit science fiction, when I saw two thin Russian women, walking and I followed them down to the ocean, they were toastin, Their empty plastic glasses clicked in time with their timid kiss Like an old abandoned Ford factory you sit cold and empty save for the chill still lingering, from those dying dreams
3.
Holland 04:35
3 // Holland The sweat stains on my shirt show that I was unable to rehearse that last verse, But don’t worry i’ll get cleaned up, yeah, right before the next set and I won’t forget Will we look back and laugh at all the things we thought we had? Gleaning what we could, surviving out of the back of a van Getting by on wine and love and cigarettes and other stimulants Or will it go down as just another phase, those youthful, self-destructive days I'll admit the stars that we knew then were clearer and brighter than they’ve ever been I don’t speak much Dutch, but what I know I can teach to you Cause’ though you are not by me now, if you are free next year, I hear Holland is beautiful in the spring Now seeing is believing as far as I can tell, and reason ain’t treason if you document it well, With very little variation my position on tradition hasn’t changed, it’s merely remained the same thing The fake hate that they regurgitate can’t compare to the fair air of a sunset on a clear day I don’t speak much Dutch, but what I know I can teach to you Cause’ though you are not by me now, if you are free next year, I hear Holland is beautiful in the spring I hear Holland is beautiful in the spring. It will be beautiful, just wait and see Don’t wait, Don’t wait up for me
4.
4 // ‘59 Fleetwood She’s got the broad hood of a ‘59 Fleetwood And the graceful back, of that Cadillac Tattooed with 7 Geese, Forming an even “V” Telling her to share the head wind Telling her to share that head wind Yeah, I know my teeth don’t show when I smile My mug gapes wide just like a young child But that doesn’t mean that I don’t bite If you jest with me now I just might Fight back like a black Nebraskan, Taking smack from a backwards person Wracked with the false illusion that If you act brash you ask for a bruisin Now my weapon ain’t on my gums, it’s off my tongue. I lack that gnash since I’m armed to the teeth With malign lines of sonic torque So I’ll never misalign this orthodontic work. So be careful, I’m far from toothless, I’ve got a mouthful and I’ll bite with this mic and be ruthless With a vituperative verse, I’ll do more hurt than these perfectly set symmetric incisors It feels like I’m falling, but I won’t let go, of the voice that is calming the vertigo, vertigo She’s got the broad hood of a ‘59 Fleetwood And the graceful back, of that Cadillac Tattooed with 7 Geese, Forming an even “V” Telling her to share the head wind Telling her to share that head wind I don’t mess around with no pronouns, Tony, would you rather it be Father Anthony Where I worked for your queer church (and not queer in the weird way) Your prejudice, it is fantastic: In the evolved Midwest, confessed by a gay Catholic You’re as rare a Chinese Yooper, just as cold with your racial humor It feels like I’m falling, but I won’t let go, of the voice that is calming the vertigo, vertigo She’s got the broad hood of a ‘59 Fleetwood And the graceful back, of that Cadillac Tattooed with 7 Geese, Forming an even “V” Telling her, share that head wind
5.
Treading 03:14
5 // Treading Can I have your attention please I was wondering if you’d ever speak again You’re preoccupied I know, I say I’m busy, at least I act so to keep from seeming like the fool, that’s treading water after you Now waking up is easy but staying up, with the memory that used to warm my heart, is now tearing it apart, is now tearing it apart And like a cactus blooming in the southwest, there you are Like a father stumbling in through the doorway, here I am Like the poor metaphor that I am, here I stand Like the excuse of a man that I am I will stomp my feet and shout Break this bourbon bottle to the ground and call your name as I walk out but you won’t hear a sound, not a sound
6.
Pencil 05:32
6 // Pencil There’s a secret deep down inside me, unbeknownst to me I do keep it. Beneath my ribs, no darker than a number two pencil, meticulously stenciled there is a curse To keep it hid, to keep it deep Down in a well where no light can reach Cause it’s so far down I doubt if you could see it now, Unless you threw in a brick to see what it is by the sound And I ain’t lyin girl, if I was trying to I know you’d see right through me, you’d see right through So I’ll scream, out to the audience, What I wouldn’t dare whisper, to myself, So I might enlist your help, If I need it, But for now I am content with wading here, let it seep in Cause’ it’s so far down, I doubt if you could see me now, unless you threw in a brick, and if you threw in a brick to see who it is, I might drown For I am where the moon meets the lake, and where the lake meets the sun. To be fair Lord, I am gone, Lord I am gone\ I’m acutely attracted to chicks with thick rimmed glasses, lord their gorgeous voices curse “shit, pick my choices boy. I’ve got the resolve of a pack of aging dogs, fighting toothless, over a scrap in the yard”. But I am stuck where I am, like a boulder in the sand, like a bible in the hand of a dying pious man, praying destiny come to me please i need this release quickly
7.
Posiedon 05:08
7 // Poseidon On the coast of Michigan, the conifers they are confiding with each other, as they break into partners, and dance in the wind to the lakeside mandolins Your white waitress outfit is blowing in the breeze, wildly, juxtaposed to the evergreens. You don’t have the voice to be a starlet on the stage, but you’ve got wonderfully white teeth for a smoker of your age And like a bouquet of orchids on a grave, we were meant to lie here until the undertaker takes us away; and I’m gonna stay here with you my love until that day Athena would die to have eyes like yours, and I’m certain that Poseidon would flood these shores if there was just a chance that you might dine with him, so he could bask in your radiance So, when you say “Boy I’m not your type, I’m a local car commercial, I’m tacky and trite” I won’t be listening, not to your self-defacing words, now you might as well be teaching Sartre to salmon, girl, cause’ you’re a goddess to me, and that’s all I will ever see And like a bouquet of orchids on a grave, we were meant to lie here until the undertaker takes us away; and I’m gonna stay here with you my love until that day I want stay here with you my love until that day
8.
Blessed 04:48
8 // Blessed Upon my porch I pine for your headlights, to stretch our silhouettes across the drive and Illuminate our embrace The shifting mist, it licks your summer dress, White beads like molten glass crowning your head Love, let your laundry dry and come inside and we’ll make a night of it, I will pour the wine and turn the lights down But go I must, forever trust the gods above, That at your touch ends wanderlust I’ll never want for anyone else My bell, oh I am blessed My morning glory gloating at the dawn, a lock across your back beckons the sun, Sprawled out like a lioness, whose lying with the luckiest, If the day dares to trouble you, I will draw the blinds to shield your sensitive eyes But go I must, forever trust the gods above, That at your touch ends wanderlust But go I must, forever trust the gods above, That at your touch ends wanderlust I’ll never want for anyone else My bell, oh I am blessed

about

A more experienced man once told me that the most important
element of music is its emotional impact. This album has a mélange of styles and sentiments. Within this grab-bag, I hope you find a song or two that hits you.

With boundless entertainment at your fingertips, it’s a tremendous honor that you’d spend time with our record, thank you.

~ Cam Girard

credits

released March 7, 2016

CREDITS

Vocals:
Cam Girard
Kari Elder (Tracks 2, 3, 4)
Lottie Prenevost (4, 7, 8)
Callie Rowe (4, 6)

Guitars: Cam Girard & Dan Martinson

Bass/Moog/Nord: Dan Martinson

Drums and Percussion: Alex Knerem

Keyboards: Vinny Newton

Euphonium: Mark Killanowski

Words and Music: Cam Girard

Recorded and Engineered: Joey Pasternak - JSR Studios (Columbus, OH) June - December 2015

Recorded, Edited and Produced: Cam Girard & Dan Martinson - Martinson Studios (Columbus, OH) June - July 2015

Mastered: Nick Lane (Nashville, TN) February 2016

Artwork and Graphics: Jared Gentz

Copyright © 2016 Cam Girard

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Cam Girard Richmond, Virginia

Cam is an eclectic singer songwriter. The Mid-West raised him, but now he calls RVA home. Listen, enjoy and share!

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