1. |
Any Good Crook
05:27
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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
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2. |
Dying Dreams
03:39
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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
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3. |
Holland
04:35
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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
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4. |
'59 Fleetwood
04:51
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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
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5. |
Treading
03:14
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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
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6. |
Pencil
05:32
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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
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7. |
Posiedon
05:08
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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
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8. |
Blessed
04:48
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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
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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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