1. |
Introduction
01:21
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2. |
Language of the Birds
03:01
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Staring at my phone,
getting sunburned in the street alone.
Well, my skin is peeling,
but I cannot feel it.
Has anybody been
doing good in the Anthropocene?
Stuck where the feed ends,
buried in weekends.
Must feel good to be alive when
it’s not that hard to be alive.
And all I can do is clean blood out of the carpet
as we try to wait
and try to get, somehow,
something that’s ours.
After all this time, we think
it's enough to be angry.
And yeah, we still buy it
cause privilege is quiet.
Bedridden, I'm trying
but getting weaker all the time.
Sick with a mission
of coward's attrition.
Yeah, it's good to be so goddamn
comfortable all the time
while we're all trying to clean blood out of the carpet;
Didn't you say to always leave a place
cleaner than you
found it?
You're deaf to the sound of every beak,
filling up on carrion,
while we're wading through a sea
of government teeth.
But I know
that time spent trying to learn the words
of all these ancient melodies
is not spent deafened by the death of language anymore;
I'd like to believe
while we're trying hard to grieve all the
accumulating dead bodies,
we're singing along.
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3. |
Untitled
02:02
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Whistling
into the bitter cold,
ungodly hour,
struck from the blackest coal.
But here in the light,
it's all so clear:
"I'm not dead anymore,
and in fact I never was."
Open eyes adjust to the light of day,
or it's standing dumb in blinding white,
and I don't wanna live that way.
You cry aloud and shield your eyes from the sun,
saying "If we don't understand, it's better to run!"
I'm a lot like you, it's just that I know I
could never really understand enough to know
just what it's like to be you.
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4. |
Cemetery
02:33
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Time to go,
but the fear remains.
Standing still,
I start to think I’m better off this way.
Feel like I’m just barely here,
and I’m afraid I’ll disappear.
I’m held to the grave by my very own blade;
defiant, dared into the cemetery
where I’ll die of fright,
just too terrified to turn around and see…
Calling out between the rooms;
I died for something,
but I've forgotten
lying lazy in the tomb.
When did I get so afraid?
Seems like yesterday I was okay.
I’m held to the grave by my very own blade;
defiant, dared into the cemetery
where I'll die of fright,
just too terrified to turn around and…
see something through to the end.
I've been tired for fifteen years.
Spent too much time in bed;
I'm still trying to fix my head.
And although brain-dead,
I’ll get there.
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5. |
Interlude 1
01:00
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6. |
Watchmakers
02:37
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I am aligned
with long dead stars
whose light’s still alive
and moving-
well, nevermind. It’s a tired analogy anyway,
and I’m tiring out.
But still, I wonder what will come.
Through the white mist is
a cold stone hand, lifted from the sea, bigger than we are.
Watching from a distance, we appear to be
shrinking and sinking into the dawn.
Bundled forms huddled but getting stronger.
Our hands together, side by side, lost in morning light.
God’s cold hand, severed, carried off into the hazy sky.
“If I shouted, who would hear
among choirs of angels?”
“I will.”
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7. |
Interlude 2
01:46
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8. |
Sidereal Time
03:04
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The process survives,
buried deep underground,
slowly now,
slowly now,
slowly now,
slow.
Standing inside
the mouth of the earth, I ask,
slowly now,
slowly now,
slowly now,
slowly now:
“Will you right my wrongs?
What will be left of all our crimes
when we disappear?”
Very little, probably;
traces of sedimentary evidence?
My mother’s voice carried along
through the caverns, she’s
calling out,
calling out.
Will I survive,
buried deep underground?
Softly now,
Softly now,
Softly I say:
“Will you right my wrongs?
What will be left of all our crimes
when we disappear?”
Very little, probably;
traces of sedimentary evidence?
I think I’m gonna try anyway,
and crawl down, deep into the stone,
where it’s so close to home.
Lie and wait for everything
to quiet down,
and try to recall the melody
she used to sing me to sleep.
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9. |
The New Flesh
02:35
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Every day, when I wake up
I feel I've got some new condition,
and maybe I do;
body rejecting all the
goddamned stupid cancerous self-interest
in ever-increasingly horrible ways.
What have I done?
Hell, I’m only immune to
revelations and changes of heart;
as the flesh writhes and withers away,
I cover it with new clothes.
Awake in candlelight, grasping with new hands
but not sure how they work.
Into the mirror: “I ought to be thy...someone.”
I curse myself or some old wretch I don’t even know.
But here, he’s staring back at me; when he moves, I do too.
“The feel of fire on the rock,
how it grows;
oh aponia!
The rot comes later,
so why worry now?”
I’d love to get away for a few days, maybe more.
Out on the water, blown and breaking on the shore.
Wait, what’s that sound?
“Come down, just a bit further under the plough.”
“Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”
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10. |
Interlude 3
01:53
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11. |
Gog and Magog
01:43
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Hail Lucifer,
vulgar and umbilical!
I’m half-trying to shake it off,
but I know that I can't fight it.
I sold my soul,
but it’s not my fault;
I’m just a fool in love
with poisoning my own supply.
“Time without a taste: time without decisions.”
Lately, I’ve been thinking, “I wonder what will come,”
And now I know.
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12. |
Sunday Blues
02:58
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Concrete cracks, emerging weeds,
I look down and see the shadow of an early tree.
Through the soft New Orleans heat,
I can hear your voice is buzzing like a streetlight:
"Look for me in every shadow that you see."
But all I say is "Goodnight."
Suddenly seized, I breathe but our common air is wasted in my lungs;
And all I say is "Goodnight." Yeah, goodnight.
To the trees:
"Please don't go, I need your canopy and
I'm not sure where I'm going but will you cover me anyhow?
I am wasting all my time
building immunities.
Yeah, I'm just wasting all my time.
My body is stiffening, creaking, and getting weak while I'm still trying to get back home."
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Elephant Noose Los Angeles, California
Hell, it’s not so bad!
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