1. |
Dialogue
02:36
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It feels like this.
Waking up with a lump in your throat.
Going to bed with a pain in your side.
It feels like this.
There is love, there is love I swear it.
Looking across the street and forgetting the sun shines there;
it feels like this.
Singing at the bus stop in the cold night,
because you can't anywhere else.
Subjugated. Put down. It goes like this.
(There is love)
Wishing one of us would go. Wishing one of us would go.
(There is love, I swear it.)
Wishing that I would suffer an accident.
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2. |
Selfish Heart
05:37
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(...Singing The Dark-Eyed sailor, a song I learned about 1917, and forgotten where... and from whom)
A sandbar grounds your boat
three feet from the shore.
There you are,
hiding under the sail.
You call for me,
but the wind steals your words.
I said;
'Spare me the lies, selfish heart!
Spare me the tears, before they start!
I want to be a different man!
But you never gave the chance to explain that.'
Said;
'Spare me the lies, selfish heart!
Spare me the tears, before they start!
I want to be a different man!
But you never gave the chance to explain that.'
Swallow your guilt.
Said unto me,
'If you loved me, you would not let go,
even as my decaying body rots too much to float.'
I said 'of course,' pouring gasoline on the port.
'Spare me the lies, selfish heart!
Spare me the tears, before they start!
I want to be a different man!
But you never gave the chance to explain that.'
Said, 'I don't want to be that kind of man,
But you never gave me a single chance.'
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3. |
Fragile
04:36
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(Wait, you can talk, cause I mean this isn't official, but - )
Oh, hello,
could you please let me in?
I'm sorry, I didn't know this seat was taken.
I'll go back to my place,
I'll go back, take my place,
I'll go back.
Cause all of my dust-marked equations and notes
have been set in stone.
The hard-faced cross man on the hill
has been left a home.
(Oh, you don't know who I am? Let me try and help you with that. I'm the ill ease that you feel when you walk into a crowded room.)
Fragile.
Why'm I so, why'm I so, why'm I so
fragile?
Oh, hey!
I'm outside the door
and it's started to rain.
I'm soaked to the skin.
I'm not here, but this is happening.
I'm not living, but I'm not killing time -
it's more like the other way around.
So, if you just let me in,
I'll make it to the morning, and see
my city, sterile, bleached in white.
And be there, and take it in,
but fuck the freeways, cause they're
too fast.
I'm alive at three and dead at seven past.
Fragile.
Why'm I so, why'm I so, why'm I so
fragile?
Why'm I still, why'm I still talking? It's pointless.
I can't do this.
It moves too fast.
I can't keep up.
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4. |
Holy, Holy, Holy
04:10
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Michael Lucey:
Now, my friends,
it's raining blood.
Blood sun, blood lightning,
blood thunder, blood snow.
It's come, it's come to wash us clean.
I know, I know, I know, I know.
But who wants to be clean?
Not I, my love. Not I.
Close,crimson clouds, and clear your bloody sky.
Blood comet, pass on by.
Hope Charlotte:
Holy, holy,holy.
As much as the sunrise is holy,
and the earth's life is holy, and
it's water holy,
perhaps the unholiest thing,
even worse than a lack of such things,
is standing among them and feeling them
pass you by like currents.
It's a tired, half-lit smile at a gathering of friends
after not eating for days.
It's seeing someone you adore with tears running
down their face under a clear blue sky, and before
rolling green hills.
It's the moment of hesitation at the train platform
and the balcony.
It's the shaking of the head, the refusal to join the
other boys and girls as they laugh and play.
Sometimes the weather matches -
An overcast sky dully lighting a fist-printed wall.
A grey and grey-lit room silhouetting them
as you fear what they'll do next.
Holy, holy, HOLY.
The second time I visited his house,
a six-inch praying mantis,
strong and brilliant green,
was beside his pool.
The biggest one I have ever seen -
other boys had them too, but not all.
I trusted the mantis was too big
to fall into the filter and drown
like so many bees and beetles had.
I was wrong, I was wrong, I made a mistake,
I was wrong, I was wrong.
Why are you listening to me?
Why do you listen to me because my voice is low?
I know plenty of idiots whose voices carry too far.
Further than mine ever will.
No more virgin births, and no more immaculate preconceptions.
No more virgin births, and no more immaculate preconceptions.
Only guilt.
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5. |
Sunday's Cool
07:40
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You don't know how hard it is
to feel
how you made me feel for all these years.
You said, 'come over,' I said,
'sure, Sunday's cool.'
You said, 'are you kidding me?
come now you fool!'
Rip it up,
burn it down,
dust to dust in the ground.
Yeah, I don't need to change.
It's you that's wrong.
Growth is healthy,
but cancer is not.
Rip it up, burn it down,
dust to dust in the ground.
Burnt in disarray,
obey your bible.
Finally, I can see
that you're not meant for me.
Why should I feel anxious?
Why should I fear the dark?
Why should I fear a lover's touch?
Why should I fear my own hand?
The Sunday's cool breeze is on my face, I am at rest.
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6. |
Vines
04:54
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The door cracks just in time
with my stress-addled mouth.
You ask me;
'Why are you awake?
It's two a.m. - hey, what's the problem?'
'Oh, I was just having some dreams.
In those dreams, the world was barren.
Barren and cold.'
All these business owners
and entrepeneurs
making their way.
Making good money.
Watching their faces as their
buildings fall down.
Why did you think it wouldn't
happen to you?
So please hold me
in the broken bracken doorway,
even as our veins dry out
and our bones are scattered to the wind.
If you want to find me, look for me
in the vines.
Look for me in the vines.
Kill the mother, make the children suffer.
Do you want to play a game called denial?
If you want me you can find me in the vines.
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7. |
Frost
04:06
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Narrator: It is a warm summer day, and an old man, wizened and wrinkly-eyed but sturdy, walks down a leaf-strewn path and sits on a bench.
He checks his watch, exhales, and then settles.
Across from the path is a gently flowing river, and upon that river is a young crane, separated from his family. The crane approaches the man, his legs dripping water.
Crane: Excuse me sir, can you help me?
Narrator: The man does not respond. In fact, he turns his head, ever so slightly, and watches as a great white dog, shaggy and muscular, approaches the bench. The dog sniffs the old man briefly before climbing into his lap. The old man sighs wordlessly, and holds the dog like a child, sinking into its fur. He stops moving.
Crane: Sir?
Narrator: The crane asks. The man does not respond.
(It's too late)
And, so, too anxious to leave, too scared to back into the water where there might be predators, too afraid it'll hurt or be hurt, he waits. And waits. Rooted to the spot.
(You wanna make it right, but it's too late.
You feel the only way is down.)
Crane: Will you talk to me now?
(Is down. Is down.)
Narrator: He asks, as summer turns to autumn. The man on the bench withers away.
Crane: Please sir, I'm all alone. Can you help me?
Narrator: Autumn turns into winter, and the rain freezes in the crane's feathers, and in his joints, and he is frozen to the spot. Shivering, he watches as the old dog finally saunters away. The old man is barely more than a skeleton now.
Crane: Why do we have to die, sir? Why do we have to suffer?
Hope Charlotte:
It's been almost exactly a year and a month,
and it still doesn't feel real.
God, I thought that you could have been hit by a train
and survived.
Such a clever, kind, strong, young man.
I was so jealous of you just months before you died.
I'm glad to say to your memory that that faded before the last days.
I just wanted you to be okay.
She held the blanket, as she held before -
to care, or to strangle, I don't know, though I often think on it.
But there was no blanket that could have caught your fall;
grey, or blue, or orange.
You didn't have to die, and I don't know if you did.
Four years ago, I would have happily taken your place,
but now I'm sad, and I'm here, and I'm standing in the place
that you've left, untied.
You deserved more peace than you were ever willing to give yourself.
You deserve more peace than you are ever willing to give yourself.
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8. |
Spiders
05:50
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Have I left the keys in my car?
Does it even matter anymore?
All my life's work gone in vain.
Does it even matter anymore?
When it came down to it, it
didn't matter what I wanted or
what I needed, if what you
wanted or needed was different.
Because, in the end, it didn't matter
what I wanted to do, or whatever I felt,
you always turned it into something
that was against you, that was wrong with me,
and I was never in the right, and I always
felt guilty, every single time.
Wrong with me.
Wrong with me.
Spiders, they come for me.
They kiss me.
They bring me flowers.
And all these good men have gone away.
Send me out, I'd love to meet you.
How can I live in such decay?
Living for a better day.
????????
Spiders.
Have I left the keys in my car?
Does It even matter anymore?
Will you still be there when I wake up in the morning?
Will she still be there when I'm trying to sleep?
Will he still be there in my dreams?
I just want some peace, for God's sake.
I think it's coming, I'm just praying it's soon.
Please.
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9. |
Love, I Swear It
09:34
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Some people never change,
but, I'm afraid,
such people can only be found
buried in caskets underground.
We don't call anymore.
Swept it under the rug
and out the door.
I regret nothing,
cause there is love, I swear it.
I navigate this borderline,
wondering if after you'd be mine.
And, in the occurrence of that,
I would be satisfied, and nullified.
Lost in the grey.
That shape stands in my doorway again.
(You're a person - you're not a machine.
Machines just do the same thing over,
and over, and over again.
When you're a person, you can grow,
and change, and feel.)
I regret everything.
There is love I swear it.
There is love I swear it.
There is love.
(All these days.)
There is love.
The grizzly bears in the far-above footage
on the nature documentary look tiny against
the vast sheet of snow.
Outside, the sky is grey, but the trees are green,
and the wind sighs in acceptance of this; this
melancholia, this ache.
How I long to feel that summer I felt as a child,
that ease of living.
To hold his warm hand, just as I did so few days ago.
There is love, I swear it, even when it feels like this.
(Ethan: *laughter*
Timothy: What
Ethan: Nothing.
Timothy: You alright?
Ethan: Yeah - yeah I'm fine. We'll restart that, cause...
Timothy: Okay.)
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Rosehall Perth, Australia
Rosehall is an experimental folk pop band from Perth, Western Australia.
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