1. |
A Song for the Dead
05:36
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There's no meat, no greens, no milk, no bread, I'm singing you the song of the dead
No butter, no oil, no fat, no grease, the pans are dry, the pans are dry
There's no corn, no wheat, no barley, no rice, the larders are empty even of mice
There's no herbs, no yeast, no dry beans and no spice, this is a song, a song for the dead.
Ooooooooo Ooooooooooo
No cornflake casserole, no hot cross buns, no root beer floats no buttered rum, no hollandaise, no bougelaise, no creme fraiche, no mayonnaise-
No chicken of the woods, no sarsaparilla, no verde sauce, no carnitas-
No lovage on toast, elephants ears, no turkey pot pie, no fennel bulbs, no rosemary, no beef jerky, no watermelon rinds, no sassafras tea-
No okra, cauliflower, rhubarb pie, no snow no shelling, no sugar snap peas, no peas-
No quinoa, no aubergine, no radicchio, no arugula, no lemon chiffon, no hot peach pie, no baked beans, bacon and collard greens-
No stuffed tiger lilies, no steamed bok choy, no roasted baby turnips no tatsoi-
No kelp, no nori, no sashimi, no stewed prune shakes, no Purple Cherokee, No risotto asparagus brie or blue cheese, no sweet potato fries, no sour cream, no duck confit, no tater gems, no cardamom pudding, not even ground cherries, no cherries-
I'm singing to you, you hungry ghost and now that you know there's nothing to eat
You can quit your hanging and banging around you can quit your clanking those heavy links
And don't be afraid to wade deep 'til you're inside the moon 'til your inside the moon.
And you're dreaming and you're dreaming and you're dreaming the tides and you're dreaming the tides.
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2. |
Walking Raga
07:27
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I am walking a dark forest
down from the shoulder
of a mountain
and the edges of my lamplight
are catching motion
and the fire of my imagining
is picking up the dark edge
and seeing horses
prostrate people
hats on branches
familiar faces.
Mmm-mm hmm-hm
While in the light I see
there are traces:
broken plastic,
a knarled hair brush,
empty shotgun shells,
head of a razor –
this place, just touched by junk
in the light and
in the dark.
And under damp leaves
the projections of armies
through ripening passages
are now stirring.
And whose names will follow?
Whose hearts will soften
to the charge
of what they don’t know?
mm- mmm hmm –hmm
mm-mm hmm-hmm
Back in town I saw
a girl too young for me
sitting with short shorts on
hugging her long thigh.
mm-mm hmm hmm
mmm-mmm hmmm-hmmm
And the rhythm of a pair of legs
once set in motion
towards a warm sensation
could keep walking.
And the rhythm of a pair of legs
once set in motion
towards a warm sensation
could keep walking.
Oh legs don’t you want to go?
Oh legs don’t you want to go?
Oh legs don’t you want to go?
Oh legs don’t you want to go?
I am walking a dark forest
down from the shoulder
of a mountain.
And who’s names will follow
In the eddies of my lamplight
and catching the motion
find their hearts softened?
And see-sawing horses,
prostrate bodies
through ripening passages
are now streaming.
And the fire of my imagining
is picking up the dark edge-
under damp leaves
the projections of armies-
and familiar faces
hanging from branches-
and hugging a long thigh
and not knowing.
mmm-mm hmmh-hmm
mmm-mmm hm-hmm
And the rhythm of a pair of legs
once set in motion
towards a warm sensation
could keep walking.
And the rhythm of a pair of legs
once set in motion
towards a warm sensation
could keep walking.
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3. |
Mandrake Round
04:53
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all you wild and full of sap be wary not to nourish ghosts
good hygiene in mountains means to land right where you fall
the rushes bundled into thatch from on the moor where hangs a man
and there the hanged man's semen dropped and there the mandrake grows
August falls and bates the foal trembling leg by trembling leg
towards a dream of opening against the brightening cold
October's golden straw is bound in sheaves while 'long the edge of town
a mandrake pulled a siren's call and there a dog lay stone
it takes a witch with wax filled ears, a dog tied to the mandrake root
he bates the dog to chase a stick that the shrieking root emerges
come and have a drink with me, a curse, a spell, a minor thing
and talk of lands once wet now dry and love's forsaken hold
perhaps a cure will come to mind if sleep could crack a cruel heartache
a root that's shaped just as a man could draw your feet to ground
on a Monday drown three bats within a vat of cow milk poured
on the grave where lay the devil's apple in a shroud
but tell no one from where you found this talisman worth more than gold
that through December hung as silent as a mandrake root
the rushes bundled into thatch from on the moor where hangs a man
and there the hanged man's semen dropped and there the mandrake grows
pocket seeds of noxious weeds and they'll become your currency
leave the dead to hang too long you'll see their shadows walk
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4. |
A Song for Geoff
08:37
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5. |
Minotaur Song
03:26
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6. |
Goose Decoy
06:08
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7. |
Deer Song
04:52
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8. |
Dubulihasa
24:37
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9. |
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Standing in the doorway I call all my family to feed attention instead of a habit, instead of a machine
Who will come to the feast feet tied throat cut wide I know the banks arrive as soon unto the righteous as unto the blind
It's dark times for the cannibal who's run himself out of distance got to eat his own, got to eat his own, got to eat his own
While the war for the blood of this land, oh hold my hand we will maintain our flesh, though torn by doubts and demons in their teeth we will hold
And though we die and descend, there's still no rest even in the end the march continues into the bend becoming the declension of mother into ground
Aflood aflame we'll walk again becoming true in our limbs to restore the center and become the needed food and become the needed food
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