1. |
Funeral Psalms
01:55
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I found you on the winter solstice day
So cold was your gaze
My lanterns flame froze in place
I knew, my dear
You’d swoon me down into my grave
My dear, you are no good but I’m entrapped
Just one more tongue-lash
And I’ll be writing up an epitaph
To be displayed
When you swoon me down into my grave
When you strap me to that chair I’ll be calm
And I will get along
Singing out funeral psalms
Till you flip that switch
And swoon me down into my grave.
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2. |
Jester and the Queen
04:57
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3. |
The Yard
02:44
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The wild dog
Drenched in slaughterhouse blood
That’s dripping down
Corroded brown
Gutters towards his mouth
And the pigeons carrying
Wings of the heron
To elevate
Above the gates
For the scraps of meat that lie about
I stand in the slaughterhouse
Simply wanting out
The rats on the boulevard
Lining the slaughter yard
Hair that’s ruffled
Creep through rubble
For they are finding
Their way in
The manager
He ensures
That I am paid
A living wage
When my heart
Is the only one beating
I stand in the slaughter house
Simply wanting out.
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4. |
Ohio
02:29
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I plan to break off south
Find some labor to put food in my mouth
Be miles away, by nightfall today
I won't hear you if you scream or shout
And if you call out my name
My reaction won't be the same
But many a men can fulfill your plan
Have them take a ticket and wait
O-hi-e-o, O-hi-e-aye
Forty dollars in the bottom of my boots
O-hi-e-o, O-hi-e-aye
I'll be crossing it with out you, girl
Crossing that river without you
When I hit southern Illinois
If you're still hoping to employ
Me as your man, sorry darling you can't
That opportunity you destroyed
I'll be marching towards Cairo
With two feet on fire-o
Passed boarded up shacks, rusted Cadillacs
Towards the banks of the Ohio
O-hi-e-o, O-hi-e-aye
Forty dollars in the bottom of my boots
O-hi-e-o, O-hi-e-aye
I'll be crossing it with out you, girl
Crossing that river without you.
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5. |
Sad Stranger
07:13
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O, sad stranger, strange happenstance creates two neighbors
O, picture painter, drawn to you, as pen to paper
O, poinsettia planter, in the twelfth month of the year
O, drunken dancer, your toes on mine, shoulders draped in cashmere
One message indiscreet
On the night that we did meet
Cast our bodies in motion oblique
One heart that loosely leaps
Bound to another of deceit
Creates a hesitant love, skin-deep
And its this hesitant love we keep
I, unfatiguing muser, live within my thought-dreams
I, substance abuser, alter up my bloodstream
I, organ grinder, will spin the hymns I know
I, mineral miner, still ache for flakes of gold
Two cigars that hardly drawed
Filled the basement room with smog
As one mind filled with distraught
Two potential plots
If something new is sought
Something else will surely be lost
We'll be lost
O, Chicago dweller, how nice that you live near
O, fortune teller, proclaiming love our new frontier
O, evening comfort, caressing skin in your afghan
O, madness convert, finding me, a starving man
Three courses you prepared
For a dinner we could share
Made my mind well aware
Three in the scenery
And one sits here with me
Yet I love the other something awfully
Something awfully
I, speaking bleakly, shouldn't hold a heart
I, threaded cheaply, will unravel apart
I, a song and dance, can’t wish reciprocation
I, a false romance, still harbor hesitation
Four hours spent in plight
Came like clockwork with the night
As the chimney fire smoldered to the right
Four shadows, loose then tight
Danced on the wall despite
Forced mirroring of movements of the light
A lullaby for the eyes, when feeling quite contrite.
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6. |
Die With Me
03:31
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I asked for your fear in life
Expecting rattlesnakes or knives
You said to die
To die alone, and into the pillow you cried
Die with me
Drowned in the water
Skin salted and covered
A casket of seaweed
Die with me
I picked my questions carefully
Learned you fear monotony
The weekday brings
Ripened to wrinkles through days of settling
You can work with me
Early day
Coffee made
Our forty hour week
You can work with me
I’ll work and arrive punctually
But you know I always yearned to be
A folk singer
Will we still lay naked and sing out Aura Lee?
By the lampshade in our night, we’ll croon most audibly
Sing with me
Let your red lips trill
Till the room is filled
With our drunken harmonies
Sing with me
Would you spend your life with me
Wrestling these types of things
Because I want you
Take me mama, I am yours to keep
Love with me
In our bed
With the summer sweat
Entangled blissfully
Love with me.
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PM Buys Chicago, Illinois
Chicago folksinger P.M. Buys stands as any building from his city’s skyline would, stretched high and slender. With a harmonica slung from his neck and a well-aged guitar in his hands, he appears to compartmentally fit his Midwest predecessors like Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. Those elements, twisted with thorough classical guitar training and intense lyricism, combine for a sound entire his own. ... more
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