1. |
Devoña
05:11
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Devoña, my girl, with every loving sigh -- my pretty bride -- you make the mercury rise. And in my fever dreams (endless, they seem) the earth spins, a blur -- except you and me, clear as can be. It all makes sense, finally.
That's why I give you my whole life. And that's why it's for you, every song I will write. It's so easily done knowing you are the one and that's why. That's why, Devoña.
Baby, you're free. Take what you will from me. And when you're down i'll turn the world around -- search low and high until i find what's got you so blue. And i'll drive it out. And when i'm worn out, I know that you will do the same.
That's why my heart is aglow just for you. And that's how, that is how I can tell i'm alive. And so i will reside one with you till i die...
And that's why, Devoña. That's why.
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2. |
Everybody Dies, Steve-O
04:45
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3. |
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I don't care, no, i don't mind spending hours and hours painting one blue, lonely line.
In a twilit room settle in alright. If you came in low, hope you're leaving feeling fine.
Your fine brush-stroke feels good on me. It's a long, cool wade though a mid-May eddy.
I don't think I will ever hear a more beautiful drum than a tiny heartbeat.
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4. |
A Painted Boulder
03:36
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5. |
Patience
07:13
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Patience, have patience with me.
...and my dependencies.
...my anger like weeds
...if not tender ease.
...bless my enemies.
...have patience with me...
Oh, you know i get so tied with injustice against me and mine. Don't want to burn up my short time.
Loose tongues proclaim loose prophesies. Then more loose tongues compound the disease until the only cure for this thing is patience and pure silence from each... for a while, at least.
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6. |
Pieces of the Road
04:15
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7. |
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The reverb in the stairwell travels long and fair -- I whistle and i clap.
Booming cathedrals in Europe, cathedrals in Boston, I remember these often. And does my mood begin to soften like the sand on the bed of a gentle rising tide? These times are when i find it more easy to abide -- I just loosen up and stare...
but i like to keep it to myself. I rarely share, because i know my friends don't really want to hear it. You're not supposed to see signs in the way the lamplight yellows the lane.
These times are when i find it more simple to abide -- i just loosen up and stare. And find one true amazement there: when i finally look away one lingering picture stays. Oh how i want to always play and keep growing, every day, my romantic climbing vine. But my hours fill up really fast, and as i tally every task, i think i'll never see the view.
But i like to keep that to myself, i rarely share. Because i know my friends don't really care. We all just keep our own time, don't want to stress them with my arhythmic pace.
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8. |
Siddharth-DUH
03:13
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9. |
Stray Heart
05:15
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My stray heart: where did you go? Through alleys, bars, parks, apartments, following the scent of some ghost?
Meanwhile, I with a body so cold, have recently found signs of decay on my skin and my bones.
Follow me home, I'm so alone. Come on inside, I nearly died.
My stray heart ran off with my song. Now the rhythm drags, my voice cracks, falters, and the notes are all wrong. Meanwhile, my heart obsessively roams, searching for a new chest to fill -- a more kindred soul.
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10. |
Tiny Heartbeat i
02:46
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I don't care, no, i don't mind spending hours and hours painting one blue, lonely line.
In a twilit room settle in alright. If you came in low, hope you're leaving feeling fine.
Your fine brush-stroke feels good on me. It's a long, cool wade though a mid-May eddy.
I don't think I will ever hear a more beautiful drum than a tiny heartbeat.=
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11. |
The Whooshing
04:35
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It costs nothing and it feeds every wintery longing. You do it with the door open, with welcome for the rest to come in.
It makes the borders brittle and it pulses nearby puddles. You do it with the windows wide, and the whooshing hears and blows in behind.
It floats in the bath, i know. and the trouble is, it does but rarely slow, you do it at your will and leave as you might. And you'll find you cross paths at strange times.
It's green like all of us, once. And it's humbling, because it dies, like all of us, once. You do it and you grow so small. From down there you see the size of it all.
Stretch our new toes and bravely step the hot stones. and here we root our new home through sick and sin, on hang and hold.
So do it with the trust of a small child, or not at all -- not at all and never mind.
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