We Should See Other Blogs

I’m going to dump some half-baked bits of songs here. They’re not really anythings yet.

Camera

What the camera sees
it isn’t me
it isn’t really me

I’ll fill the details in
with all the things
that maybe you should know

It’s annotated and cross-referenced
it’s encyclopaedic
it’s irrelevant

I am more than a collection of parts
I am more a shadow in a cave
I am more than a soul to be saved

Waking Up

I keep waking up broken
Don’t know what happened to me in the dark
I lost another memory
Can’t keep going with so many missing parts

But you are on the breeze
As if to say do you remember me
I can’t forget the way you move
You still move inside of me
I do, I do, I do remember you

Fallen Cathedral

In this great fallen cathedral
we are holding a bazaar
You can find anything
your heart desires

From the hearts of broken people
to the ever-moving star
That marks the place

She Always Shoots You Down

I was flying halfway to the moon
told the satellites I’d find her soon
but the hidden guns were all I found
love, she always shoots you down
love, she shoots you down

I was skipping rungs up two by two
for a better life in navy blue
but the dirt I hit was army brown
love, she always shoots you down
love, she shoots you down

Knowing

As it turns out, you never get to know
except a few things, but fewer than you knew
I guess you get old and leave here for a while
and then you come back when it has been made new

I know that’s not what you wanted to hear
that I can’t take it’s measure
but in the end perhaps you’ll find that it’s clear
in your golden forever

Backwards

come on come on
everybody’s wrong
everybody’s song
is playing backwards

sleeping dogs lie
curled up in the sky
they never wonder why
it’s running backwards

I could learn a thing or two
absent in epiphany
we could let it work itself
out

let’s build a wall
against the empty squall
of doomsday prophets all
who got it backward

nothing will end
at least of what can bend
and let me tell you, friend
I’m bending backward

I could learn a thing or two
absent in epiphany
we could let it work itself
out

Yellow Bird

in the beginning was a word
it was something that you heard
on the street

it kept on ringing in your head
a little yellow bird that said
move your feet

these movements
you didn’t study
but your body
knows

these moments
you can’t remember
but your body
knows

Hold On

You can hold on to anything that you want to.
As long as it keeps you afloat you’re okay.
As long as it keeps your head above water.
As long as it keeps you sane for the day.

Camera II

Camera o camera what do you see
all these backwards upside down pictures of me
I keep on hiding but you’ve already got
enough to put me in a box

I will be fine
in retrospect
what will we find
in retrospect
I will be fine

Black Balloon

This song is like a black balloon
elephant cloud in the middle of the room
everyone can hear the tune
they open windows to dissipate the gloom

Static

Bury it alive. Listen to the beat
slowly winding down, it’s going away.
Life is analog. It’s not just on or off.
It comes and it goes, it comes and goes.

Your head is a radio
Your heart is an antenna
You feel like you’re static
You feel like your dilemma

Sky Falls

The sky is falling down
like is always has
it’s falling down around
our shoulders

When it does we will
finally catch a glimpse
of all the planets in
our solar system

It’s not a bad thing
we never learned to breathe
the way we should

Valuable

You have walked the twenty blocks to where
all the people seem put together
patched up and sewn together so well
where all your stuffing’s coming out.

You’ve been on a train to nowhere
so long you can’t recall solid ground
can’t remember paying for it
in blood and tears, in blood and years

but you’re more valuable
than diamonds and gold
so why do you keep saying

I’ve got nothing that you should want to have
I’ve got nothing but broken pieces
I’ve got nothing but the words you said
I love you I love you I love you
You keep begging for salvation
but it never seems to find you out
hidden in plain sight you are
everywhere and nowhere at once

there is happiness in chemicals
happiness you trade for dollar bills
and all the other fantasies
you’ve tried them all

Should

Proud of the scars?
Gotten this far.
Should be.

Memories decay.
Better that way.
Should be.

Waking up and this isn’t
waking up and thing isn’t
waking up and this isn’t
home. Should be.

Hometown Girl Makes Good

What are you looking for?
Will you know it when you see it, finally?
With your foot in the door
to a place I have left behind me

Oh I, Oh I would tell you if I could
If you could be the hometown girl makes good

Could you give me a clue?
Maybe just the room or weapon.
Something to misconstrue,
connecting dots that never happened.

Oh I, Oh I would tell you if I could
Then you could be hometown girl makes good

Maybe no-one has the key to it.
Maybe no-one really knows.
Maybe we’re all in the same house
lighting matches as we go.

in an old email
in a lost message
there you’ll find it
fresh as ever

or frozen solid
bones of granite
tell the story
artful as ever

It’s all lies
yeah you know
yeah you know
it’s all lies
it’s all lies

buried in a closet
bolts of hidden logic
sewn to be forgotten
quick as ever

a better plotline
motive and design
a novel concept
it fits together

I have to preface these lyrics by saying I’ve always been a huge fan of Aaron Tate’s songwriting, at least post-My Calm//Your Storm. Every time Caedmon’s Call releases a new record, I get all nostalgic and put Mr Tate’s songs in heavy rotation. I’ve always felt that since he stopped writing for the band, CC has taken a turn for the worse, at least from a song-writing perspective. That’s probably just my taste, and I’m sure I’m biased by my allegiances here, but that’s what I’ve felt for the last little while. In any case, here’s the deal: If Mr Tate isn’t going to write any new songs for me, I’m going to write at least one song that sounds like something he might have written. Call it a tribute, call it an internalisation of his craft, or call it a poor & derivative shadow of the original. All that may be true. In any case, inspiration struck after many, many false starts. Here is what I’ve produced.

I keep on walking through this door
And i barely think about it any more.
Will you forgive if I leave it ajar,
and someone follows me into the dark?

Cause your blood covers a multitude of sins,
but surely there’s some things you can’t abide:
My nails dipped in the blood of innocence
but the rest of my body outside.

The gifts you give invisible to me
when a stable floor is all I can see,
but you’re shaking it out of its disguise,
healing for the ones who lift their eyes.

Cause your blood covers a multitude of sins,
but surely there’s some things you can’t abide:
My nails dipped in the blood of innocence,
but the rest of my body outside.

The same mouth that blesses curses,
and these coals are guttering now.
Am I the seed scattered deep in a shadow,
in the salt looking back from the plow?

When she was in the garage she tried to kiss me one last time
where I had kissed the time I spent on fixing you goodbye.
And in her tart saliva I could taste your coming bitterness
but I didn’t mind. I’d already left you behind.

The cataclysm came much quicker that I’d ever thought.
A question split the cord, confession twisted in knots.
From your metalic tears I mind the iron for a battleship,
but you didn’t fight. You’d already left me behind.

And in a week on Hilton Head, the water taught me how
salt water can cleanse, or it can break a building down.
In the morning light I eyed the shore to find the ediface,
but I couldn’t find a single spire left behind.

Like newborn day, like epitaph.
Like a dream forgotten, how it passed.
These better angels welcome home,
from empty tombs, oh how they’ve flown.

Still, sometimes I forget the words reversed and upside down.
A child so badly written you can’t help but help it drown.
But from those jumbled letters I’ve assembled something wonderful.
Something all mine that I can’t leave behind.

I’ve seen you almost crying, walking to the car.
I’ve watched you slowly dying while I played guitar.
You asked me if I’d play you that simple song,
but I don’t dare play it, cause you’re the kind of girl
I could fall in love with.

You told me that you loved me; I knew what you meant,
but I can’t help imagining what might have been,
if only I had told you I was on the edge.
But I don’t dare say it, cause you’re the kind of girl
I could fall in love with.

I’d take away your pain if you’d ease my regret,
with some whisky in a bottle and some cigarettes.
We could laugh about nothing. That’s as good as it gets.
But I don’t dare repeat it, cause you’re the kind of girl
I could fall in love with.

I know that this is crazy, but I’ll toe the line,
in order to feel something, and to pass the time.
Keep telling me “never”. I don’t mind.
I just can’t believe it. You’re the kind of girl
I could fall in love with.

If we just sit here
and drink coffee together
it doesn’t matter
what they say.

Let’s spend time talking
about something or nothing.
It doesn’t matter
what we say.

All the sentences I use,
they’re perfect when you’re
smiling at me.

This is your first day.
This is your last day.
Hidden in tear gas,
buried in scattered glass.
Terror is pipe bombs,
nails in the brick wall.
People like strewn dice
over a concrete lawn.

Will you remember all of this,
apalling fall, the tender kiss
of flame and pain and bliss
of being spread over the wall?
The red wall, the red wall, the red wall.

Was it your first breath,
or was it your last breath?
In amneosis, screaming
to let them know
that you have arrive here.
Oh, why are you crying?
You’re supposed to be happy,
you’re supposed to be happy here.

Is this all you remember,
is this all you remember,
is this all you remember,
the red wall?

I will keep you like a hundred dollar bill
for a rainy day when there is nothing to do
but spend it inside in the safety of our living room
we’ve got some living to do.

Let’s not think about the emails to be read
and calls that pile up like bricks. Let’s build a wall
where only we can go and nobody can find us.
Leave the world behind us and while away the afternoon.

Stuck in an airport the size of city,
looking for something to find,
amid all the well-dressed, appropriate people,
absorbed in averting their eyes.

Beautiful birds run away from the buildings
and clamber their way to the sky,
passengers saying their prayers at windows
all hoping their gods won’t reply.

Amen. Another one’s lifted high.
Amen. Another one’s lifted high.

Stuck in a city the size of an airport
watching the place running down.
No one knows what time it is in Toronto,
or where’s the best coffee in town.

Carrion birds lie in wait on the buildings,
their dangerous weight just enough
for mothers to pray Jesus’ grace on their children,
that heaven would take them with love.

Amen. Another one’s lifted up.
Amen. Another one’s lifted up.

There is a heaven we haven’t explored
lying in wait for the taking.
Hidden in phrases, hidden in plain speech,
hidden in rules made for breaking.

There are lines to cross and lines to keep reciting.
Some days the sticks are woven in the spokes.
There are things to keep and things to keep from fighting.
Days to pause and days to go for broke.

Does it sting a little, peeking over to tomorrow?
Are you measuring the means to the end?