This is a song I’ve been working on lately, sort of a protest anthym. I think it would work well with some snares and bagpipes, but hey, who am I to say. Anyhow, here are the words.

Joey came from Montreal with a dollar in his hand
“Whose face on the coin?” he asked, “Whose government? Whose land?”
As we all stood on the steps, the parliament buildings overhead,
he lifted his gun to the sky and a thousand voices said,

“It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada,
It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada.”

I gave my dollar to a man wearing nothing but a flag,
and he asked me, “What’s the tail, and who’s the dog it wags?”
I shrugged and asked him why he wore the union jack,
and he said, “I’ll wear this, till they give my country back.”

“It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada,
It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada.”

You’ll upset the neighbors, they said.
You’ll upset the neighbors, they said.
You’ll upset the neighbors, they said.
You’ll upset the neighbor, they said.

I wrote this song last Saturday. You can’t hear the tune, but it’s fabulous. And just in case you might think otherwise, you probably never will.

Winds (or, How to Kill and Be Killed)

These two winds how they blow.
I want to run, but they’re everywhere I go.
And I’ve got two things on my mind:
how to kill and be killed, or how to die.

And you keep promising me things I’ve never seen -
how do I know if you’re real or just a dream?

I keep trying to sew
bits of me over garments clean as snow.
With this comfortable skin
to say the stable is yours, I’ll keep the inn.

And I keep on promising you everything I am;
when I keep a piece, I’ll promise it again,

cause I’m not sure what you’re asking of me
when you keep chaining me up to set me free,
and if you burn me alive, how can I live?
If you take it all away, what can I give?

I’ve got a bird in my hand,
but one in the bush who’s defining who I am.
It’s so obvious to me
which enslaves and which one sets me free.
But I keep turning back and forth as if to say,
“I’d give it up, but you’re taking it away.”

Cause I’m not sure what you’re asking of me
when you keep chaining me up to set me free,
and if you burn me alive, how can I live?
If you take it all away, what can I give?

How did you find me in all of this mess?
How did you bid me say yes?
Now will you take me, thistle and thorn,
like you did before I was born?

Well, my week of re-focusing and not spending time on media such as the internet, television, and radio, I’m back to my blogging, so you all can go back to not caring.

I just got back from my mother’s house - it was, after all, Mother’s Day - which was fun. And for all of you wondering when you’re going to see me back at church, this Sunday I pick up regular attendance again; between Alberta, car trouble, and Mother’s Day it’s been what, a month? But fear not, I’ll be back in the boonies soon!

Also, because you all really want to see the song that Elyssa, Rebekah and I sang at Beth’s wedding this weekend, here it is:

I don’t know what to do, what to say;
I don’t know how to love you, my dear.
But I know how to get down and pray
to the one who’s been guiding us here,

that I can love you, that I can hold you
that we can make it through.
That I can love you, that I can hold you,
that we can make it through,
me and you.

For this is our God, forever and forever:
He will be our guide until the day we die.
For this is our God, forever and forever:
He will be our guide until the day we die

dan (there ya go)

Now they tell you where to sleep,
how to crawl under your desk,
and they tell you how to spend your spare time.
And while you’re looking for a change,
though your pockets are heavy
it’s another hand that’s taken every dime.

Do you want to feel safe
in straighjackets and colourful chains
or do you want to live life
like a free woman, like a free man?

They’ve got a copy of your keys
and a warrant for your house
and a camera on the corner your street.
If you cannot see the bars
it’s because you’re captivated
by the images they’ve set to repeat.

Do you want to feel safe
in your silver and gold cage,
or do you want to live life
free…

You won’t see where they’ve been taken
when your children disappear;
you can pray to Brother State when
all your dreams are all you fear.

It’s an easy thing to tell the truth,
when the rudder in your heart’s a lie
and you’re sailing back to Sodom on
the crimson blood of Jesus Christ.

It’s any easy thing to claim the death
when your life’s back in the cubicle,
when you’re storing up a sack of rust,
and your head and stomach’s always full.

And all I want is you
to come and make that true,
for all the steps I say
to bring my father praise.

It’s an easy thing to drown the ghost
in the holy water written here,
to smooth the rippled whispers down
and paint a soiled conscience clear.

But all I want is you
to come and make it true,
for all the strokes I say
to paint my father’s face.

Oh painted grave, a garden full of weeds,
a footloose path carved out of what I need.
Oh love of mine I’ve opened my legs wide
to every king except the one who died
with healing from his opened side.

It’s an easy thing to love the law
if you wrote it only yesterday.
But it’s difficult to walk the road
where the things you mean are what you say.

But all I want is you
to come and make me true,
for all the words I say
to sing my father’s praise.

I threw a little something together at work today. Don’t worry, it’s no masterpiece. This is basically a really short song that doesn’t have any purpose other than practice for me. It consists of a drum loop I threw together, a Ben Gibbards acoustic guitar intro looped and distorted, several audio samples of famous people saying famous things, some hand drums played by American Indians, and some Mid-east Asian guy crooning something or other.

You can download or listen by clicking here.

This is a song I wrote about five years ago. It’s rather depressing, so consider yourself warned!

Horse [you can click here to download this song]

Also, the file is quite large. Because the song is quite long.

Well, I seem to be in a creative mood today. Here’s a little something more for you to listen to. Again, it’s just a rough cut, so don’t be too harsh on me…

Anyhow, for those of you who are interested, this song took 22 takes, about three hours to write, two hours to record, and two cups of coffee. Also, there are no loops in there, and I haven’t adjusted any of the levels. Basically what came out of my mouth and piano is what’s there. Also, no effects.

If you were wondering, yes, I’m in the market for a new vocal mic. Any advice would be great.

Waiting

Lyrics:

Friday, and I was forced
like a wild wet seed into the ground
with the dampness and the warmth
of the loam fingers wrapped around
my inertia.

Friday, and I was borne
like a wild white seet on brother wind.
In a slipshod summer storm
I am finally born, buried again
in hybernation.

Waiting for something;
waiting for Monday.
Oh, I’ll grow at the corners of the wall.

Friday, and there’s the wall
with the dawning day heaving overhead.
The morning had found me tall
in the shadow of what I never said
at germination.

Waiting for something;
waiting for Monday.
Oh, I’ll grow at the corners of the wall.

Almost above the wall.
Almost above the wall.
Almost above the wall.
Growing at the corner of the wall,
it paralyses.

Waiting for something;
waiting for Monday.
Oh, I’ll grow at the corners of the wall.
Oh, I’ll grow at the corners of the wall.
Oh, I’ll grow at the corners of the wall.

dan (creating like a banshee)

Here’s a little something I threw together tonight… it’s a little wierd, but bear with me. I was just fooling around on the piano, and this came out.

Note: I do not sing on this song. So bravely soldier on.

Chorus (the song)

dan (get back to me through the grill, yo)