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1. |
A Wolf for Your Rabbit
02:16
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A WOLF FOR YOUR RABBIT
Ideas spread, you know you can’t help it. Words meet words in a string you can sing and they bring intent. You might not intend it. Words have a life of their own and they cannot be owned and they won’t be denied. Don’t try. You know you won’t get it. Hacking with a shovel and rake at high tide but not building boats. You’re too proud to try it. Set the rigging in the Tyburn tree, you’re the sails you see, but once you had a way out.
A virus spreads. You know you can’t help it. Shuttering shuttles and severing chains, it’s all contraband now. You know you can’t have it. Sanitizing dust on the wall, scrubbing dirt from the soil, adding soap to the oil. It’s all spoiled. A wolf for your rabbit. How silent can we make these streets? Is this the sound of defeat? I don’t know. I can’t pay attention. I’m looking at the light of the flames, I think it’s spelling your name the way it dances and glistens.
I promise if you let me make mistakes that I will do my best to learn from them. And I will make them with a seasoned hand the next time I make those mistakes again.
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2. |
Divisionary
02:49
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I am several people and you are several people, and several of our people fail to get along. They wear the right disguises. They speak common languages, but sometimes they mistake the face for whom might wear the mask. You are several people, and of those several people, some of them I tolerate and some I cannot stand. I recognize your face but sadly, your true name escapes me. Time slips through our fingers and we leave with empty hands. I am several people and several of those people-- if I could, I would divorce their actions from my name. When the glass is shattered and replaced into the mirror I am like the images reflected in the panes. I am several people, and of those several people, love as many of them as your stomach can withstand. You are several people, and of those several people, have the kindest of them extend a willing hand.
Sing on high, a voice that can accompany yourself.
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3. |
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From the poisoned tributaries to the black and boiling ocean, wrap your head around the notion: all of this belongs to me. From glowing fields of cinder to the fire in the hollow to a winter crop of sorrow. All of this belongs to me. It’s mine. I built it and it’s mine.
From the tents that form a city in the trees behind the station, make yourself a quick notation: all of this belongs to me. When the butter starts to sour and the milk begins to curdle, when each hour brings a hurdle all of this belongs to me. It’s mine. I built it and it’s mine.
And you, if you should ever dream, then build yourself a dream-- a clear and crystal one-- that quenches every thirst. Go serve the last ones first. The night is bleeding out. The poor are wealthy ones. There is no tunnel out. No boat can take you there. The sky is closing in. No guide can lead you out.
From the bodies stacked in trenches to the now exposed foundations of the vacant city center, all of this belongs to me. From the fish that float together in a carpet on the water. I am offering no quarter. All of this belongs to me. It’s mine. I built it and it’s mine.
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4. |
Lines in Sand
02:14
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I draw a line across the sand, survival knife and cross in hand. I keep supplies well hidden in the trees. I turn, the line encircles me, Exactly where I want to be, Emboldened by my fear and my unease.
My eyes on the horizon there, I focus through the winter glare. I have to keep my dream alive. Delusions I’m the hunted one, Unmoving yet still on the run. I’m cloaked in robes of woven lies.
So do not come to call on me. I keep a list of enemies And charity is always in demand.
I draw the line in circles still. It spirals tighter now until There isn’t anywhere that I can stand.
The tide begins to rise again, So high it shields me from the rain. It’s good to know that I’ll be dry. My fire burns with acrid smoke And blocks the sunlight as I choke. It’s good to know I’ll burn alive,
But I’ll live on inside your heart, and you and I will never part.
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5. |
Semtex
02:12
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She lights the room up, raising roofs and turning walls to doors. Conversations silence and her voice can’t be ignored. All we fought for falls away like shadows in the sun, and she carries a child that belongs to everyone.
For some the peace is shattered, for some it’s just begun.
Billowed fabric. Diamonds seem to fill our very sky. She is magic. Beautiful yet snuffing out our eyes. Turning tables. The air ignites, cosmetic blushing red. Choosing suitors, passing by the quick with dancing dead.
For some the nation’s ending, for some it’s just begun.
We’ll be together for all the world to see. I’m part of her, she’s part of me.
Time to clean up. All good things unravel in the end. It isn’t easy when love will break but never seems to bend.
For some the curtains open, for some the curtains close.
We’ll be together for all the world to see, with flowers blanketing the street. They’ll write our names upon the wall where lovers meet with furtive glances and marching feet.
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6. |
Revision
02:25
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If I cannot see my mirrors then I can’t see me. The view is blocked by cloth bound history. Calendars stacked higher than my eyes can see darken even cloudless skies with shade.
A blade can make incisions to cut the rot away, leaving just the parts that are not subject to decay. Nostalgia is an anchor that winds around your waist and you might drown when all you really wanted was a taste.
Objects in the mirror are nearer still. Let ancestry be part of me I kill. The grudges of a thousand years or more reanimate to settle scores today.
A blade can make incisions to extricate a mass or biopsy malignancies you’ve made out of your past. History is written by what the victors’ say. The truth is lost somewhere between the trophy and the grave.
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7. |
This Ark
01:25
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If the rock is burning, I cool it down with you. If the river is rising, I rise above it with you. This ark will see me through. This ark will see me through.
Sing with me, baby. Yes, sing and make no sound. Harvest verses and pull them from the ground. We'll lose this wicked town, take the very smell of it and wash it from your gown.
When we make our entrance our people will come out with cordwood angels to place upon our route. Relinquish any doubt: as the moon eclipses me the haves will go without.
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8. |
Shoal
02:08
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Hate is like the sun that runs in ribbons through the summer leaves. Settling like dust among the shadows in forgotten eaves. Acquired acrid taste you learn to love because you know it. Each memory is mulch you spread each day so you can grow it.
And there, outside my window, hear the sea in rapid boil. And there, outside my window, see the sea as smooth as glass.
Hate is like a friend you’ve known since you were both small children. A presence so familiar you can’t see the faults within him. A cake, adeptly poisoned, will be sweet as any other. The one who’s come to kill you will embrace you as a brother.
And there, outside my window, hear the waves have come to hold me. And there outside my window my boat strains against the slip.
And love is a different song with different words that I get wrong.
Love is a different song with different words in a different time and place. I recall it’s name, but I can’t put it to a face.
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9. |
We Disappear
02:52
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I went to the gallery, tools by the side of me. Muse unknown. With hammer and blade the decision was made in my mind. Slicing through canvas, alarms started singing out secret songs. Swinging, the masonry cracking. My mallet is blind.
I’m going to burn through every minute every hour. The sunlight filling up my glass. I’m carving time into the platter on the table. Each moment caught before it passed.
I went to the cemetery, tools by the side of me. Muse unknown. Prying doors open. A shovel in soil, tipping stone. I take out the paint, write no prayer, but a message so I am clear: “We are here but disappear.”
I’m going to burn like I was born of soot and ashes. I exhale smoke. A poison cloud. The day is breaking, you can hear it softly shatter. It’s time to speak our thoughts aloud.
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10. |
The Table
02:29
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We cut the wood, assemble the table. Three legs are needed with the top in place. The wood is changed by serving a purpose. The tree is gone without a trace.
We mark the ocean where the land surrenders. We mark the land where it taunts the waves.
We break the legs off of the table and stack the wood by the fireplace. We'll break the tabletop if able. The table's gone without a trace.
We mark the sky where the land surrenders. We mark the land where the sky's escaped.
The man who cut the tree, what was his name? The man who built the table: who? The man who stacked the wood beside the flame? No one is sure what's false or true.
Give me legs to walk the seasons down. Find my name that's buried in the ground.
I mark myself where you surrender, but you are gone without a trace.
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11. |
My Mom Said
02:25
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My Mom said, "You be careful out there. Brush your teeth and comb your hair."
I was up for all I had to do. My eyes wide open and it became true.
Inasmuch it was all over town. Jealousy, jealousy has come around.
I followed rules but they didn't get me far. Didn't get me out of my own backyard.
I don't know. What will I have to do? Put my eyes wide open then it is true.
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12. |
Spirits
03:48
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Most of the time I have ghosts kept so close I can feel them, faces in crowds whom I know even though they have died. Blood on my hands staining plans I had drawn for tomorrow. Fruit that decays in the field putrefies on the vine.
And I am drowning in spirits. Stacked to my neck, to my mouth, to my ears and my eyes. Try for the door but I'm drowning before I get near it. Try to stay calm but nobody believes the disguise.
Fingers in soil as I toil and turn the earth under me, dark as the dirt in the sun and the wind and the rain. Warm with the worms and the taste and the smell of fecundity, I poison the pen and it dances on pages again.
I am planting and farming. I harvest, devouring spirits. Paying no rent but their time is all spent in my mind. Finding I'm swimming, I'm tiring and drowning in spirits, and you are like me. We are victims of victimless crime.
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WIRE LINES New Bedford, Massachusetts
Wire Lines channel their urgent, hook-laden brand of alt rock through the lens of the hardcore punk on which they cut their teeth. That sensibility shines through not only in the brevity and ferocity of their music, but in their blatant disregard for convention. Each new sound complements the last, weaving a remarkably cohesive musical tapestry that is as inventive as it is refreshing. ... more
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