1. |
Change
01:38
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Does the chest held in your hands still hold onto hope?
Isn't that just like you. Such a deadpan, Dorabella Cipher
A message lost in code all that's known is your signature
If that's the only means to get the message through
How will you write your name?
With a C for Cesar Chavez?
Or an H, for our beloved Harriet?
An A for Armenia and the N of Nigeria
A G for Guerrilla and an E to Escape
They’ll all remember your name, when your name is Change
Barely able to read the sentiments etched across you scroll
It’s 400 years later and your name no longer relates to these words
Everywhere you name and the headline “Occupy for peace”
How will you write your name?
With a C for Cesar Chavez?
Or an H, for our beloved Harriet?
An A for Armenia and the N of Nigeria
A G for Guerrilla and an E to Escape
Who will be the one to clear your name
Will the world forgive the past, when your name is change
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2. |
Yellowing
03:18
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variegated vines grow over the signs and up the steps, over the windows and the doors.
to hide and forget the past
the well wasn’t always dry. it once rained in the spring time, and i’d cover myself over with leaves.
to hide and forget the past
i drew make believe, under bare feet i’d grass stain jeans.
i’d invent interesting friends, from sheets i’d make our home
through meadow streets and forest caves. the days that yellow with memory.
my arms are heavy and numb like i've slept on them
how did i find myself here?
like waking from a dream but already on the move
how did i find myself here?
i trust my eyes to see more than there is. more than i can afford.
it’s buttons and riches made of buttons and nails. my pulse races for these things.
my pulse still races for these things.
and i grow older but not without an appreciation for the simple things.
through meadow streets and forest caves. the days that yellow with memory.
my pulse still races for these things.
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3. |
Pacing Patterns
01:51
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wearing patterns in the carpet, hours pacing a small apartment as i’m going through it all again.
it’s impossible to recover all pieces. course, choked, whispering.
the candle wick takes its first breath of cool night air, the room goes black. course, choked, whispering.
lips spewing smoke into yellow ceilings, last nerves hours past spent
wearing patterns in the carpet, hours pacing a small apartment as i’m going through it all again.
course, choked, whispering.
it’s impossible to recover all pieces. course, choked, whispering.
disarming words from an answering machine. if anyone is home. if anyone can hear this. i’m doing fine, but i’m not coming back. i’m finding my own way.
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Kid Bastard Boston, Massachusetts
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