1. |
whispers
04:34
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They say you missed the point. While everybody else was planning their future, you forgot to give yours a second thought. Now you stare into the night and you wonder what it's cost.
Did you fuck up your plan, when you turned from the path? Did you find yourself a home? Are you dogged by your past? Were you waiting on this new moon with hope in your heart, hoping that darkness would magick you a fresh start?
So your memory's long broken. You keep trying to piece together your story but you can only feel your body growing cold. Whatever truth you might've found here lost its meaning long ago.
Did you fuck up--
When the moon has come and gone, passed with the movement of the stars and the motion of a dying flame… that darkness you longed for, it still whispers your name.
Did you fuck up your plan, when you turned from the path? Did you find yourself a home? Are you dogged by your past? Were you waiting on this new moon with hope in your heart?
Did the night come and tear you apart?
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2. |
knife
03:19
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So you’re looking to the sky for answers, still waiting for the moment to make your move. Still sitting in that waiting room thinking all the ways you fucked yourself into a corner.
And now you kill yourself slowly to speed up time and drink away the last thought in your mind. Chicken scratch in a one dollar notebook: shoulda known better than to give a fuck.
You know you’re not in control anymore cause you flinch when you look in the mirror. The lies come impulsively and in the wrong order – you broke your judgement before I met you.
And now you kill yourself slowly--
Lay it down at the altar and give it to your knife. There ain’t nobody left gives a damn about your life.
Lay it down at the altar and give it to your knife. You’ve got the only hands that can set this right.
What is left to say? Your finding yourself was just a lie. You hid the facts in clever lines of poetry… there’s nothing worth saying. Nothing ever was.
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3. |
harbinger
04:42
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In the light of this swollen moon I see my mother. She pulls me closer. These broken branches and fallen leaves, they'll be my home now. In the arms of the earth I'll never be alone. And the wind runs its fingers through my hair. And the wildflowers brush away my fear.
As I look full on the face of the sun my dreams wash red into my eyes. My foot slips on the wet city street and my father takes me. And the wind runs its fingers through my hair. And the wildflowers brush away my fear.
Now I'll be washed in the morning dew and I will run with the bear and the blackbird. The soles of my feet will grip rock and root when I find myself in the forest where that river runs through. And the wind runs its fingers through my hair. And the wildflowers brush away my fear.
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4. |
rest
03:40
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Rest your thoughts child, there's nowhere to run. See the sun fall, and now see the stars. See the moon grow and let the night take hold.
Feel that moon's embrace, alive with the light of a sleeping sun. Feel it's watchful stare and the push and pull of its graceful path through a clouded sky.
Let go the weight of your uneasy life - it cannot haunt you here. Let the walls fall away and drift lightly with the ash of a dying fire.
Close your eyes. Let the darkness come. There's nothing more to fear. The leaves and the wind speak gently of your place among them.
Open now to that earth you've known. Hear the greeting of a bird, the groan of a bullfrog - you're not alone. You’re surrounded by life and love and the grassy notes of a cricket's song.
Close your eyes-
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5. |
confessions
03:23
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Choking back the smoke of another cigarette I rolled today, I reach for a drink. I look to that dull beacon of light in the sky.
Sometimes I forget that life’s an adventure that ends one day under and unforgiving car in an unforgiving city. Sometimes I forget how to breathe.
My candle withers and the moon passes behind a red brick building that echoes the cool night air and hungry people unaware of this pen and poetry.
Sometimes I forget that life’s an adventure that ends one day under and unforgiving car in an unforgiving city. Sometimes I forget how to feel.
Aching feet remember a long week making food and making rent. A week spent against a pain long gone. A restless night alone on a stranger’s couch.
Sometimes I forget--
Sometimes I forget how close I’ve come to seeing a sense of my place, and a sense of my meaning
before I run or I fall and lose all sense of the ground.
Sometimes I forget--
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nihilistfolk Toronto, Ontario
fingerpicking folk music from southern ontario
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