1. |
Sandwalk Wood
03:38
|
|||
|
No one knows you've been kicking stones on sandwalk wood
They've been reading dribbles from a bow-tied kid.
The rub is, if we weren't drowned in violence
We would love to join them.
Leave those friends that are always looking in
The sympathetic ones responsible for this condition.
When I see their face and their lucky place
A clever case, a dazzling grace.
But just in case increase the space
And make some mistakes, without me.
Bloodshot eyes, sore thumbs, face lit from a display
Choking down chuckles and cheers, behind a cup of clay.
Stop, stand still. look me in the face.
You could convince yourself of any cliche.
When I see their face and their lucky place
A clever case, a dazzling grace.
But just in case increase the space
And make some mistakes, without me.
|
||||
2. |
Media
03:45
|
|||
|
The media eye can't get by one man's prick.
Shimmering shiny gets them distracted.
Did you know, did you know they're selling whatever you want to buy?
Let's celebrate the fat man's meal.
When he's big enough to burst we can eat
That was the deal.
Did you know, did you know they're planning to let you die?
The kids are praying to a president.
Who's laying the ink for another Common Sense?
"Get them out, get them out!" The children shout!
"No Sharia! No Sharia!"
We prefer chemical veils
To conceal age and darken what's already pale.
"Get them out, get them out!" The Christians shout!
"No Sharia! No Sharia!"
|
||||
3. |
December 25, 1967
05:59
|
|||
|
Mr. Greene didn’t know where he was driving
Until he twisted the key.
Speeding past the Main Street Christmas Tree
Reminds him of sled hills and broken teeth.
He loves his Chevy
He keeps it clean.
Mr. Greene.
Mrs. Greene looks forward to what’s on TV
She plans her night accordingly.
The oven chimes for left-over cuisine.
Pulls her curtains to cut the lights from the Main Street Christmas Tree.
She loves this routine.
Her face lit from the screen.
Mrs. Greene.
Mr. Greene pulled into the lot at 8:15,
Slips on the snow, “probably the whisky.”
Always orders the same drink from the same barkeep
They’ve never spoke, but he always tunes to channel 3.
He loves this scene
A welcome reprise,
Mr. Greene.
Mrs. Greene’s eyes are heavy, it’s 9:03.
The trash needs to go out but the snow is falling heavy.
She’d stay up for Jack, but he might be gone ’til 3.
Perry Como sings her to sleep,
Off to dream
Finally at ease
Mrs. Greene.
|
||||
4. |
Bandit Guides
04:06
|
|||
|
The empire clutches command, you’ve seen their hand.
And made a jubilant call to town, “Citizens! Lay your arms down!”
They were cut down and the king never lost his crown.
You’re walking in a sandstorm shutting your eyes
With severed hands and bandit guides.
Passing off your dallying for a system
that cannot change, it’s above the small man’s range.
A dot to Seurat, faded then forgot.
You’re walking in a sandstorm shutting your eyes
With severed hands and bandit guides.
|
||||
5. |
Scraps
03:22
|
|||
|
Lies as told once before
You want more
He wants more
We know what you're looking for.
Skies open up on the shore
Look out the door
It's you we're waiting for.
Stop fighting your brothers and sisters
They've got nothing left to give you.
He's pulled the wool
You're his blinded whore.
I guess it's his world after all
He's got it all.
And you're alone
With scraps you're so proud to own.
|
||||
6. |
Citizens
05:17
|
|||
|
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
We are citizens
From the minds of distant men.
Napping under cicada wings
Tapping to their dissonance.
We are citizens
From the minds of distant men.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore.
|
||||
7. |
Show Off
04:27
|
|||
|
Hey, what will this take?
Don't say we made a big mistake.
He showed up with his little tricks
I hope we make the most of it.
Everyone,
Needs a game,
Like poisoning the well we all drink.
Great, he's so great!
Like fate sent him to set us straight.
Broad back and bone spurs.
Speaking in superlatives,
He's so sure.
Everyone,
Needs a game,
Like poisoning the well we all drink.
|
||||
8. |
Border
02:54
|
|||
|
He paints his parish red, white, and blue.
His flock steeped in cable news.
A faith limited to pale skin and an accent
Dreaming of helicopter blades and comfy pews.
And the sermon goes, "pray for gold"
"Pray for gold"
"Our border bespeaks the weight of souls."
Scratching ink in his good book to uncoil
A verse of our blessed America,
Our sacred soil.
A poem praising our Grand Ol' Party of divine kings.
A ballad reciting the riches they'll bring.
And the sermon goes, "bleach the streets"
"Bleach the streets"
"Our state declares which souls are clean."
And the sermon goes, "pray for gold"
And the sermon goes, "pray for gold"
And the sermon goes, "pray for gold"
And the sermon goes, "pray for gold"
And the sermon goes, "bleach the streets"
"Bleach the streets"
"Our state declares which souls are clean."
|
||||
9. |
The Distinguished Man
03:42
|
|||
|
"Can I tell you tomorrow?"
"I don't think I'll be 10 years older by then."
Oh, the distinguished man.
His time sides, with his money not his life
He won't break your heart
He won't even start
So when you walk away
Don't you dare bat-a-lash
Just dodge and dash despite the cliche.
Smile at the evangelist
Hands off his mistress.
Oh, I don't think you can best
His tantalizing bliss.
His heart beats to his money not belief
He won't break your heart
He won't even start
So when you walk away
Don't you dare bat-a-lash
Just dodge and dash despite the cliche.
|
||||
10. |
For Everyone
04:52
|
|||
|
A family gathered for Christmas
Doesn’t matter they're nonbelievers
They're praising, praising, praising, praising.
A song for an unborn son
An honest tale of pretension
For everyone, everyone, everyone, everyone.
We've got to give it all, because of you
It's not just hours anymore, because of you
We’ve got to give it all, in spite of you
It’s not just ours anymore, because of you.
Failed little fiefdoms, this is the promise, it's liberty
Make the dirt bleed, rivers to streams, lakes to seas.
Two blankets and an handkerchief
'Pox will take care of it.
Signed William Trent, from Fort Pitt, we ignored it, you ignored it.
We've got to give it all, because of you
It's not just hours anymore, because of you
We’ve got to give it all, in spite of you
It’s not just ours anymore, because of you.
|
||||
The Bell Beat recommends:
Bridgehouse Session #6
by The Bell Beat
Download 3 live acoustic tracks The Bell Beat recorded for Mostly Midwest's Bridgehouse Sessions in Feb. of 2011. Best part, they're free.
go to album
Catchy, energetic, and refreshing punk from Ann Arbor, MI.
go to albumIf you like The Bell Beat, you may also like:
Fans of Marine Girls and Talulah Gosh will find a lot to love in the new EP from Allie Hanlon's long-running fuzz-pop project.
go to album
Post-Trash: Volume Three
by Post-Trash
An expansive release of 51 tracks (with a sweet Deerhoof cover of Madonna's "Live to Tell") to benefit a Hurricane Maria relief agency.
go to album
Laurels of the End of History
by Cime
This imaginative release from Monty Cime blends Latin folk music and experimental noise for a sense of surreal nostalgia.
go to album
Garland of Hours
by Garland of Hours
Cellist Amy Domingues' Garland of Hours project combines indie rock, chamber music, and medieval modalities for a uniquely mystical sound.
go to album
