1. |
Cracks Repeat
03:23
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CRACKS REPEAT
So small, he didn't even hardly notice
Too young for the ever widening madness
Too small to even know the way of this
just play & never changing blankness
It was too fun to hardly even notice
She began to see the ever widening sadness
Alone. She left him to his blankness
He thought, "I ought to do something about this"
Everything is leaking out
Put it back, put it back in
Jam it back in the cracks
Can I just start again?
He was so young, how could he even reach for this?
Too far to approach the growing blankness
She knew and got the hell away from this
He'd stop if he ever found the hang of it
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2. |
Mat Nap
04:17
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MAT NAP
I had a mat that wasn't mine
Had a little girls name in marker line
Written bold & clean & clever
Stays in a cubby when I go home
Coming time for a nap
Coming time to lie down flat
Sweaty sleep with drool on tap
Nap time on a little girls mat
Lady told me time was coming
I had to move, I had not one of
mine had someone's name on it
Bound to come & reclaim on it
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3. |
Dust
06:09
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DUST
They left in time 'cause the dirt is always browner,
the land is somehow prouder where the people ain't.
They got in line by the signs at the shoulder
the muffler sounds they told her, it was time to go.
They sacrificed, they couldn't get any lighter
their throats were never tighter, but the road was there.
The road they chose was littered with intention
and led them towards redemption, so the handbill read.
They drove in rows, the pots & pans were tied down,
the fender scraped the high ground & it fell away.
They traveled close, they camped among the tall grass,
they suppered out of tin cans when they hunkered down.
Blew me away, right off the family homestead
The grit in my face was blinding me & guiding me
The dust had its way so I'm hauling all to 'fornia
The grit in my wake was blowing...
And when they came, the camps were overflowing
the kinfolk there were knowing, they looked away,
They burned with shame, they'd bought the line of plenty
but the promised land was empty, it always was.
The land was claimed, the work was never harder,
The children still were starving. It was just like home.
Blew me away, right off the family homestead
The grit in my face was blinding me & guiding me.
The dust had its way so I'm hauling all to 'fornia
The grit in my wake was blowing...'round.
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4. |
Four Thousand
02:28
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FOUR THOUSAND
Four thousand words spoken in tandem.
Four thousand times so it couldn't be random.
Four thousand words in panic & anger.
Drunk to the gills, it still didn't matter.
Drunk to the gills, it still doesn't matter.
Four thousand times I scattered my ashes.
Three ninety nine nine she batted her lashes.
Last time I did it she couldn't forget it.
Now I'm a useta be, couldn't forgive it.
Now I'm a useta be, couldn't forgive it.
Now I'm a useta be, couldn't forgive it.
Four thousand cuts and I couldn't be sadder.
Four thousand blows to an ego all shattered.
Haunted by deeds, compounded by anger.
Drunk & pressed, it still didn't matter.
Four thousand lessons I learned too late.
Four thousand tears & deeds out of date.
I should have been better, not so bitter.
Now it's too late and still I can't quit her
Now it's too late and I just can't forget her.
Now it's too late and still...
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5. |
Get Square
02:51
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GET SQUARE
Better get yourself some suspenders
'cause the end will surely drop.
You can cop an extra decade
by not eating so much slop
It's round now, but it's gonna get square.
You can't stop the process down there.
Call your Swami teachers,
ask them for an ancient brew.
But all the tea in China,
will not save you from you.
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6. |
1 Night Window
04:06
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Sparky, wake up.
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Sparky's Butterknife Baltimore, Maryland
Sparky's Butterknife is a personal side project of drummer (seankpreston.com) & veteran indie music maker
(motherjefferson.bandcamp.com)
Christopher Spiridigliozzi, for parts & songs that pull him from behind the drum kit from time to time.
A butter knife is made to do one thing really well, but is commonly used for many tasks beyond it's main design with varying degrees of effectiveness.
... more
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