Scatterbrain

I really wanted to get this down on the hard drive… and I didn’t realise how bad the piano recording was until I had got to singing. So i just gave up and didn’t bother correcting any of the (obvious) flaws in the levels. It isn’t pretty, I tell you.

Scatterbrain – Ogg Vorbis
Scatterbrain – MP3

Everything I record these days seems to have a ringing noise at the high end… anyone have any ideas how to fix this problem?

Simple Song

To Charlotte. An Elegy.

I’m not a bricklayer, darling,
and I’ll never build you a house in the sky.
I probably won’t make you happy
when I promise to be there whenever you cry.

I’m sorry it’s not complicated.
I wrote you this song in the back of a book
with words you won’t find too confusing:
the sentences there if you’d hazard a look.

I won’t lie – the future is awful.
And no, it doesn’t get better than this.
But if you want, I’ll come over sometime
and we can stop the world with a kiss
or two.

I’ve got a heartload of nothing
but a blessed disease that is killing me still.
I’ll probably find ways to lose you:
a notch in my arm for another clean kill.

I won’t lie – our future is awful.
And no, I never get better than this.
But if you want, I’ll come over sometime
and I can stop your heart with a kiss
or two.

I used to think I was worth it.
I thought I had something to give.
The illusion broke with my spirit,
as these days I’m not so convinced
of it.

God, Can I Thank You

I hung out with my sister today, and whilst doing so, wrote this song. Originally it was going to have violin in it, but hey, violin is not an easy instrument to play.

The song itself is a reflection on the scripture that says, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” Which I think, in my quest to become a better child of his, is the only way to avoid becoming resentful.

God, Can I Thank You [MP3]
God, Can I Thank You [Ogg]

The lyrics are as follows:

God, can I thank you for the glass between my toes?
Lord, can I thank you for the way these muscles burn as they grow?

God, can I thank you for the way you break these bones?
Oh, how they’re aching like they have ever since you brought me home.

God, can I ask you for something, if I may?
Oh, I don’t deserve it, but I’ll ask you for this favour anyway.

Lord, if you’ve got time, could you catch this thing I throw?
Keep it in your hands; it’s so precious to me, but I think you know.

God, can I thank you for the things you take away?
Oh, I am learning how to live under your scalpel every day.

Mourn

As it turns out, the latest round of recording has finally produced – gasp – a song. You can click the links below to listen. I’ve uploaded it in MP3 and Ogg Vorbis format. Again, this is a pretty rough cut. Cut me some slack, will ya?

Mourn [MP3]

Mourn [OGG]

Enjoy.

Edit: fixed those links.

Edit 2: on an unrelated note, I think I may have tiny little crush on Riot Becki of the Pipettes. In Britian and in a manufactured indie pop band (when did that start happening?) nevertheless, I fear it will be a short-lived thing. I just can’t get past the polka-dot dresses.

0 Kanada

This is a song I’ve been working on lately, sort of a protest anthym. I think it would work well with some snares and bagpipes, but hey, who am I to say. Anyhow, here are the words.

Joey came from Montreal with a dollar in his hand
“Whose face on the coin?” he asked, “Whose government? Whose land?”
As we all stood on the steps, the parliament buildings overhead,
he lifted his gun to the sky and a thousand voices said,

“It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada,
It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada.”

I gave my dollar to a man wearing nothing but a flag,
and he asked me, “What’s the tail, and who’s the dog it wags?”
I shrugged and asked him why he wore the union jack,
and he said, “I’ll wear this, till they give my country back.”

“It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada,
It’s a slow riot for the new zero Kanada, 0 Kanada.”

You’ll upset the neighbors, they said.
You’ll upset the neighbors, they said.
You’ll upset the neighbors, they said.
You’ll upset the neighbor, they said.

Winds

I wrote this song last Saturday. You can’t hear the tune, but it’s fabulous. And just in case you might think otherwise, you probably never will.

Winds (or, How to Kill and Be Killed)

These two winds how they blow.
I want to run, but they’re everywhere I go.
And I’ve got two things on my mind:
how to kill and be killed, or how to die.

And you keep promising me things I’ve never seen –
how do I know if you’re real or just a dream?

I keep trying to sew
bits of me over garments clean as snow.
With this comfortable skin
to say the stable is yours, I’ll keep the inn.

And I keep on promising you everything I am;
when I keep a piece, I’ll promise it again,

cause I’m not sure what you’re asking of me
when you keep chaining me up to set me free,
and if you burn me alive, how can I live?
If you take it all away, what can I give?

I’ve got a bird in my hand,
but one in the bush who’s defining who I am.
It’s so obvious to me
which enslaves and which one sets me free.
But I keep turning back and forth as if to say,
“I’d give it up, but you’re taking it away.”

Cause I’m not sure what you’re asking of me
when you keep chaining me up to set me free,
and if you burn me alive, how can I live?
If you take it all away, what can I give?

How did you find me in all of this mess?
How did you bid me say yes?
Now will you take me, thistle and thorn,
like you did before I was born?

All Hail The Republic

Now they tell you where to sleep,
how to crawl under your desk,
and they tell you how to spend your spare time.
And while you’re looking for a change,
though your pockets are heavy
it’s another hand that’s taken every dime.

Do you want to feel safe
in straighjackets and colourful chains
or do you want to live life
like a free woman, like a free man?

They’ve got a copy of your keys
and a warrant for your house
and a camera on the corner your street.
If you cannot see the bars
it’s because you’re captivated
by the images they’ve set to repeat.

Do you want to feel safe
in your silver and gold cage,
or do you want to live life
free…

You won’t see where they’ve been taken
when your children disappear;
you can pray to Brother State when
all your dreams are all you fear.

Liar

It’s an easy thing to tell the truth,
when the rudder in your heart’s a lie
and you’re sailing back to Sodom on
the crimson blood of Jesus Christ.

It’s any easy thing to claim the death
when your life’s back in the cubicle,
when you’re storing up a sack of rust,
and your head and stomach’s always full.

And all I want is you
to come and make that true,
for all the steps I say
to bring my father praise.

It’s an easy thing to drown the ghost
in the holy water written here,
to smooth the rippled whispers down
and paint a soiled conscience clear.

But all I want is you
to come and make it true,
for all the strokes I say
to paint my father’s face.

Oh painted grave, a garden full of weeds,
a footloose path carved out of what I need.
Oh love of mine I’ve opened my legs wide
to every king except the one who died
with healing from his opened side.

It’s an easy thing to love the law
if you wrote it only yesterday.
But it’s difficult to walk the road
where the things you mean are what you say.

But all I want is you
to come and make me true,
for all the words I say
to sing my father’s praise.