1. |
Ernest Goes to Jail
03:34
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He never put up a fight and now he’s got to pay the price. He’s in the state penitentiary doing twenty-to-life. He knows he dug himself into this hole, but everything will be alright if he just waits for parole. The nights are as empty as the days are long, but he’d better if he knew what it was he did wrong. Unsure if he’s guilty, but it can’t be helped because whatever the reason, he knows he brought it all on himself. He finds familiar comfort living in between walls, but a tiny voice keeps whispering, “This isn’t living at all.” Does the life he’s waiting for exist only in dreams? His shoulders sag, he lowers his head and he screams, “I won’t offer a plea! I gotta get off my knees! There’s only one way out and I hold the key!” He lifts his head from his hands, decides he doesn’t want to sit alone in an empty cell for a crime he didn’t commit. Inhales deeply and counts to three. Rips the bars out from the wall. He was out, but he wasn’t free. You see, the guards were waiting armed with billy clubs and mace, and one had a .45 pointed right at his face. But when the dust had settled, he was the only one left to stand. The Warden stepped out from the shadows and put up his hands. He said, “I’m sorry we kept you here when you were never at fault, but now that you’ve done your time we forgive your brazen assault.” Well our hero’s eyes narrowed, he felt his heart begin to harden, and when it finally turned to stone he said, “I don’t need your fucking pardon.”
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2. |
White Mountain
03:20
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You saw it standing there capped in white powder. Its lonely peak was beckoning hour after hour. You were feeling pretty down so at night you decided to climb. You woke up in the morning right back where you started with needles in your skull wondering why you had departed. Yeah, not the greatest plan, but it seemed a good idea at the time. Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about those walls of solid granite. Convinced some sorry rubes it went down just like you planned it. You sounded like a prophet so they all came along for the ride. Now they get up with the dawn, their bewildered heads aching. They admire your stoicism, but can’t tell that you’re faking. It’s a smokescreen that’s obscuring every doubt that you carry inside.
Don’t pretend that you comprehend.
Don’t lie again. I know where you’ve been.
White Mountain
Your servants stifle a groan.
The cold wind cuts to the bone.
But they won’t hear you complain.
It keeps you numb to the pain that you feel but refuse to recognize. You tell me you’re not sad but I can see it in your eyes. The illusion you’ve constructed for yourself has begun wearing thin. So plod onwards and hope that no one pays attention. Let them believe this strategy was your invention. You’ve come too far to quit and goddamned be the cost of your sin. (In the end you’ll always descend White Mountain)
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3. |
The Well
04:21
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The old man wakes up in hell and contemplates his condition. He must make haste to the well. A sip will cure his blurred vision. The road is long and fails to offer shade or shelter. He’s walked it hundreds of times before. The Sun beats down on his back, its tongue licks at his heels, but these he chooses to ignore.
After an eon it seems, the well materializes. The Sun refuses to leave him to his own devices. His muscles burn with fatigue, but he endures the torture, his will as strong as that ring comprised of brick and mortar. Hand over weathered fist, he pulls the rope with purpose, hoping the pail is full when it reaches the surface. But when he holds it, he finds a single drop’s all he drew. He sighs and closes his eyes,
A drop will have to do.
One day he knows that well will run dry. Will he have the good sense to lay down and die? Or will he stumble on cursed with unquenchable thirst, throw his body against the well and pray,
Please let there be water today
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4. |
Stoneflesh
04:07
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They say it gets easy, but I disagree. They say, “You just feel it.” But I don’t.
I’ve got broken teeth
I’ve got splintered bone
But I just can’t get blood from a stone
Late night at the quarry, breaking up some rocks. Digging for something deeper, but all I find are broken rocks.
I’ve got broken teeth
I’ve got splintered bone
But still I can’t get blood from a stone
Cold earth, hard ground
I put my hand to the plow and I tend my crop
But it won’t seed, no
Diamond in my hand
I clench my fist until it’s nothing but dust
But it won’t bleed, no
Just a little blood
To trickle down my throat
To dribble down my chin
To soak into my skin
I’ll cut off my hands
I’ll sell my soul
I’ll do anything to get my blood from a stone
I tore down the wall
I found my way home
I summoned the Sun
So where’s my blood from a stone?
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5. |
Walnuts
04:53
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He was a man
The kind that puffed out his chest
Who’d bark at a woman
For the way that she dressed
He was a man
Who spent all of his money on beer
And who’d kick in your teeth
If he thought you were queer
He was a man
He had two shriveled walnuts that were his pride
Both of them dangled between his thighs
But a third shriveled walnut, the runt of the litter, did reside
Within his thick skull where he knew it could hide
But he was such an asshole that nobody cared
Whether or not his walnuts were there
He was a man
The kind that spoke only lies
Like, “You could tell she wanted it
From the look in her eyes”
He was a man
The kind heading for a fall
He was a man
The kind that wasn’t a man at all
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6. |
Splinter
02:01
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I’ve got nothing better to do, so I guess I’ll get the hell out of bed I better not drink tonight or all of my thoughts might spill out of my head On second thought, it might be better if I just go back to sleep instead I can’t tell if this is the rest of my life or I’m already dead I gotta stop getting so high I gotta stop getting so loaded Did my folks ever have to deal with this shit? Well I don’t know that they did.
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7. |
(Not) Again
04:08
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I try to find the right path but can’t explain why every time I unfold the map it’s changed
Again
I try to return from whence I came, but enveloping mists obscure my way
Again
Yeah, the fog’s rolling in
Once again I am treated to a montage of my greatest misses
A detailed account of all my smallest sins
Once again warmth leaves me and I’m afraid I’ll forget the feeling
I’d take your advice if only you knew when this will end
Where do I turn when every way is wrong? There’s nothing I can learn, no words to make me strong enough to fight my way out of this, so I’ll lay myself down and wait it out again.
What do I do when no choice is correct? There’s nowhere I can go when every last direction sends me on a broad curve that winds up spiraling back here to this goddamn place again.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”
But I don’t believe that any longer
I refuse to remain a wanderer
I’ll emerge from the haze, and though there’ll still be dark days, I won’t be coming back
Again
I’m back here again
Again
It hit me again
Like a velvet uppercut to my chin
Once again I am treated to a montage of my greatest misses
A detailed account of all my sins
Warmth leaves me and I forget the feeling
And there’s just one way for this to end
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8. |
No Matter
09:49
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I feel a weight descend on my shoulders. Could it be I’m getting older? So much time has passed. I’m getting tired. So much time remains. Just let me rest for awhile.
Look to my window, see the Sun start to fall. Its rays draw my gaze to my bedroom wall. People and places locked behind frames. The light shines upon them. I watch the colors fade.
I need to take a walk. I need to go outside. The ivy tangles around my ankles, creeps up my thighs. I set my teeth a-grinding, the ivory powder flies. It’s too late to move my feet. It comes as no surprise.
I feel a weight on my shoulders. Could it be that I’ve gotten older? I’ve been aging since I was born. Never let it stop me before. I still have my youth, but for how long? Will I still be standing here when it’s gone?
I must remind myself, my night is someone’s day. Win or lose, gain or loss, it doesn’t matter anyway.
I need to take a walk I need to go outside but all the ivory’s wrapped too tightly ‘round my thighs but if I were set free I don’t know where I’d go the blood can’t reach my head when my heart’s made of stone I must remind myself my night is someone’s day I must convince myself it doesn’t matter anyway
I feel a weight settle into my shoulders. It comes as no surprise; I’ve gotten older. So much time has passed, but how much time remains
For me to grow
For me to learn
How much time for me to change?
When that Golden Orb grows too heavy for my hands
I’ll lay my wrinkled brow on a silken bed of sand
Let it fill my mouth, rob the moisture from my tongue
Got no more words to speak
My work here is done
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Brown Bags Santa Rosa, California
Andrew
Robert
James
Skyler
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