1. |
Smog / Dead City
05:24
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Smog rolls in, cars so close we can hear them breathing.
Pale mouth glows, whispering a poem: something wet and terrible.
We take our daily dread. I chew it and forget my brother’s words.
I cut you on the wrist, a little game I play,
saying “Please, please stay.”
All my life I’ve been afraid of living with you in a dead city,
and all my fears have come to pass--I’m dying with you in a dead city.
Smog rolls in, night so close I can hear it breathing.
Hanging from a tree, a little hand is beckoning, “Won’t you play with me?”
The buildings slowly fade a darker shade of beige until the foreman yells.
I cut him on the wrist, a little game I play,
saying, “Please go away, go away.”
All my life I’ve been afraid of living with you in a dead city,
and all my fears have come to pass--I’m dying with you in a dead city.
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2. |
Theme in Yellow
02:24
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I spot the hills with yellow autumn, I light the prairie fields
Orange and tawny gold, and I am called Pumpkins.
Last of October when dusk is fallen, the children join hands and circle around me,
Singing ghost songs and love to the moon.
And I am a jack-o-lantern with terrible teeth.
And the children know I am fooling.
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3. |
Raise the Dead
04:55
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Tonight I raise the dead, I bring you back to me,
brush dirt out from your hair, and I will not feel scared.
Because I love you and you are home, and you came to me when I called.
I melted candle wax, I read our folded notes.
Now you smell like the trees, ancient arms surrounding me.
You speak pure latin now, your pretty teeth are falling out.
You’re fading into me. You speak my name so carefully.
And I love you and you are home, and you came to me when I called.
Our love raised the dead, but God took you again.
A lesson should be learned, but all I feel is hurt.
Because I loved you and you were home, and you came to me when I called.
Because I love you and you are home, and you came to me when I called.
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4. |
H. H. Holmes
02:21
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You took their lives.
The White City burned to the ground.
I am not like you.
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5. |
Silly Superstitions
02:54
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White flowers on the roadside is a sign that our fates divined.
You spoke your silly superstitious mind in my ear while you leaned in close to me.
Certain numbers can’t be spoke out loud, you know, at certain times of day.
You said my fate was in the crooked lines you traced in the palm of my hand.
You turned your sister’s car around, claiming some things are prophesied.
You said our horoscopes are little maps of meaning, and that mine led right to you.
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