1. |
If Memory Serves
03:18
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We left our homes so long ago.
So secure we thought we’d be, in greener pastures, we invented to secure our selves of a future we could not yet imagine.
And so we carry it over the mountains and wind up empty handed.
We can make our mark but soon be washed away. If our memory serves us we will eat well today.
If our hearts provide, there will be hell to pay.
Leaving has left us so close to alone so we cure ourselves of a plague of making connections, being tied down, invested in staying here long enough to be loved or to love.
We can make our mark but soon be washed away. If our memory serves us we will eat well today.
If our hearts provide, there will be hell to pay.
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2. |
Where Have You Been
04:27
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Override your lonely hours. Keep in stride with all your followers. Don’t you hide what you find solace in. But make up your mind, we’ve all been wondering.
Where have you gone? Where have you been?
Oh to find your place in modern times. Traces thrown away, a life you’re bound to find. How you do defy a course for everything. But right by your side you’ve all the maps you need.
Where have you gone? Where have you been?
I have known the seas you’re sailing on. Soft and slow. The only trouble is: where do you go?
Oh drifting is fine, you’ve all your years in tow.
Where have you gone? Where have you been?
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3. |
Relentlessness
03:01
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A spider web is the strongest of materials and I’ll sit here and eat my breakfast and wonder if there’s anything within a certain range of size immune to all that’s poisonous. I see a struggle between the worker and the passerby.
It’s understood. Communication will not change this.
Relentlessness brings a stranger sense of victory than bringing home a meal to me. I wonder if I bring this life to sudden end if rain will really sew the ground Back together.
Communication will not change this.
Relentlessness is the strongest of materials and I’ll sit here and eat my breakfast and wonder if there’s anything within a certain range of size immune to all that’s poisonous. I see a struggle between the worker and the passerby.
It’s understood. Communication will not change this.
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4. |
End Of The World
04:00
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I sigh, each day new ways. Can’t let the ocean drift away. In morning, two things we say: "good day and farewell" you choose your way.
I don’t know. I don’t know where people go.
Alone, with nothing left. Once more you’ll improvise and earn your rest. Survivors will re-invent weekends and holidays and malintent.
I don’t know. I don’t know where people go.
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5. |
Early Days
03:04
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There’s an old stone fence that leads you through the fields at night, where I found you sittin’ all alone. You could tell this time things weren’t the way they should be and I reached down to touch your head.
And your face, it said, "I’m scared, I’m tired and I don’t think this will ever change". I don’t think this will ever change.
But you finally remember somethin’ about the early days.
There’s a girl you knew, lived down the street from you. You were five. You cried when you realized you’d never see here again. She’d probably forget you. And so it goes. You’re back where you started from. Piece by piece your heart will all leave town.
But you finally remember somethin’ about the early days.
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6. |
Setting Soon
03:21
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The pictures, all faded, they’re all washed and grey. The paint chips all litter the floor. The roof is caved in where the dog used to lay and new life creeps up through the boards. Slowly erased is the fortune of a man. To be swallowed and sunken below.
Sunday afternoon.
The sun will be setting soon.
Push all the vines back on the shrunken old doorway where we finally found our way in.
Show me the windows where the warm apple wine sat. Never to grace them again.
Light wanders in through the windows unscathed. It’s a shame I can’t do just the same. Careful of footsteps. It seems time somehow weakened this frame. A fortress once stood where these ruins reside. There’ll be no more protection here.
Sunday afternoon.
The sun will be setting soon.
Push all the vines back on the shrunken old doorway where we finally found our way in.
Show me the where your grandfather’s dad sat and tasted the sweet afternoon.
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7. |
The Days You Would Play
04:37
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All those days that you would play and your mother cried for what you thought she lost inside. You have come so very far, but you move her just the same.
I would like to hear you play. Play the songs that we would sit and listen to. Sad and strong. A borrowed song, that you somehow made your own.
All those ways that your hands would weave her a lullaby. When sleep arrives, your worries die. Simple words we’ve heard, before you arrived, for she sang to you over and over.
I would like to hear you play. Play the songs that we would sit and listen to. Sad and strong. A borrowed song, that you somehow made your own.
And it goes.....
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8. |
For Someone Else
04:54
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On a morning, that fell sometime midday, I woke up to the perfect song that could happen to be playin’. On a radio, in which room I’m not certain, but it filled the space between the walls and nothin’ was that urgent, now.
We tried to undermine the limits of one evening. So little time to drink our hearts and make the most of this meeting. We slide across the floor in someone else’s kitchen and we understood a little more of each other’s position, now.
I’ve been told some things I could not see for myself. I’m not sad about them. No. I will save them for someone else.
Walk a mile to town the distance seems so little. For all the way we’ve had to come I get a feelin’ it won’t hurt us, more today than when we make our way towards parting, to understand a little more that we will never see the same things again.
I’ve been told some things I could not see for myself. I’m not sad about them. No.
I will save them for someone else.
Emptied out in excess, now it all just tastes the same. I should remember after all these times that there’d be so much lingerin’ .On. a bed in a room that had no curtains and we understood a little more of why each of us was hurtin’. So much.
I’ve been told some things I could not see for myself. I’m not sad about them. No.
I will save them for someone else.
I will save them for someone else.
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9. |
Bye Bye
04:23
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I haven’t heard a sound since you left this room to find yourself a better mind. Thinkin’ you weren’t comin’ back around, I began to let the dust pile up on all your precious things.
Lonely sounds are made in someone’s absence, but you were never here to hear them, or let ‘em get you down.
So bye bye.
We’re better off now that certain things are gone.
All your loves were ghosts from the beginning. You could never quite believe them, or let them stick around. They’re lookin’ as if they’re hopin’ that someone would come around and throw them out.
And so I say bye bye.
We’re better off now that certain things are gone.
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10. |
Tired Old Man
04:21
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Tired old man. Safe and sound, outside or underground. Do what you can to save tradition. Refuse to let us down. Same old easy chair, empty and without wear. Haven’t you seen an idle moment? Sometimes I think you’re scared.
Somehow I should’ve known you weren’t the one to teach me anything ‘bout slowin’ down.
Endless pursuit of quality. You told me once if I found it I should hold on.
I will hold on.
Tired old eyes, crystal clear. Strong will and thinning hair. Haven’t you seen an idle moment? Sometimes I think you’re scared.
Somehow I should’ve known you weren’t the one to teach me anything ‘bout growin’ old.
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11. |
Underneath Your Breath
05:25
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Don’t believe the elevation is the only thing that fills your head with hazy thoughts of this vacation. If we stayed too long we’d both be dead. You are sound and I am listening, to find and feel what’s mine.
Underneath your breath I find. Peace of mind.
You fix a meal, you couldn’t fake it. It might as well be yesterday. I’m the one who musta pushed it, when I tried to love you one last time. You are sound and I am listening, but not to what you say.
Underneath your breath I find. Peace of mind.
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12. |
Bird Song
04:21
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There’s one more bird left in the yard. You’ll find him there with broken arms. And love him with vines instead of yarn. He’ll wrestle with your instruments, so shiny and new, and he’ll show you you’ve no idea what to do.
Stop foolin’ around with your placement.
Stop foolin’ around in your basement.
The final site he shoulda known, you replaced it with flourescent glow, and a window to frame a place he would call home. The ground that waits for him to fall will settle now for nothing at all. And the wind blows to fill your sails and guide you home.
Stop foolin’ around in your basement.
Stop foolin’ around with your placement.
Like a painting you found in your basement.
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Brian Wheat Charleston, South Carolina
Brian Wheat, Charleston, SC songwriter and Buffalo, NY native has taken his time developing his unique compound of jazzy Americana. Wheat conveys a Willie Nelson-style honesty and straightforwardness in his performances. ‘Lounge’ is redeemed in a no-nonsense Rufus Wainright fashion through the rose filter of an 80’s era Austin City Limits session atop Cake-style rhythms. ... more
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