| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 6:40 | 
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| 2. |
| 3:08 | 
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I was a postal worker from May until July
I left because of allergies - the letters made me cry 8am on Fridays, 6am the rest Postal for the two months Coastal for the rest I kept the last day's letters |
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| 3. |
| 4:41 |
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He lived a boy's life
He loved his "Camp Mohawk" on Viele's Creek And he loved to work on problems, drifting in his canoe Lightning days He hated formalities in dressing He would welcome also god himself, in his red bathing suit Lightning days The doors of his house were usually electrified |
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| 4. |
| 1:33 |
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| 5. |
| 8:44 |
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The season is long and i've got the chills
The city steps back, replaced by the hills There's snow on my heart and snow on my pills The season is long and this season kills Don't you ever think that you might love me? The season is long and I'm coming home I captured your ghost in the throat of the phone There's snow on my heart and snow on my pills The season is long and this season kills Don't you ever think that you might love me? |
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| 6. |
| 3:13 |
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There are more people alive now than have ever lived
I read that somewhere and instantly thought it impossible but if it were to be true I wonder that, if we keep living this fast, no-one will have time to die I've met people whose lovers died in war and i've wondered what this helplessness could be like One minute there's a whole life entwined with yours and the next, just a space and scattered clues When I watch old films in which animals appear I get sad because those animals are certainly dead now And that certainty prompts my private epitaph and I have to say it out loud "That dog is dead, that cat is dead, that horse is dead..." |
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| 7. |
| 4:15 |
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The night settles down on the water
The feathers of sun gathering The trees wave their way to the morning The birds think about what they'll sing I have dreams in which you're a nightmare I have dreams in which you're unfair But angels still dance in your garden and flowers still grow in your hair My tears leave a skull on the pillow My tooth leaves my blood on the sheet My heart sways the way of the willow My heart sways the way of the wheat But you are the queen of the lowlands You have the crown of the lost I found you broke up like a shipwreck I found you broke up on the rocks The horses come in from the cliff tops, their shadows upsetting the sea The waves swim their way to the bottom and stay there until they're forgotten And you know about birds when they're dying How they know that they're going to die How they hide in the heart of the forest and sleep until death chances by You know that You know that |
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| 8. |
| 0:56 |
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It's the same dream that lasts all night but I can only keep this: it's Halloween and I'm chasing you round the other kids on a moonlit lawn in a skull mask and a ghost cape
And you are sometimes and sometimes you are just a shadow |
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| 9. |
| 3:15 |
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| 10. |
| 4:49 |
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In travel, there are traps
When I'm writing in the back Beneath the rain, between the maps My diary bears this out but memory has it wrong I loved you when you loved me and then we were done There's a silence on the railway There's a bad curse on the land And this season writes a rainstorm like a poem in the sand You told me I depressed you, that I withered in your hand And that sentence cut my loveline when you left me as you planned In travel, there are traps when I'm writing in the back Beneath the rain, between the maps My diary bears this out but memory has it wrong I loved you when you loved me and then we were gone In travel, there are traps when I'm writing in the back |
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| 11. |
| 10:48 |
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Breaking Winter up by shooting numbers from the clock
The cat sleeps on the atlas in Alsace Lorraine, dreaming long grass and birds on the wire I have memories no deeper than this glass and some besides that stretch history twice In a super 8 film colour haze, a scratched nostalgia that runs through my cogs - shot through the fog; time taking care of whatever I cared about So you are lost somewhere in here - your body, a raft,spinning towards the falls Your death claimed me too - there were two throats in the noose but mine now swallows whiskey, mine is not now bruised The black mouth of this month, bruised lips, black ice, forms a sickly smile across London's sky |
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가슴네트워크 Review :: 2003-02-13
Subject : Piano Magic - Writers Without Homes (4AD,2002)
