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about
Dave Edwards - acoustic guitar, harmonica, vocal
Mike Kingston - cello
Sam Prebble - violin
Wellington, NZ, 2003
lyrics
1 2 3, 1 2 3
I dissolve into background noise, frequenting carnival bars
smog buried distance, & it made me forgetful,
& my own pen makes me start telling lies
I'm hangin' out with the guys, welcoming rhythmic asides
I'd say 'take home my hand, let us be tragic friends'
but I'd once again forgotten to talk
The house requires a chairman, kind mannered lady; silk wolverine cry
& as to the meeting, the method, the requisite corner, the killing of swarm in its own metal canvas, laugh conserve leisure, open wound & still breathing - from hungover night & then drunken morning under the covers, back into working, swallowed the houses with internet access, sheet metal cutter clasped in his hand
I hate what I used to enjoy, I'm becoming the clown of thorns
I can speak the language, but I can't make it dance
There's a need to recharge my soul
The truth is negated by song; displacing emotional wrong
The cynic is a basilisk, & I know I'm full of shit
But, as usual, nothing is wrong
...so knowing they had to get out of there at some stage - not later but then & now - which was then come & gone, off to the front the side the back that caused air to waken, vent its forth a broken promise kept, come answering gladly against the wall curtain raised adventure happenings under the table, weary weight of curse, distance savour worsen capture said 'somewhere along the line the ice was broken', northern cry release
I find that I'm losing my voice; abstain from mystical sights
The hypocrite sits with his obsessive gifts that will work endless shifts in the shafts of his mind/mine
A strange kind of happiness, lacking in joy
Full stop. Count off. Exact refusal tie. Measurement patterns, bringing forth progress, his own unsteady warming, mounting bannister, spiral staircase; it is the world that is hunger;, it is hurt, torn & cumbersome; perseverance was mild; silver in platitudes, a red foreign sun asleep in its patterns; slumber was comical, dreams held it open, the sun was improving, we captured that night. Soon there is movement, inside there are people; consigned them in consecutive autumns, where they had to reveal how the plot has now turned.
credits
from
Loose Autumn Moans (2003),
released October 9, 2003
Dave Edwards - acoustic guitar, harmonica, vocal
Mike Kingston - cello
Sam Prebble - violin
license