Greetings from a wandering hippy in Southern Ontario.
Busking. Travelling. Hitching. Exploring. Forgetting What I Know.
Missing Family.
Not Missing Out On Life. Mogwai. T-Dot. Getting The Sound. Getting back To Basics.
It's a good life...
Dan Tait and his words... Bodhi Records.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Broken Words of a Hypocrite
These are the broken words of a hypocrite...
...shared with a wise man beyond his years, another has seen the light.
...shared with a wise man beyond his years, another has seen the light.
This minstrel's jaw, fractured from might,
Drops for the orchestra to follow.
The conductor below beats and repeats,
Yet readies for his greatest bellow.
For the soul that is wrought with the burden of loved,
But cannot carry itself the torch of love.
And when the burden can build,
And blind this man's eyes,
And when he cannot love,
More than get warm in his thighs,
One asks oneself, 'What, therefore, is the point?'
One tells the man; 'Grow, or die.'
For the purpose of love is to love and be loved.
And without one of these...
One must fly...
Away.
Drops for the orchestra to follow.
The conductor below beats and repeats,
Yet readies for his greatest bellow.
For the soul that is wrought with the burden of loved,
But cannot carry itself the torch of love.
And when the burden can build,
And blind this man's eyes,
And when he cannot love,
More than get warm in his thighs,
One asks oneself, 'What, therefore, is the point?'
One tells the man; 'Grow, or die.'
For the purpose of love is to love and be loved.
And without one of these...
One must fly...
Away.
Rusty Heart.
All the cynics are out while the trees sing with doves,
And all the wreckage shouts of all the forgotten love...
... And as the clock hits noon,
I know it's you,
That makes me feel this way,
So pure - so new,
So it's today,
That I choose to ice this bruise,
And I'll take this day,
To reflect and softly say -
That somethin's gonna change,
And it's not outta range.
She's waitin' for the ball to hit the floor,
Or to up and sail the coast,
With the boy she loves the most,
Who's been in a bad space,
Brought back up by the light in her face,
So for all the trouble he caused,
And the love that he's lost,
He'll redeem and rediscover,
With this wonderful new lover.
And all the cynics are out while the trees hang above,
And I just want to shout that I can (finally) feel a taste of love...
...And that night - her voice is so soft,
Just her words alone bring his heart aloft,
So light, and so unfamiliar,
So fresh and so much fitter,
For this rusty heart,
So stalwart and so smart,
But new to this foreign energy,
Inexperienced as he could ever be.
But the numb has gone,
And perhaps he can move on,
And take his place beside her,
As the bard with eyes wider,
Than the orchards growing cider,
No longer narrow,
Like his sweeping fingers' marrow,
It's this beacon shining down south,
That opened wide his mouth,
So he could sing...
This little thing...
And all the wreckage shouts of all the forgotten love...
... And as the clock hits noon,
I know it's you,
That makes me feel this way,
So pure - so new,
So it's today,
That I choose to ice this bruise,
And I'll take this day,
To reflect and softly say -
That somethin's gonna change,
And it's not outta range.
She's waitin' for the ball to hit the floor,
Or to up and sail the coast,
With the boy she loves the most,
Who's been in a bad space,
Brought back up by the light in her face,
So for all the trouble he caused,
And the love that he's lost,
He'll redeem and rediscover,
With this wonderful new lover.
And all the cynics are out while the trees hang above,
And I just want to shout that I can (finally) feel a taste of love...
...And that night - her voice is so soft,
Just her words alone bring his heart aloft,
So light, and so unfamiliar,
So fresh and so much fitter,
For this rusty heart,
So stalwart and so smart,
But new to this foreign energy,
Inexperienced as he could ever be.
But the numb has gone,
And perhaps he can move on,
And take his place beside her,
As the bard with eyes wider,
Than the orchards growing cider,
No longer narrow,
Like his sweeping fingers' marrow,
It's this beacon shining down south,
That opened wide his mouth,
So he could sing...
This little thing...
'Bout his baby from Barrie.
Radar
Beep... Beep... Beep...
The radar calls out but does anyone answer?
The sailor falls off, but does the crew go after?
The wayward ship finds itself in a rock and a hard place,
While the rest of the fleet find solace in a sheltered face.
The radar calls out. But does anyone answer?
Tired souls sing out, but will their lungs last much longer?
Like weeds in the sea, is the muffled hum stronger?
The wandering rabble live their days in a daze,
While the rest of the world like their world ablaze.
The radar calls. Out. But does anyone answer?
The heat can't escape, but does anyone help it?
The lungs fill with mist, do they take the chit?
The musty dark blanket drapes itself on this city,
While the cool air's gone away for ever and fifty.
The radar calls out. But. Does. Any. One. Answer?
The radar calls out but does anyone answer?
The sailor falls off, but does the crew go after?
The wayward ship finds itself in a rock and a hard place,
While the rest of the fleet find solace in a sheltered face.
The radar calls out. But does anyone answer?
Tired souls sing out, but will their lungs last much longer?
Like weeds in the sea, is the muffled hum stronger?
The wandering rabble live their days in a daze,
While the rest of the world like their world ablaze.
The radar calls. Out. But does anyone answer?
The heat can't escape, but does anyone help it?
The lungs fill with mist, do they take the chit?
The musty dark blanket drapes itself on this city,
While the cool air's gone away for ever and fifty.
The radar calls out. But. Does. Any. One. Answer?
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