1. |
Holiday
03:10
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It was a lovely holiday
But, when the darkness calls,
It calls irrevocably
And it calls you by your name
It calls you by your hidden name
A bleakness fell upon my heart
And a bloodiness draped all my thoughts
Hallelujah, grace is gone
Hallelujah, I’ve returned
I have come home
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2. |
Empty House
02:39
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In the fall of that year I was limping around, unbrothered,
with an appetite for booze and blood
And a cold wind rattling the busted shutters of my heart
I was living in the city, I was living how I wanted,
but I wasn't having any fun
So when I heard that county line calling my name I settled up
In the shadow of the graveyard pine, by the property line,
where my people put their ashes down,
I found old jack dog just dragging his chains around
he wasn't restored, he wasn't revived
The suffering was in his eyes
He was as bruised and busted up as the day he died
He said: "boy, this death is an empty house.
sometime I think I hear you calling out my name,
and, even now,
I look for you in every room
I follow every sound,
but I'm just wandering around an empty house"
I longed to put my arms around him
I wanted to put my arms around him one last time
I wanted to lay our bodies out in the tall grass
And wake, reborn, to the wilderness
I just wanted to hold you one last time
Jesus Christ. I want to hold you one last time
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3. |
Evening Assemblies
06:08
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October nights, the octobral air
the old autumn movements, the quiet unrest
a spiring of crows reaches up from the overgrown grass
Hammer down on a newly slain doe
her once white crest is all matted with blood
she ain’t no sleeping god, she ain’t no oracle
and this place is no place to sow hope
I do still find joy in the company of men
and I’m still often knelt by a woman’s hand
so, in truth, i don’t know what this sadness is
I don’t know it’s name
When certain dark falls here, the reservoir parts
and the day-sleepers, silt-strung, rise up
they shuffle about, and they open their arms,
and gracelessly wait for the dawn
This place is so haunted - so swarming with ghosts -
that it’d take all my strength to get home
so I join their assemblies
I march when they lost
and I search for what light I have lost
Black-eyed choirs line the southeastern shore
their corded necks straining skyward,
and torn in their efforts to sing just one last earthy song
but nothing comes
just that terrible tidal sound from the depths of their gaping mouths
more reason to fear that what is sought here shall not be found
just bones
just bleached bones in the ground
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4. |
Locust King
03:08
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Seven years old
With my grandmother in tow
Through a late November snowstorm
I saw behind the veil: your gnarled throne
You sat alone on your isle on sun-bleached bone
A hundred miles or more from coast to coast
I shut my eyes and you were gone
Locust King, what did I see?
What did it mean?
Was it just a dream, or some prophecy?
Some ancient promise shown to me?
I've since grown old.
I cut my hair, I got this stupid job,
and so many things I've know I have forgot.
But still I see your spindling arms black out the sun.
Locust King: when you return, what will you bring?
Some strange new peace? Or malevolence?
Some eldritch army shielded beneath your winds?
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5. |
The Great Eastern
03:30
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And then I traveled towards the town where I was born,
just outside of Baltimore,
toward my mother and my father and my sisters and their dogs.
An autumnal country,
every seventeen years fell upon by a great cicada swarm,
and I am its native son.
I am its son.
For several years I’d hunted through the northern corridors.
I left a trail of wrathful lovers in my wake.
But the time had come for me to quit that bacchanal and head back home,
to put my daggers in the ground and show my hands.
The phantoms where I’m from wander around the reservoir,
beneath which sleeps a flooded town.
Their once-lustrous eyes are gone as ashen as the belly of a moth.
A woman stalks the hills there,
robed in coursing swells of blood and waiting for her lovers arms,
but her wound reopen nightly and her lover never comes.
Dead lights dancing on the water.
Cloven hoofprints on the shore.
An awful clawing all amongst the fallen oak.
I walk these hidden places as I’ve walked them times before…
In Jackson Duke I lost more than a dear, devoted friend:
He was a shepherd and a saint.
My only earthly brother and a lionhearted prince.
In his final dusking hours he stood bravely at my side.
I kissed his muzzle and he smiled.
Then I lifted up his broken brindled body and I said goodbye.
And, now, on certain moonlit nights, a ghostly baying sweeps the forest,
And I can picture him and his joyful wolfen grin.
Rushing at the windswept grass, and snapping at the darkness.
I would give anything to run with him again.
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6. |
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North of Hampton the hills turn wild
with auburning maples and tangled briars
Maidenhair and columbine
coiled together in the broken light.
Everything here shows design:
the single pale yearling tracing through the pine,
every interwoven vine,
the spangling of sparrows spread across the sky.
The Dark Vanessa shows her stripe.
Angling skyward in her drunken flight,
she wheels, and then resigns.
There’s a terrible silence to the sylvan life.
I left a revenential town
and I returned to the woods behind my parent’s house,
but the local phantoms tracked me down.
I nodded begrudgingly when I was found.
Now, I pace these battlements.
The moss covered ruins on the eastern ridge,
where I’m told I once was king
(or some other noble principality).
But over what could I ever reign?
And who could have ever thought of me as sovereign?
At my best, I’m a stripling. I’m nothing like a man.
I kneel to the bottle and the common curve of a woman’s leg.
In the cold, haunted dim of the thinning moon,
I watch these ruined halls reconstitute.
Royal banners flag and the curtains plume
and a lonesome keening fills every empty room,
as a woman with coursing wounds
is summoned forth again from her hidden
There’s this cold distance between
All that she was, and is, and still must be
But even in her suffering
She’s the loveliest thing that I have ever seen
She moves through these corridors at night,
carrying all the thrones of hell inside her.
Her lovely caprine eyes
The skin birching off of her and tendrilling, she sings:
“Is that all there is to a fire?”
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7. |
Brand New Bottle
03:15
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So we found this place that we can haunt
Old stone walls covered with wisteria
Just
Every morning is a brand new start
The fog rolls in, and then the fog rolls out
Big black snake living underneath the porch
Bone white stag always watching us from the woods
And a hundred million sparrows
We got more friends out here than we had in New York
Oh, my love: I think that we’ve done good
There’s no one darkening our door
We need not roam from here no more, baby
We will haunt the moonlit corridors
We’ll shake our chains, we’ll stomp, we will road
We open a new bottle every night
We’ll eat tomatoes rightly, off the vine
Will run out with the dogs
Baby, will go wild
There’s no one darkening our door
We need not roam from here no more, baby
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