1. |
Somnolent Gasps
02:43
|
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Still, the drips of water
across this white membrane
To pool on the creases
and shower us all again.
Listen to my breathing
These quiet, strangled breaths
The muffled sounds of sleeping
in delicate, somnolent gasps.
Could this be delicately composed
by the old voices drifting to sleep?
Can this be taken away from me
by the well dressed men of history?
Turning the page, breathing the dust
Hearing some distant ringing
Turning the page, breathing the dust
Calling this place my home
|
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2. |
This Sovereign Land
03:05
|
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Crawl underneath the covers, cold as ice
The creaking of the floorboards -
the coming tide
And all this time we ask for is not a gift
But the demands that we make shall not be met
You close your eyes
and I sit in silence
Waiting for this winter to end
This sovereign land will
fall in the springtime
|
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3. |
The Palette Runs Free
02:45
|
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Can you picture this very scene
But in several years' time
All I see is the grayest face
On this portrait of mine
The colours crash into me
Can you picture this very scene
But in several years' time
It just seems to pale to me
Solemn, yet undignified
The colours crash into me
And they'll take this sickness out of me
And colour this all in please
This monochrome will cover the leaves
Just colour this all in please
As I picture this very scene
But in several years' time
All the shades cascade away
as the palette runs free
|
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4. |
Sunken Garden
01:53
|
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I was all dressed up in rage
And folding my arms like a military drill
The air was solid to the touch
And every small draft felt like the advancing artillery
Pause,
And look out this tiny window
And count all the ordinary people just waving us on
Pause,
And collect all your scattered thoughts
And we'll gather this dirt and turn it into a sunken garden
And with this torrent of images and ideas
we'll fall into wonderful obscurity
And no reporters will come knocking
No one will cry for a comeback
No one will mourn this loss
|
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5. |
Tiny Afterlife
02:49
|
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I was the first to notice what was wrong
There was a distant murmur, and you were gone
And in the tiny afterlife you know
I am the corner of this envelope
Slowly moving through some old sound
For you to hold on to
I was the first to notice what was wrong
There was a distant murmur, and you were gone
Now I'm following the ashen trails
Pulling earth from underneath my nails
And all the birds are waiting for the song
That isn't mine to give
|
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6. |
Some Formless Rage
02:04
|
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We are the dots
We are scrambled all over the page
And every line that was written
was joining the space
between corner and corner
between some formless rage
you were tearing your hair out
and each fallen strand
you would line up
and then
You would reach out towards
this cold cynic for comfort again
Who would just spit unclear
and orderless phonemes out into the air
between the north and the south
oh, there is some formless rage
you were clawing your eyes out
just to put them back in
and over and over
I am folding my arms
and you reach out to grab them
and I wake with a start
Oh! How the daylight
just falls into place
|
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7. |
All Directions
02:05
|
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There was never any place for these words
But I see the corners of your eyelids fall
Buried underneath the veneer of
such magnificent posturing
Buildings shook to their foundations
Colours flood in all directions
Your heart filled with condemnations
Colours flood in all directions
And I'd just opened my eyes
And you said "the madness will follow the art"
When I tired to sympathise
You said "they asked for it right from the start"
When we're spun and spun we can't see through
The thick fog that surrounds this delirium
|
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8. |
For Us To Live Again
03:16
|
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And I peer through these brittle panes of glass
Through which the sun never came to touch our eyes
Slowly then do these memories surface
Emerging now from the cracks beneath my hands
Now here I hold sounds of every single laugh
Still I see every step until the last
There the place where at first I touched your hair
A monument; the crux of our victory
Oh to learn this again
To recall these memories as the last thing we will know
And though the surfaces seem new
I can see through to the way they were before
Cold and sheltered in this old light
I become a mere vehicle suddenly
entangled with the earth
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The Contortionist London, UK
The Contortionist is me, Andy Hirst; usually alone, but sometimes with friends. We even had a proper band for a while (The
Contortionist and The Wandering Boy Poets).
I've been in a load of bands over the years playing various things: drums in Nixon, The Broken Chairs, and The Purgatory Players, guitar in Situationists, guitar/keys/vocals in Japanese Sleepers and Fall Forwards.
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