1. |
Salt in the Lungs
04:49
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Inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Wreck of the Hesperus”
Colder, louder blow… the wind, a gale, Northeast. The snow fell, hissing in the brine and billows frothed as this raw beast. Down came the storm, we plead. Vessel, lacked in its strength. Shuddered, like a scared steed. Then leaped, waves at great length. Cold, so cold. Now, crew, our time to be bold, bold! Yeah, it’s no time to cower in fear. Yeah, even as the rage of the storm is here. Father, will we survive? Father, will we survive? Colder, this louder blow… the wind, a gale, Northeast. Snow fell, hissed in the brine and frothed as this raw beast. Oh, father! Father! Father! Father! Cometh the trampling surf to test courage and our worth as we sail the sea… vast, dark, unknown to thee. New birth, facing currents deep, this salt water filling me… this salt water filling me. Like a vessel of glass, she stove, then sank, to the depths, alas! New birth, facing the deep, this salt water filling me… this salt water filling me.
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2. |
Kisses on Closed Eyes
03:10
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Inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “Endymion”
The rising moon. She hides each and every star. With level rays, each, a golden bar. How sweet and welcome they are. Reaching out to grasp, but they are so very far… they’re so far. So far! Silver white, the river gleams. As if we live, each in her dreams. It comes, the beautiful, the free… the crown of all humanity. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep. Are life’s oblivion, the soul’s sleep, the soul’s sleep, the soul’s sleep? So, so deep, in each nightmare’s weep. And, as kisses on closed eyes on all who’s slumbering lies. As kisses on closed eyes on all who’s slumbering lies. We don’t realize, that while we sleep, each and everyone of us cries. We all cry until we die… oh, yeah. All are fraught with fear and pain, while awake, shall never be loved again. All are fraught with fear and pain, while awake, shall never be loved again… never be loved again… never be loved again… never be loved again!
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3. |
This Godforsaken Place
03:38
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Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s “Because I could not stop for Death
"
Devour the young so they never know agony. Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me. And, the Carriage held but just ourselves, just ourselves and immortality. We slowly drove, and he knew no haste. I saw every forgotten soul as we moved through this godforsaken place. We, we moved slowly… I was to look at all the defeated, battered, and burned in their faces. Each of them cried out in fear, the streets—a swollen river of tears. Each of them cried out in fear, and the streets was a swollen river of tears. A river of tears. A river of tears. A river of anguish and lost pride for all the sadness inside each of these souls that no longer fit the mold of citizens needed by a city, sans pitty. I watched as they ate their own family. Devour the young so they never know agony. Devour the young so they never know agony. Devore the young so they never know agony. Devour the young so they never know agony.
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4. |
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Inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Theologian's Tale; The Legend Beautiful”
In my chamber, alone, on floor of stone, and in deep contrition for sins my of my indecision. I have forgotten my mission… my sense of indecision. Praying for greater self-denial in temptation and in trial. It was noonday, seen by the sun dial… the sun dial. And, what now, is this blessed vision? Oh, not as crucified and slain. Not in agony of pain. Not with bleeding hands and feet. No slogans, no guilt, and no blood in the street. Is this, my maker, I meet? Should I stand or remain on my knees? Is this, my maker, I meet? Glory from above speak, please! Then a voice within their breast said, “Do thy duty; that is best. Leave unto me, the rest… trusting in me, your only quest. Leave unto me, the rest”.
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5. |
Claiming the Sky
02:04
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Inspired by Maya Angelou’s “A Caged Bird”
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind. And floats downstream ‘till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays, and dares to claim the sky above you and I. And we wonder why, every winged one isn’t given this freedom to… the freedom to fly, the freedom to fly, the freedom to fly. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things longed for still. Heard on the distant hill. But the caged bird sings of freedom still, with a fearful trill of things longed for
still. Heard on the distant hill. Dreaming of unclipped wings and taking in its fill. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage, can seldom see through his bars of rage, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he opens his throat up wide. And as it cries, and so decides, it’ll break the fucking bars even if it dies. Single shouts multiply by others and can’t be denied… oh, denied. No. The free bird takes in the breeze, on trade winds soft through the trees. A dawn bright with the standing up of an army that was once on its knees… was on its knees. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams and shouts with a nightmare scream!
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6. |
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Inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s “A Death-Bed”
Some die shouting inside gas or fire. Some die silent, hung on the barbed wire. Our comrade’s rifle could backfire. Others will die slowly as they tire… alone as they expire. What are the questions they ask with their eyes as they die? Some die saintly in faith and hope. Some die thus in a prison yard. Some die broken by rape or the rope. Some die easy, most die hard. It all ends some day, no matter what way. It all ends some day, no matter what way. So, make sure to say “goodbye”. Get yer things in order, say “goodbye”. Get yer things in order, say “goodbye”, say “goodbye”… oh yeah. You think you can cheat death by holding your breath. But, it waits around the bend, and she’ll get you in the end. There’s no relationship to mend, she cares not my breath-holding friend… in the end.
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7. |
That Other Road
03:06
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Inspired by Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”
Two roads diverged in yellow wood, sorry I could not travel them both. It was just me, and long I stood, and looked down one as far as I could... to where it bent in tangled, snarling wood. There I stood, there I stood. Both paths that morning equally lay in leaves with not a step. And, I kept the first for another day, pulled up my boots, as I wouldn’t head back. I’d committed to this life’s adventure, no matter the track, no matter how dreary or black, I wouldn’t come back. I wouldn’t turn back. I wouldn’t turn back. I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged and I… I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. At the time it made no sense, but I could not deny the suspense. So, I traveled on… that has made all the difference. And, so I won’t turn back, I won’t turn back.
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8. |
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Inspired by the Dylan Thomas poem, “Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night”
Do not go gentle into the night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light. But, do not linger friend or you’ll lose your way. Though wise men, at their end, know dark is right… dark is right. Because their words had forked no lightning, they don’t go gentle… not gentle into the night. As men die, you hear them cry, “Oh how bright!”, yelled from on high. Their frail deeds will matter not when on their knees, tongues in a knot. Wild men who caught and sang the sun each day, they learn—too late—and grieved it on its way. Wild men who caught and sang the sun each day, they learn—too late—and grieved it on its way. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight… rage, rage, against the dying of the light. Though, those wise men—so wise, at their ends—know dark is right in the night.
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9. |
With All Hell in Tow
06:15
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Inspired by Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “Crossing the Bar”
Sunset and the evening star, Sunset and the evening star. The clearest of them calling out for me. And so may there be no moaning of the bar. When I drop everything, and put out to sea… woe is me, woe is me, woe is me. But such a tide as moving seems to sleep. Too full for sound and foam to creep when that which drew from out the boundless deep… all of the darkest secrets to keep. And what’s this now? Twilight and the evening bell. “All’s not well”. When I embark, enter the sadness of farewell. “All’s not well”. Hark! After the dark, too dim to see the great white shark… it’s too dark. But such a tide as moving seems to sleep. Too full for sound and foam to creep when that which drew from the boundless deep… all the darkest secrets keep. Up from the depths of below comes a demon, this foe, with all Hell in tow. And—don’t ya know—as it nears, easy to see its wake comes closer to me, no matter how much I plea, my blood shall fill this sea. Oh God, please save me? As I now float in the crimson tide, literally half the man I used to be with no more inside. From that devil fish, I could not hide. All’s not well.
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10. |
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Inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “From Morituri Salutamus”
How beautiful is youth? And how bright it gleams. With illusion, aspiration and dreams. That book of beginnings, a story without end, each woman a heroine. Aladdin’s Lamp and Fortunatus’ purse, holding the treasures of the universe. All possibilities are in their hands. No danger daunts them, and no foe withstands. No foe withstands. No foe withstands. No foe withstand. With ambitious feet, secure and proud, leaning on cloud. These voices, so loud, there’s no stopping this crowd… unity in youth, abound. Alongside old men too weak to fight. The youth chirping as songbirds in delight, all through the night… all through the night. Where is my youth, I’m no longer death proof. I’m so long in the tooth. Light years from the boy who had it all in my hand. So far from the one whose destiny I once did command. Light years from the boy who had it all in my hand. It passes me now by like sand. How beautiful is youth? And how bright it does gleam. With illusion, aspiration and the sweetest of dreams. Counting years like rings within a strong forest tree. Why doesn’t the fountain of youth have a portion for me? Oh, where’s my share, to quell this despair? Where’s this fountain? Hear my prayer. Hear my prayer. Hear my prayer. Hear, hear my prayer. Is anybody there? Hear my prayer! Hear me.
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11. |
Aqualung**
06:47
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The Lumbar Endeavor
Heavy sonic and visual offerings by musician/vocalist Aaron D.C. Edge (of Process Black, Hellvetika, Bible Black Tyrant, Ramprasad) and soundscape/field recorder + illustrator André Trindade (CVSPE).
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