Though no one wants to hear it, here's the story of another broken spirit over how two so easily can become estranged. And as these blues rip through me, the abuse of meds and booze may stunt my moods, but I cannot seem to throw them all away. So, again, I turn to paper and a pen, as if to find some grand connection to the patterns that unfurl when confidence, whirling, nosedives through hopelessness and there left standing is a man without his fortune. Look who's under siege of the jagged edges of his big ideas. Locked to the rails of the rolling theme of the could—have-beens that now cannot be.Being a beacon for these battered hearts has more or less become my art and a sad way to shape my constitution. It's the product of a life revealing conflict, strife, and the blown out feelings destitute of retribution. This parade of passions levied a tax upon my soul and day by day, hour by hour, the desires that I carry become more and more arbitrary but still stand as roadblocks to my becoming whole.
Track Name: A Manic Heart (Revealed)
I have a manic heart, you found me out. Keeper of the storms and spirits I chauffeur around, but of late it's working overtime, it’s unsound and wound tight, and every day I dream of release. But, oh, my city 'tis of thee sweet land of libertines. I don't even know who knows me anymore, I've been holed up inside for so long. So I call out to see, “Olly olly oxen free! Olly olly oxen free!” But no one's left to reveal. There is no “us” and “them,” there is only “us” and the tools for empathy, but oh my city 'tis of thee sweet land of libertines. As this world begins to thaw, dead soldiers' bones reenter the show exposed to us. So now it's funerals for memories long forgotten that to cling to us. Oh, they cling to us... There’s nothing that can truly hold me down, there's nothing to neutralize me now. So I sing the fleeting rhymes, beat by beat repeating lines, and every day I dream of release. We divide then make amends over and over until again we see there is no “us” and “them,” there is only “us” and the tools for empathy, but oh my city 'tis of thee sweet land of libertines.
Track Name: An Extraordinary View
I keep the shades all drawn against the summer heat as an analogue to acknowledge that once again I recognize when I've been beat. I've not wandered into good luck over these past few years. All the breaks have broken every which way save the ways that should assuage my fears and it hurts my head. Oh, it hurts my head, but it's my soul's purview and I have an extraordinary view. And what of the ones who seem to know the world through airport codes and hotel checkout girls? The desires that they seek fall somewhere in between all those discussions of living the better life. I drank my bank account empty over wasted years. It was the art of misery that clouded my thinking until I believed I was just unlucky. And I know no one can help me if I’m living inside such a broken mindset. I know no one can help if I’m living inside such a broken head. What ever happened to the light that filled my blood and bones with fight? What ever happened to the life I was trying so hard to lead?
Track Name: The Doppler Shift
Under amber lights we were introduced. My attention captive, my heart bemused and when I pulled her into my arms, oh... The sparks they flew up over the old oaken embers of our blistered histories, friends and ancestors, and the discordant memories of our youths. (Out in the humid streets logic and lust compete. The doppler shift will yield.) The train whistles arc across the night as parables told in sonic satellite and hidden in the low frequency, I'm pining for a day I may never see. So, I thought I could make a change. Realign, redesign, and rearrange, and just when I thought I had it made, old habits come creeping in. My head, the protester crafting arguments in diagrams, design thee a sign to strike against the heart's laments for not all of this is doomed to fail. This autumn and winter when the light of day is constricted, should the darkness spread to the celebrations afflicted by her elegance and heady charm. (Out in the icy streets are ghosts of uncertainty. The doppler shift will yield.) It's eight faro shuffles to realign; a slight of hand deceit of the fervid kind and there in the hand dealt is a power that is unparalleled. So, I thought I could make a change. Realign, redesign, and rearrange, and just when I thought I had it made, old habits come creeping in. It's worth the work, make no mistake. A bombshell with a solvent soul distilled in heartache. And just when I thought I had it made, old habits come creeping in.