1. |
Plane
03:18
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time vial runs dry
and I leave my home
aboard the first airship out
the flying steed tramples clouds as the ground races by
a colorful monk mans the wheel as I contemplate the long way down
he sends me into the cargo hold
it smells of steel and gasoline
the engine roars as we ascend
it is full of his belongings
he tells me to cast them into the yonder
they crash amongst the ditches splintering in the green sea
you see, he purchased objects of no use to himself
just to say he had them
they went unused for ages and only weighed on his soul
by ridding himself of these possessions
he seeks to reclaim who he was so long ago
within the hull I marvel at the mess
possessions tossed into a heap
the unkempt monk traded some beads for a plane
and now spreads his wealth
no matter how much I unload its size does not shrink
trinkets materialize before me and I cannot keep up
I ask and get no answer
many miles later I end my own foolish conquest
I cannot defeat it
but they all must go
he tried giving them away
but gave back in
airship stutters and stalls
and then comes the long fall
we fall down and quiet monk sits with arms folded
too heavy I think
its he who sunk us
but it is I who filled my pockets
I throw off my coat but its too late
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2. |
Train
03:33
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climb aboard drunken train
and try to save your soul
we are heading out west to the edge of the earth he claims
on a train filled with boxes
filled with nothing to me
but something to him
“all over I have traveled” he says
“collector collects and that’s the way it is”
infinite rails are the way
the iron and wood stretch forever
as he looks for his grail
captives organize his cardboard hoard
their spines hunched and eyes black
piles of boxes stretch to the ceiling
carelessly spilling their guts upon the floor
stacks of paper dry and curl in the dust
speed through dunes to get there
I escape the collector’s sight and explore his maze
amidst the wreckage of his obsession, I jump from train car to train car
“collector collects and that’s the way it is”
I say it again to myself
the air is cardboard
the floor is decay
their sad faces harden with time
as the wallpaper peels and the windows mold over
green sunlight fights through cardboard towers
and we journey closer to the edge of the earth
tin cans filled with doodads
glass bottles filled with geegaws
boxes filled with whatnot
nothing all around
reveries scattered like knickknacks throughout his train
the wheels lock up
train grinds to a halt
sparks spray into the sand
“collector collects and that’s the way it is”
makes no sense to me
but perfect sense to him
sometimes two of everything
sometimes more
just for the hell of it he says
I think he is looking for friends
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3. |
Mobile Home
03:19
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I find myself on the side of a country road
hoping to hitchhike onward
a mobile home slows down and skids right past
and crashes into a ditch
I rush towards the door
and out steps a glutton covered in scum
another one joins him
“broke down again” she shouts
her rotten teeth gleam in the sun
and they argue for what seems like hours
I tell them I can fix the mobile home and send them on their way
in return for a ride to wherever they are going
they invite me in
my shoes stick to the floor
an exploded garbage bag waits eagerly by the door
I follow the pair into the kitchen carefully dodging towers of old magazines
everything is rotten
and the curtains breath dust
dishes from last year’s supper cover the counter tops
in a trailer bound for no where
its tires have all but rotted away
I’m not quite sure how it got this bad
but I am certain how it will end
fiberglass pours from the seams
and the ceiling leaks brown water
I am sure generations of raccoons have lived and died within these walls
and no one seems to notice
I spend days on bedding made of laundry
and each day I offer to fix their engine
and each day I receive another excuse
and each day it becomes clear to me
miserable but not alone
meal time rolls around once more
and they attack the feast within
filling their empty bellies with rust
and they retire to the grime
same as always
to dine then rest
same as before
it can’t move
it won’t move
the sun securely fastened to the sky
I work up the courage to ask if they grow tired of life on this road
“we won’t have it any other way,” they shout
I continue my wandering no better or worse for my trouble
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4. |
Balloon
04:55
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in the sky once more
I encounter two brothers
aboard a mighty zeppelin
above the trees
and the rivers
and the grass
and the ground
at home in the sky
meals and entertainment at all hours of the day
and plenty to share
the brothers explain that their wealth was won in the mines of the earth
on an expedition three miles down
one brother found riches
while the other rested
two resolved to stay as far away from the mine as possible
and live a life of excess high up in the sky
one brother bold
his resolve kept the mission afloat
the other miserable but not alone
was busy fighting himself when the earth gave way
now they fly forth towards destiny
or so they say
one brother bold
his resolve kept the mission afloat
the other miserable but not alone
in the zeppelin we eat like kings
fresh fruits picked from the airborne garden fill our stomachs
we reminisce and rejoice
but I swear we have been flying in circles
and they assure me that it is progress
the nitrogen balloon floats us out to god knows where
we see the sun rise above the golden clouds
and again we embark upon excess
we fill our stomachs with fine feast
one brother bold
his resolve kept the mission afloat
the other miserable but not alone
smoke pours from underneath the engine room door
while one brother rests
the other rushes through to put out the blaze
I follow him silently
deep in the balloon the furnace burns
I watch him desperately try to extinguish the flames
he disappears
and his brother hardly stirs
asleep in his bed where he will remain
dazed and alone
I had a dream
that in their mine they found a fire
they bottled and sold it
and tore the world in two
brothers will wander and still won’t find
aboard the airship
sleeping brother will not stir
wrapped safely in his blankets
smoke chokes the air I wish him farewell
his balloon burns down around him
and no one seems to notice
I wish I could have saved that magnificent bird
I had no choice but to jump
one last fall
I land amongst the treetops
and wander off into the early morning
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Edit The Sad Parts Geneva, New York
Edit the Sad Parts is Ryan and Tom. We began with recorded improv in a dirty bedroom. Now we write songs about people in a slightly cleaner basement.
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