1. |
Ignorance
01:53
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Nothing can stop this movement. No one will ever halt my gorgeously broken words. All that really even matters anymore is that we keep the bank just a little fuller, thus our hearts have become so much more empty. All has depleted. “We have it all together, may I finally have this dance,” the boy said to his new lover. “We have it all together, may I finally have this dance,” the boy continued to shout. “We have it all together, may I finally have this dance,” he's now begging and pleading. “We have it all together, may I finally have this dance?” And she cried, “Let us move our feet over their bones, embracing complexity and sophistication while, immediately, we must close our ears to those of whom that persist in begging for even the mere factors of simplicity. Just as they had turned their backs on us, I will refuse to acknowledge them.” Again and again, we sang the shattered songs from an old, forgotten book. We sang the shattered songs, and the ground beneath us shook, so we kept singing, “I cannot forget the concept of wholeness, that we are all still broken, only, now, slightly more aware of our state of depravity.” Nothing can stop the movement. No one will ever halt such broken words, for passion beget ignorance, and ignorance is bliss.
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2. |
Ser(e)pent
02:35
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She's the sort of snake you'd like to behead before it swallows your chickens whole, yet one by one, they fall in line to be slaughtered. Every night, you hear the slithering; left and right it goes, and you invite her in. The stories never told of the venom, we're all clean, but it doesn't quite work like that. Dusk to dawn, and dawn to dusk, twilight's gaze is in your eyes; you're face to face with her. Judas mask, or Judas skin, ill intentions and malignant substance are licking you as clean as the mud you sleep in. Slowly, but surely, eating the fruit right off of the serpent's tongue. All the world has not ever tasted this delightful, but your stomach's always felt so twisted. Green waves and pale icebergs become discernible on the horizon, and your strong, brown, two-storied mansion is a ship, soaring through the violent seas of anguish and shame, but captain, my sweet captain, why not drown in something that rolls so nicely out of thy lips? Of course, we're all slowly submerging anyway.
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3. |
Collisions
02:38
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I just can't seem to get past the fact that there’s no longer any dynamic. Space and time, angles and lines, they all sing the same to me, and they will not stop singing, though there's no reason for them to utter their songs any longer. I realize that I am but a fabric on your doorstep, embellished in the dirt of your travels and the humility brought by my lowly existence. My expressed purpose has been to gently cradle your heels, and you'll find, oh you'll find me cradling those heels. Though your dance hasn't lasted long, already I am dreading the very touch of those red shoes, tearing such tender skin and reopening the same damning wounds again. They've been bleeding since before we began, and they'll still fester as you take such graceful movements elsewhere. Wasn't that what I wanted? Isn't this what I've been begging to be? And, yes, I know that there are still birds in the air and there are fish in the seas, and they keep telling me that you can't all be the same, but I have yet to get off of my back and endure the rain long enough to feel any sort of relief, substantial relief. There has to be some relief. I still hold the belief that there's some genuine concern out there, but tonight, nothing else matters. Tonight, I'll be found at your feet. Who needs the rain, anyhow? There are no sheep to water. I have no crops to feed.
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4. |
The Sinking Ship
02:49
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Meaningless. Get it through your head. Everything is meaningless, and for once, we must make haste. Keep lighting the torches. Prove substance, that is, if we can ever justify our actions. I'm finally understanding that, in all reality, I'm ultimately reduced to but a grain of sand, simply blowing here and there as if a significant collision is going to make my mere passing somewhat consequential. I've even fallen in love with such a calamity as this, and there has to be some sort of reason in it all. I mean, I haven't been able to shake this sense of urgency for weeks now, and yet, there is no escape from the passion that's been guiding my footsteps for over 18 years. I just have to keep walking, keep moving forward, I have to keep progressing. Thus begins a delicate yet ruthless eruption. My hands are still trembling, won't you help me wash them eloquently in the well, wiping away stains that only exist in my head. “What's the purpose,” I keep asking myself, “in free will, if mine is kept on a shelf.” The only way left out is to climb, but once again, I'm sucked in by your radiant eyes. It's as if beauty was made for no reason but this. I figure I'll keep wallowing in the very self-pity that I despise, but refuse to stop creating. Madness. I'm sinking into madness, and this time, I can't jump ship.
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5. |
Realization
02:14
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n and out of the alleys, I've found myself sick with the fever and cold with the chills. Taxis pass by, disturbing the eloquent peace found in every puddle, telling our story, a nest of barbed wire, while we hypocritically acclaim our great successes, the leaves falling out of our pockets, and our aviary romances leaving the eggs cracked at the trunk of a tree. Maybe I'll be next. I heard a boat hit the shore, and I had made sure to call the captain over from his majestic pond so that he could christen me a king before I awoke up at the bottom of the ocean. I've crowned myself a hundred times. I've washed my shoes to walk a dusty street. I'll wear this cut forever, as long as it turns your eyes to me. Lines in the hot, black pavement may be the only thing that keeps us all from the great destruction we ache for night after night, but there is no such guidance on the seven seas. Lonely crab, can your red claws pull me ashore to rest with you amongst the salty waves and cold, cold sand, because I know that my crew has abandoned me, a thousand sailors pulling new masts, and giant squid, please let me be. I understand my underpass castle fares better than a million restless widows, regardless, I have met the face of change in the Marianas Trench.
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6. |
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Burn the shoes. Mend the wounds. I left her porch and ran from the great big, black dog in the yard. No longer will her heels crush my back, and never again will they rejoice at my fleeting lust. Blood's soaked the dirt-covered floorboards I have continued to call a bed. We died and discovered existence, shackled in a new-found freedom. These days I wonder how long it takes to fall from ten stories up. This wasn't at all what you wanted, and this isn't who you begged me to be. The fish can't swim, and the birds know not how to fly. Vamos a pasear a la tierra donde el sol muere. Vamos a pasear a la tierra donde nunca se me vuelva a llamar. Vamos a pasear a la tierra donde el sol muere. En la noche, no puedo ver su cara. But can I ever be so bold? This splinter's in my back, bear's in my closet. I can't sleep. I can't eat. Burn the shoes. Mend the wounds. They all cry out, “Come down, sweet raindrop, fill the earth, tie me up with your golden noose.” I still no nothing of dynamic, never healed a single soul. Break their backs, leave them aching. Give them homes, send them out. There's always a warmer house an hour to the south. I sang of a home, there came a wind, I wrote of love, and it crushed my head. Burn the shoes. Mend the wounds. Wear the shoes. Forget the scars.
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7. |
Separation
04:55
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Ashes to ashes, my entire world is ashes. I will rebuild the walls, keep the flood from crashing down, rebuild the walls, pray I haven't locked myself in. There is more certainty than death and taxes, and I find it in the repercussions of folly. I have to break out. A young boy with big dreams, brought up in a one horse town, handed his beliefs in book after weathered book. May I be a fool, as I am so quick to grow old, to cross the river and be one with the chilled evergreen forest, but slowly to learn that I have to wake up. For my own sake, get me out of this broken room. The walls have crumpled and there is no longer a ceiling. Then in my teens, the ground shifts. The view I once held diminished, along with the house, and I don't realize that I have made myself a bastard. I still drink from this cup, and I sleep in the refuse that surrounds the foundation while it sinks into infernal wreckage. It is but a tomb. This will be the death of me. Now, a worn adult, slowly becoming machine. No food nor drink, no understanding of need. The house, what has become of the house? I am free to wander amongst the trees, green leaves and sweet dew being my only companion. Is this what it means to be alive? Is this what it means to be alone? The forest is cold, though it's all I've ever held on to. Can there be any escape? I have no want of hate or greed, so I'll burn it to the ground. My final act. Wood explodes in flames of orange and blue. Wildlife's scattering, the work of my bloodstained hands. The house, the evergreen, can't you tell that it's all the same? Freedom beckons, and I am the wretched, afraid of change, but unable to cease it. I bid farewell to the forest, adieu to the room. Disconnect. Separation. Growing up. Isolated.
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Lady Blue Tulsa, Oklahoma
Created in early 2012, Lady Blue is the collective musical expression of Luis Quiroz and Greg Brown. Bearing a unique sound, solidified by solid musicianship and a top-notch sense of passion, Lady Blue is sure to bring a new flavor to the music of Northeast Oklahoma and the rest of the world. ... more
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