1. |
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Walking around through the small country towns,
feeling so happy and gay.
Taking advice offered at a good price:
me and Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Birds of a feather flocking freely together,
laughing at what comes our way.
Loving the stranger and braving the danger:
me and Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Taking our sweet time, walking that fine line
between our doubt and our faith.
It was poetic justice, yeah, no on could trust us:
me and Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Tracking our terror through Eros and Error,
holding hands down by the bay.
Forever for nothing but sometimes for something:
me and Edna St. Vincent Millay.
By her beauty so savage I’ve been wrecked and been ravaged,
but I loved her and do to this day.
Her New England nature, her perfect nomenclature:
me and Edna St. Vincent Millay.
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2. |
I Never Lied
05:18
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My mind’s been mixed with madness
since the day that I was born.
My goodness and my gladness,
ever-stained and ever-torn.
And hobbled by a loneliness
that looks a lot like pride:
I said I was a good man but
In that, my love, I lied
My soul’s been streaked with sadness
Since I came into this joint
And my goodness and my badness
Are both beside the point.
Something at the core is off.
Something deep inside.
I told you I was healed but
In that, my love, I lied.
Coming down the boulevard
The sorry shapes of men
Looking hurried, looking hard
For those weaker than them.
And so as not to fall under
Their fists and stones and steel
I get lost in their number
And keep my cards concealed.
My body’s marked with malice.
All these scars I’ve taken on
In Denver or in Dallas
In a thousand bleary dawns
Have come to form a roadmap
Of the world so vast and wide
I said that I was staying home;
in that, my love, I lied.
The night goes crawling forward
Slowly straining towards the day
And I sit here and look for words
To seduce the night to stay.
I make me plea, I make my case,
And now I must abide.
I told you that I loved you, and
In that I never lied.
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3. |
A Fair Season Again
03:48
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Spring is in my hands and hair.
Sunlight in the empty air.
Arab ponies at the fair.
A fair season again.
Daylight hits the darkest street.
Pennies under children’s feet.
Ovens fry onions and meat.
Your friend is still your friend.
A redbrick in a riverbed.
Boys now rest your weary head.
You will go where you are led.
By you or someone else.
Heaven help the heavy heart.
Publicize its private art.
Everyone must come apart.
Even you yourself.
Rain sits in a paper cup.
Watch her come and drink it up.
No one dares to interupt.
It wouldn’t be polite.
Thorns and thistles, burrs and weeds.
Nashville’s where you’ll learn to read.
You will get just what you need.
For every man a fight.
Ashes in the firepit.
A ring of stones surrounding it.
Redwood trees so tall and thick.
A perfect place to haunt.
Branches mutter in the wind,
“It’s time for you to start again.”
With any luck you’ll break even.
What more do you want?
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4. |
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You belong to the darkness.
You don’t belong to me.
And when the lights are out
and we can’t see,
that’s when I love you true.
For I belong to the darkness.
I don’t belong to you.
I belong to the darkness.
I don’t belong to you.
And when the moon comes out
and the hills turn blue,
that’s when I feel so free.
For you belong to the darkness.
You don’t belong to me
Take my hand
although it’s shaking.
See me by brave
though you know i’m faking.
We belong to the darkness.
We don’t belong to each other.
But when the sun comes up
we’ll learn how to be lovers.
Baby, that’s what we’ll do.
I won’t belong to the darkness.
I’ll belong to you.
And then we’ll see.
You don’t belong to the darkness.
You belong to me.
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5. |
The Fix Is In
03:53
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He pulls down the blinds
and turns on the TV.
The images flash
already dead on the screen.
He takes off his bag
and rummages through it.
He told his mother
he never would do it
again.
But the fix is in.
When it hits him it hits
like a fist full of love.
Like a passionate kiss
from an angel above.
Outside the traffic
roars soft like the sea.
And the afternoon rocks him,
little baby, to sleep
till it ends.
The fix is in.
He’s tried to fight it
but the game it was rigged.
Tried to bit the bullet
but the bullet’s too big.
Looked for the exit
but the exit’s been locked.
Found the back entrance
to find it’s been blocked.
It’s a sin.
But the fix is in.
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6. |
Interstellar Space
05:10
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Sometimes there ain’t no reason to go on or so it seems
but you go on, yeah you roll on, yeah you go on to extremes
just to justify the flesh and bone that holds your soul in place
and keeps your sort of grounded in interstellar space.
Sometimes the road seems endless and the tracks don’t take you home.
You end up in the Land of Nod, outside the Church of Rome.
Looking for an angel but you just can’t find a trace
of anything to keep you hanging on in interstellar space.
Sometimes the night goes on and on, you yawn and yawn again.
There ain’t no “hallelujah”, you can’t muster an “amen.”
You got no one beside you and no one to kiss your face
and tell you it’s worth hanging on in interstellar space.
When your still and peaceful center has become a raging storm
and you don’t want to die but you sure envy the unborn:
that’s when you recall the world is all that is the case.
But there’s more than the world, oh yeah, there’s interstellar space.
Sometimes the murdered moments, they just trample down your time
and you hardly dare to ask for anything that’s too sublime
but if you don’t ask for more then, son, you best pick up your pace.
The road is long; it arches over interstellar space.
You know you look about the same as last year at this date.
If you’re declining then at least it’s at a steady rate.
But the problem’s not the decline nor the various embraces:
it’s the fact that outside this one there’s more interstellar spaces.
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7. |
Discard My Name
03:12
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I do not claim to know what the purpose is
of this body, born so full of nervousness
into this world where sense sometimes seems absent
and we breathe deep and throw away the maps and
journey on, though we cannot see in front of us
nor can we see behind and what is hunting us.
Trying to live the tale, not sing the story,
waiting for the map to become the territory.
I don't want to pass that mirror where I should see myself
and find even my shadow is of someone else.
Let there be no falseness in my voice if it is heard.
Give me ears to here and let me speak my word.
"That crown you're wearing never did belong to you.
You think you're full of power but it isn't true.
Drunk on your own advice you bite the hand that feeds,
too scared to confess all of the things you need."
I speak this to the mirror and get no reply.
I tremble in my thoughtless and close my eyes.
But every generation spills it share of blood.
By the time the next arrives it is just ancient mud.
But there's violence in the eyes and in the hands we share.
The hands we use for murder and we use for prayer
I fold my hands, I desert this old campaign.
I take off my mask and I discard my name.
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8. |
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Whiskey, you're the devil.
But whiskey, I am too.
And we will see what's left of me.
When you and I are through.
Whiskey, you are beautiful.
But whiskey, you are strange.
And when all is lost, by tempests toss'd,
I know you will not changed.
Whiskey, please take care of me.
Or at least don't do me in.
And if nothing else then keep to yourself
the story of my sins.
Whiskey, please believe me.
For what I say is true.
Down in my grave, alone, unsaved,
I'll still give thanks to you.
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Will Stenberg Portland, Oregon
Will Stenberg is searching for the perfect marriage of text and tune, mediated by himself with maximum honesty. He spends a lot of time writing songs and has a vague, persistent hope that there is an audience for them. He is from a small town, has lived in various parts of the US, and is full of love and unease. ... more
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