1. |
Opera
04:12
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Present at a lavish opera house, I sit among an audience.
A group to my rear discuss politics.
A group straight ahead talk of weather.
The wings are alive with the chatter of folks who are worried about their career.
Some people talk of Cars and Girls.
Some of God, or war.
Some only speak to disparage their peers, or to air a grievance of sorts.
And I cannot hear the music.
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2. |
I Weave, You Loom
04:43
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I believe that you're not what you think you seem.
And I believe that you don't say the things you mean.
But because you're here,
I don't mind if the room spins and fills with water,
'cos tonight sensation wins.
And if that's another prickle of a plan of yours I think I'd probably rather lick a dynamo.
And I'm moving and I'm shaking but I'm faking 'cos I just can't seem to figure out a way to go.
But you're so wise you'd probably throw into the water what I'd hold in my hand.
And you're so high, you'd probably fill my head with shipwrecks and leave me on the sand.
I weave, you loom.
I believe you're more in love than you feel,
just like I believe there is more than just real and unreal.
And I weave my way of thinking around anything as long as I make sure I never think of you.
But you loom above it all just like a cloud over a borderline. I'm never gonna wake you.
But you're so wise you'd probably throw into the water what I'd hold in my hand.
And you're so high, you'd probably fill my head with shipwrecks and leave me on the sand.
But you're so wise you'd probably throw into the water what I'd hold in my hand.
And you're so high, you'd probably fill my head with satellites and leave me on the land.
I weave, you loom.
I weave, you loom.
No matter how I weave, you always loom.
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3. |
Going-to-the-Sun
08:19
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Red Eagle.
Moving in for the kill.
Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill.
I'm going to be going to the Going-to-the-Sun.
Montana.
Continental divide.
Saint Mary glistening in the light.
I'm going to be going to the Going-to-the-Sun.
I'm gonna go to the Going-to-the-Sun.
I'm gonna go to the Going-to-the-Sun.
Big drifts and avalanches below.
I'll be Shining in a yellow Beetle.
I'm going to be going to the Going-to-the-Sun.
I'm gonna go to the Going-to-the-Sun.
I'm gonna go to the Going-to-the-Sun.
"How very high it is,
its summit far up into the blue.
Of all the mountains that I have ever seen
I think it is the most beautiful.
Were I younger and were it summertime,
how I would like to climb up
and lie on its summit,
and fast,
and pray Sun for a vision."
— Warren Hanna, The Life and Times of James Willard Schultz, 1986
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4. |
Molly*
01:04
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Molly.
Molly.
Find yourself.
Molly.
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5. |
Staple Me
06:38
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You talk with elegance and flair.
Two more words and you'll fascinate me.
It's not a Marigold affair.
Corvette of the Royal Navy.
Can I walk through the door you're holding?
I'm not just another blind obsessor.
Have I convinced you that I'm real?
I should be so lucky.
I want your life to be my life.
I want your family.
I want you to know me.
I want you to staple me
a picture of your life
to the binder in the back of my mind.
I want you to picture me
a staple of your life.
I will bind you to this life of mine.
A pebble skips across the lake,
while a young man dies at his mother's leisure.
Are we even going the right way?
Don't ask me, I'm only driving.
I want my worth acknowledging.
Whatever that may be.
I want you to staple me
a picture of your life
to the binder in the back of my mind.
I want you to picture me
a staple of your life.
I will bind you to this life of mine.
I know what you're running for.
You want to show the world
the pain inside your soul.
I know what you're running from,
'cos I am running from the same.
If not you,
then someone else.
Anyone but myself.
I want you to staple me
a picture of your life
to the binder in the back of my mind.
I want you to picture me
a staple of your life.
I will bind you to this life of mine.
It's not a Marigold affair.
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6. |
H
03:59
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As I lie here,
and the dawn paints morning a certain kind of blue,
I hear singing,
as a distant time zone flickers into view.
I see a Moscow boss in the cold of the morning
with a jet black Royce in the place of his awning.
There's a suit in a high-rise working nights
all alone, backlit by the city lights.
There's a moth on the roof of a skyscraper.
There's a bluebottle sniffing at flypaper,
and a tribe, unseen by the rest of man,
bringing hilltop valour with a ritual dance.
There's a lonely farer on a torrid sea,
Braving waves a mile high through the hail and the sleet.
And quietly below, twelve thousand feet or more,
the ocean hides a wreckage on the inky floor.
And I'm in there.
And I'm everywhere.
I'm awake/I'm asleep,
and I'm dreaming about
all the ways
everybody's lives will change today.
And they all will change today.
And I'll change today.
And someone's dying right now.
And someone's being born.
And a million light years away from this place,
there'll be another life contemplating the same.
Unaware of our kind and our history,
stuck on an orb in a void in a hell of a rush.
Where nothing's really going on,
but everything is happening,
Just meanings wrapped in meaninglessness.
And this is the meaning of life.
And I'm locked in your embrace.
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7. |
thisisnotadream, I: Wake
02:51
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8. |
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Awake.
Blink sleep.
On the shore of a sea of grief.
Bathe in.
Get clean.
This is not a dream.
Walk to the corner, all the lights are gone.
Feel around the surface, find the switch.
Cross through the threshold to the dark beyond.
I should be alone but something’s there.
It’s me.
It’s me.
Softened by a smokescreen.
Don’t scream.
Don’t scream.
This is not a dream.
I couldn’t love her, it resolved on time.
Nothing is as healing as the hue and cry.
I couldn’t love her. I was scared.
It was the only option left for me.
A fake.
Two knights and maidens.
I’ll never tell.
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9. |
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Hello, Son, it’s been a while.
Hello, Son, it’s been quite a while.
We should do this more often.
We should do this more often.
Hello, Son,
What have you got for me?
I’ve missed out on years of new music.
What’s there to tell?
We should do this more often.
We should do this more often.
I want news.
Come on, we’ve such a short space of time.
It’s not quite like you to be speechless.
This is not a dream.
Let’s go for a drive.
This is not a dream.
This is not a dream.
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10. |
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He isn't coming back.
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11. |
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12. |
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Pull him out of the river.
Pull him out of the river.
Pull him out of the river.
Pull him out of the river.
I get out,
Onto a road.
I see a river.
I need to be there.
I start running.
I know it’s miles away, but I don’t care.
I keep running.
I get there.
There’s a crowd on the riverbank.
I wade in.
I need to pull him out.
This is the river resurrection.
This is the river resurrection.
It doesn’t have to be goodbye if you don’t want it to be.
Pull him out of the river.
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13. |
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Two cups of coffee, he’ll be alright soon.
Let him sleep, he’s not sure who he is.
Two weeks of nothing.
I must see him now.
I can see a nun atop the stairs.
“Bad news. Bad news. Bad news. Bad news.
He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.
I couldn’t help him from the riverside.
Now his bed is empty and his windows wide.”
I think I might know where he is.
Get in the car. Get in the car.
The church, the church.
Hanging by the ceiling.
He’s still alive,
though hanging still in a cross-shape,
for the crowd gathering.
Take these chairs and tables,
build them up against the walls.
Take this knife and follow my lead.
Now, climb, climb, climb,
until you’re high enough to reach the ropes.
You came here to see us cut him down.
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14. |
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Hello, Son.
It’s been a long, long time.
Hello, Son.
It’s been a long, long time.
We should talk more often.
We should talk more often.
Hello, Son.
I thought you’d know by now,
That life is nothing,
and you’re nothing too.
We should talk more often.
We should talk more often.
All the branches are bare,
there’s a chill in the air,
And my words turn to steam as they leave me.
This is not a dream.
This is not a dream.
Hello, Son.
It’s been a long, long time.
You look like me,
and you’re good company.
I don’t want you to leave.
I love you.
If we’d talked about problems before it's too late,
then we wouldn’t be here in your cortex.
And I wouldn’t be talking to you as you sleep,
for the first time since 1 0 9 1.
And you might be asleep and imagining this,
but that isn’t to say it’s not happening, and it’s not true.
It’s true.
This is not a dream.
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15. |
*
04:24
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Molly Jane,
I can still recall your name,
and the way you lit the room when you were born.
And how, that day, my entire agenda changed,
and all that mattered was that you were safe and warm.
I left the cradle feeling glowing magma love.
Drove to work so I could earn ourselves a life.
Climbed each and every ladder,
with my head above the matter.
Then clocked off at 5 to rejoin paradise.
But as I neared the garden gate,
full of excitement to return to my infant daughter,
a woman ran through the estate
and called out: "dad!"
So, silently, I turned towards her.
I recognised her straight away.
She said:
"I don't know you very well,
but I love you more than anyone loved anybody.
Shoot your way up to the stars and I will hurt.
I said:
"I don't know you very well,
and why should I? I was always in the office.
But after all these years, I still recognise you."
I'd barely time to allow my stupid mind
to mourn the childhood I'd let go to waste,
before my eyes, in a moment of surprise,
were jerked by my alarm clock awake.
It took some time to realise
that I no longer had a girl to feed and clothe and water.
But, still, I must apologise.
I was your distant dad,
and you were my fictitious daughter.
I don't know you very well,
but I love you more than anyone loved anybody.
Shoot your way up to the stars and I will hurt.
I don't know you very well, and why should I?
It's 6 in the morning.
After what felt like years,
I've had to bid farewell to you.
Molly.
Molly.
Find yourself.
I don't know you very well,
but I love you more than anyone loved anybody.
Shoot your way up to the stars and I will hurt.
I don't know you very well,
and why should I?
'cos I never really happened.
Molly,
Molly,
Molly,
Molly,
Molly,
Molly,
I still think about you.
Molly,
I still think about you.
Molly,
I still think about you.
Find yourself.
I still dream about you.
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Colonel Dax Wrexham, UK
Colonel Dax is an alternative rock/multimedia project based around the songwriting of Tom Hughes (let's drop the 3rd-person
act. It's me writing this).
I champion the "homemade" approach, and therefore all Dax output is entirely self-produced.
The Dax live band are renowned for tight, fun and at times "explosive" sets.
... more
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