1. |
St. Paul/Belle Fourche
05:20
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Coppertone and diesel fumes
combined create that sweet perfume
that rips olfactory nerves apart
triggers memories then they start
Exploding. On the coast of California
young Neil Taylor’s on the
radio reading Saint Paul clear
replies in kind, brings tears
To the eye of 1938.
Another year would be too late
for the French to even care
but fate was kind they sent a warship there.
Somewhere in the midst of Cheyenne County
or maybe Converse or
Campbell--you know I cannot tell
the three apart save for the hell
Of blackened pits and endless
coal trains rolling through the setting sun
the Thunder Basin prairie’s plowed
and traveled by unlucky cows
and busses in the twilight full of miners
looking out upon the
grassland as the light, it fades
to gas flares blotting out the Milky Way.
Out there is an intermittent island
only formed when flows are high
and even though it’s green
and storms have come, they’ve never seen
the river overtake the trackbed
or the levees ‘round the pits like open
wounds how they’d fill right up
and drown all of the sweet black sub-bitum-
inous wealth and choke the engines
chewing through the earth like heinous
visions from an elder time
awakened by the digging in the mine.
In twenty years the stripping ratio’ll
grow too large to matter, overburdened
the beds run too deep
the creosote will writhe and seep
into their souls. They’ll build some podunk
shack of a museum in the
middle of these nadalands
no one’ll come but it’ll stand
for thirty years or maybe more,
a welcome sign upon the door,
their blackened lungs pinned in a case
by statues bearing Peabody’s bronze face.
Back to where it started diesel fumes
and full of nausea. The
caldera is a crumbling crown
The narrow strait that’s knocking down
the seas. On the rocky bluffs, there might be
some small vestiges of green.
roaring forties, furious fifties,
tallest waves you’ve ever seen.
If a solitary tree can grow
in the middle of the
windswept plains in Wyoming
why oh why then not on this damn thing?
What did Saint Paul do to earn his title?
Wrote some letters to the Greeks
and Roman populace
martyred, he then lost his head.
And flew off through the centuries
gave his name to islands.
More than you are guessing
Maybe there’s a lesson
for the mine owners, the Peabody’s
the Arches, and the Cloud Peaks
If you seek to be beatified
the critical prerequisite is die.
Looking at the cinder cones
perched delicately on the southern flank
recalls the island’s birth
and all the embers rolling through the
earth and the flames recall
commodities that rise and then they
fall. A new one takes its turn.
we’re always looking for something to.
burn to push the pistons, drive the
crankshaft in their elegant ballet.
just like the tides that bind
one island to another in my mind.
Ohh
Ohh
Ohh
Ohh
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2. |
Gotland/Cape Verde
02:51
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Elephants over the Alps
couldn’t bring down Rome.
All it took was one cursed isle,
a little fire and a lot of corruption.
The Finnish limb their logs ‘til they’re smooth--
they look just like forest-grown missiles.
I was hired to tend to the deck
and I would try but I’m lashed to the railing again.
It’s getting old
how you tie me up
just to cut me loose again.
What you unload
will be different
than what we all loaded-in.
I know a Goth when I see one.
It seemed we’d sail to somewhere more lush
but the name was just a little misleading
They found us there and the gag order fell
I shouldn’t talk but my loyalty’s failing.
Experts argue theories on trial:
how could something so benign get subverted?
Everyone will someday get their due
you never know when you’ll face an eruption again.
It’s getting old
how you tie me up
just to cut me loose again.
What you unload
will be different
than what we all loaded-in.
It’s gotten old
how you tie me up
just to cut me loose again.
What you unload
will be different
than what we all loaded-in.
I know a Goth when I see one.
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3. |
Akpatok
03:08
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Their arrival
was violent.
The cliffs our fathers feared
were silent.
Our fate sealed
in darkness.
They came down with their knives
and they ate us.
Oh limestone
you’re not my home no more
Oh limestone
you’re not my home.
Before that
we’d seen them
stewing up their clothes
for feeding.
When faced with
their station
who knows what we’d do
in our own nation.
Oh limestone
you’re not my home no more
Oh limestone
you’re not my home.
Oh limestone
you’re not my home.
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4. |
Ibiza
03:18
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She only listens to party anthems
so she’ll never hear this song.
Drinking beer Memorial Day
and celebrating just feels wrong.
They say it ushers in the summer--
but technically it’s three weeks away.
For her it started long ago
for me, it starts today.
She wakes up in the afternoon
and goes to sleep by dawn.
She pities missionaries
putting signs up on her lawn.
The casualties of foreign wars,
they died for her to live this way.
The liquor mixed with sentiment
it made me sick today.
Someday, the dead will rise again.
Someday, the dead will rise again.
Glory to the height of summer!
Glory to the flag!
We won our Independence Day
to carry shopping bags.
The faces of our forefathers
are crumpled in my pockets, loose.
I swore off all their money once,
but really, it’s no use.
The fireworks explode so bright
they make our city proud.
An open carry activist
meanders through the crowd.
He yearns to be a duelist
who lets his volley fly.
But he is just a Hamilton,
his dreams would have him die.
Someday, the dead will rise again.
Someday, the dead will rise again.
The summer finds its ending
and it lauds the laborer well.
A single day in hundreds
to escape the foreman’s bell.
We’ll toast them like the soldiers
who we’ve lost on foreign streets.
A cooler full of ice cold beer
and party anthem beats.
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5. |
Faroe (#187)
03:09
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They held me up and found me wanting...I know.
They said I had a ways to go--
my posture would lead to all kinds of problems.
If it’s true,
then what’s a lonely boy to do?
There go all my dreams of kicking footballs.
I guess
I’ll learn to haul the fishing nets
to make my father proud and be productive.
My mother told me I was special...I’m not.
I’d throw back all the fish I’ve caught
just to have a chance to be the gold boot.
Honestly,
even benched I’d be happy.
I’d rather roam the turf than float the ocean.
Every night I close my eyes
and the call, it comes:
“The captain’s out, he recommends your name.”
I fold up my old kit
and bolt out through the door
to save us in the Island Games.
When the fishes fail to earn me... my due,
I’ll join the bridge and tunnel crew.
They tell us we’ll have our emancipation
from the sea--
a sentiment that suits a guy like me.
I’ll work all day and drive home to the country.
My hope
is hanging by a slender rope
that I might find a club league who will take me.
(Chorus)
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6. |
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I’ve got a turf house and a dog.
A dozen sheep to fill my flock.
They warned me not to buy this land.
But I am an independent man.
For eighteen years I was a slave.
My every single crown I saved.
I had my goal, I knew its worth.
For independence needs its earth.
My flock it grew, my family swelled.
My children learned to love their dells.
I took no man’s charity
for every handout has its fee.
The years they passed and step by step
my humble beasts I proudly shept.
And then the Great War, glory be
it ushered in prosperity.
As riches flow does credit leech.
It places luxury in reach.
The wealthy men have their designs.
What I once owned now is not mine.
The upshot of all this is thus:
In only me and sheep I trust.
And to the devil on my land
you will not win while I still stand.
So burn me
break me
curse me
hate me.
Never bowed
or showed much love
to all the ghosts that people speak of
and though I don’t believe in demons
when I die I’ll join their legion.
And plant my flag amongst your herd
to call-in all the debts that you’ve incurred.
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7. |
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Rock by rock
that’s how you build an island.
With each stone
you earn yourself some dry land.
It takes some time,
but soon the shallows grow.
We stripped these hills
because we swore an oath.
These are the rocks
upon which we built our church.
My love went out
and he left me in the lurch.
And so I weave
with silver and with gold
And with each year
the island slowly grows.
I sit and weave
all day into the night
I weave with just
the faintest trace of light.
My eyesight’s gone
my fingers they don’t care
Ran out of gold
so I sacrificed my hair.
Decades gone
my tapestry remains
Tired and old
my fingers full of pain.
My love returned
I couldn’t see his smile.
He brought with him
more rocks to build the isle.
Jessica I think I’ve got a problem
I’m coming home to you to help me solve them
I’m to the point where cigarettes smell good
and you know I never thought they would.
Rock by rock that’s how you build an island
With each stone you’ll earn yourself some dry land
I need a drink but wouldn’t pay the prices that they’re asking
I went outside, opened my mouth, the rain dripped from the baskets.
Rock by rock that’s how you build an island
With each stone you earn yourself some dry land
I’m out of love, out of love with myself
To see you sitting here it makes me well.
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8. |
Rapa Iti
04:26
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The night was quiet--just like any other--
save for the physicist who came to me.
He gave me lessons in another language
Whispers in my dreams.
I liked the language so I spoke it daily
though I knew no one else who understood.
And those who heard me thought that I was crazy
Always knew they would.
Always knew they would.
Saturdays alone
with my books at home.
Read of lives away
from this village I was born in, but never meant to stay.
It was just a passing phase, the neighbors counseled.
But how could I give up my native tongue?
As the story spread the people shook their heads and said
“Oh, to be so young.”
My language stuck and soon displaced my French and
I horrified them with my stubbornness.
It took me twenty years to finally find a friend
I expected less.
I expected less.
Spoke on microphone
Analyzed my tone
Tried to calculate
phoneme approximations, but never found a mate.
In a bar with some Tunisian sailors
the barkeep said he’d heard my words before.
He led me to the harbor where I found my wife
we spoke ten hours or more.
In the Pacific on a ridgeline, rising,
a ring of fortresses surround the sea.
And on that shoreline a Tahitian choir
sings us all to sleep
Sings us all to sleep.
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9. |
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I thought this place would rock a little harder
given its name and my swim across the harbor.
These mountains move, it’s not my imagination--
the dredger’s spoils seem to amble ‘round like crackers on vacation.
My baby called, said she’d moved to Albuquerque--
she needed space and she never meant to hurt me.
If that was true, she’d have left my favorite stuffed chair.
Their chili is good, but now I think I’ll never get to go there.
Ravenel and the market full of slavers.
A rebel flag and some butter rum lifesavers.
I hate this place and that skin-on-vinyl-stick.
I’m waitin’ for the drums to kick.
I stumbled out and it looked like I’d been drinkin’.
I hailed a cab--I don’t know what I was thinkin’.
Their radios seem to play the same three songs
‘bout redneck pride and how actin’ like an asshole isn’t wrong.
My temples throb and they lay a lazy bass down.
My eardrums ring like that emergency alert sound.
The seagulls scream like a washed-up metal singer.
The county cops will take their time and put me through the ringer.
(Chorus)
I’m waitin’ for the drums to kick.
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10. |
St. Helena
06:59
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Slowed down and drowsy.
But I’m afraid to go to sleep.
In another life I think you would’ve been
a common thief picking pockets on the street.
This will be my St. "Helayna".
A lonely island in the sea.
And don’t you tell me it’s "Heleena" ‘cause you weren’t
the one who spent their best years exiled in defeat.
I put my shoes on in the morning
“Do I like it?” “Yes.” I’m lying through my teeth.
My high school placement test that laid out my careers
said I only had two options: one was priest.
But the other was bus driver. You know
I think that that test got the best of me.
My religious inclinations withered there
and my navigator’s knowledge, never keen.
(Chord Chorus)
Maybe if I swing my arms ‘round
my knuckles will just scrape along the brick.
And when I pull them back to put some pressure on
I’ll be wide awake and know that did the trick.
Oh please help me dear Diana:
Save this man who’s slowly growing sick.
You stand there in the center of my island looking down
Ringed by tree ferns on your slopes so green and thick.
Someone stuck me on a bus here
the sense of irony is stinging, water wicks
from the corner of my eyes meant to expel
the tiny pollen from the stamen always sticks.
I have an idea and a notebook
And the pen I hold is cheap, it is a Bic.
But when I touch it to the paper I can see you reading.
I press the button on the top, the stylus clicks.
(Chord Chorus)
Good God, I’m sleeping.
You know there was a time I could control my dreams.
But now I find these faces making their intrusions
much more often and I don’t know what this means.
Sometimes I wish I’d been a pilot
or the captain of a vessel sleek and clean.
But instead I chose the path of least resistance
like the rain becomes the river to the sea.
And you always pop up smiling.
Saying “Play another song you wrote for me..”
I wake up wanting only just to sleep again
hoping that I’ll see you there, my Josephine..
Somehow I forgot my manners
I began with subtle slander, which was mean.
I only meant to make an observation. Your demeanor
Is unruly in ways I’ve seldom seen.
(Chord Chorus)
Oh my God, is this still going?
I thought this would have ended long ago
But my desiccated brain is slowly aging
When seeds fall in the sidewalk cracks they grow.
And into cracks the workmen pour hot tar
They wipe the sweat from off their brows while down below.
The sticky blackish boiling fruit of all their daily labors
Fails to do much more than hide what seeds have sown.
Please forgive me Josephine.
When it comes to power or a rose
I sacrificed your scent for reason and convenience
but isolation makes me doubt my nose.
So now I’ll just try to salvage
What is left that was endemic so they’ll know
That I was made of more than someone else’s plantings
Invasive species surely have to go.
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11. |
Tuvalu
03:26
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Burial at sea
is all that waits for me.
We trust our graves
will be spared encroaching waves,
but our bones rejoin the reef.
My mother has her faith
the oceans know their place.
When father dies
she’ll lay her body by his side.
Our front yard has the space.
The king tide made its mind.
Our water’s turned to brine.
Pulaka crops
wither like our fishing stocks.
To leave we’re all resigned.
My people refugees
everyone but me.
Though I will die
my bones will one day emerge dry.
New mountains from the sea.
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vee device Fort Collins, Colorado
vee device are a landlocked band who've made an album all about remote islands and the people who inhabit them. Go figure. The music is jaunty, but not in a sea-shanty kind of way. The lyrics are detailed, but not in a "let's pull out an encyclopedia" kind of way (unless that encyclopedia is full of short snippets from Wikipedia, of course). vee device love songs about places they will never see. ... more
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