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Victory At Sea

by vee device

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1.
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
2.
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.
3.
Akpatok 03:08
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.
4.
Ibiza 03:18
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.
5.
Faroe (#187) 03:09
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)
6.
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.
7.
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.
8.
Rapa Iti 04:26
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.
9.
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.
10.
St. Helena 06:59
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.
11.
Tuvalu 03:26
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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released February 5, 2016

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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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