1. |
Tiny Painted Room
03:34
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In this tiny painted room
Everything is large
All these things are clamouring
To be the one in charge
The thing that matters most of all
Wins the accolade
Lap of honour round the room
Breather in the shade
From these tiny painted walls
Choose your point of view
All these angles know their place
Everything is true
Pages give at the edges to the
Thumb that flips the corner, and the
Words appear and disappear and the
Eye melts over the moment when the
Night is bleak and heavy with trouble
A blade of grass outside is easing
Through the earth and twisting forth
And silent into the day
What are fingers for, if not for
Searching, counting playing Snap and
Holding onto something, for
Holding onto something? What are
Fingers for, if not for searching,
Counting, playing Snap and
Holding onto something till you’re
Good to let it go?
Heads a swithering, tails considering
Swaying in the wind
And tilting like italics into a
Future that you never know
Time is out of order
Days are folded like a fan and you're
Holding onto something till you’re
Good to let it go
In this tiny painted room
Everything is large
All these things are clamouring
To be the one in charge
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2. |
North
02:55
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North
I was born facing north
Appeared with the morning dew
Summer retreating
Innocence fleeting
If ever a north were true
North
Where the light is sparse
The sun has other things to do
A photograph
Through broken glass
Is all I have of you
North
Fading like anger
Bearings remotely askew
The landscape takes
A different shape
I wonder if it knew
I wonder if it knew
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3. |
Malcolm Brings the Milk
03:04
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Malcolm brings the milk and never makes a sound
Malcolm brings the milk every morning, never makes a sound
He’s a good man in his overalls, his goodness is renowned
Malcolm buys a round, the diamond in The Crown
Malcolm buys a round every lunchtime, diamond in The Crown
He’s a good man in the public house, a good man round the town
Malcolm’s home for supper, with nothing left to say
Malcolm’s home for supper every suppertime, nothing left to say
To his wife and his daughter waiting, watching, wondering what kind of day...
Malcolm’s out till closing, pint of bitter from the spout
Malcolm’s out till closing every evening, bitter from the spout
He’s a good man, that’s a given, ‘til the bitter has run out
Malcolm brings the milk
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4. |
I Knew Josephine
03:20
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She was music, was painting
Was story, was verse
Was deep conversation
Was mother, was nurse
His name on the door plate,
Engraved with her own
I knew Josephine
He was not, she was home
From summer to summer
With space in between
To grow a year older
I witnessed a scene
Unfolding like fiction
We don’t intervene
In matters domestic
I knew Josephine
The guards in their quarter
Must surely have heard her
Their three-cornered hats
And their flags, their inertia
The neighbours were fearful
They stood at the door
They knew Josephine
Was it worse than before?
From summer to summer...
It was just the one street
That the story has passed
He sits on his doorstep
Misfortunes amassed
By his own careless hand
He is widowed and shameless
I knew Josephine
She was blameless
From summer to summer…
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5. |
Pillow Talk
02:15
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He's on my left
I'm on his right
Propped up with pillows
Symmetry
His phone in both hands
Landscape and scrolling
The TV is lit
And the movie keeps rolling
I remember my faults
I turn in to face him
I say thank you
He says thank you too
We pause and we treasure
This moment we're holding
The TV is lit
And the movie keeps rolling
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6. |
Dwelling
02:54
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Shoes have been walking the rain
A troubadour wandering, wondering, wild
Looking for answers, asking the child
Dwelling
Salt creeping over the toes
Dwelling
Dwelling
Town changing shape in the rain
The sea doesn't even come close any more
I’ve no reasons left to return to this shore
Dwelling
Time folding back upon time
Dwelling
Dwelling
House growing old in the rain
The touch of a banister waiting
On spindles diminishing, tracing the shape of a
Dwelling
My fingers recall themselves into a fist
Dwelling
Dwelling
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7. |
At Beekeeper's Corner
02:43
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At Beekeeper’s Corner just down from my house
Is a gap where the beekeeper’s house used to be
I always remember the bees when I pass
But today, it’s mostly the gap that I see
Cos gaps are neglected and misunderstood
They shift in the shadows, through cracks in the stones
And when we’re not looking they alter their shape
Between things that matter and others that don’t
We’re highly suspicious of gaps when they form
So we fill them with houses, then up on the walls
We hang pictures of landscapes so open and free
And repeat, until there are no gaps to see
And repeat, until there are no gaps at all
And the beekeeper offers some ghostly advice
That the gaps are a gift in this world full of stuff
But the bees at the corner just down from my house
Know that everything - everything isn’t enough
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8. |
Inside This Coat
02:52
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Inside this coat she’s a morning full of promise
Bright as any jewel, honest as a tune
Beneath this weighted mantle she’s alive, she’s untangled
Even whispers can be heard and there is no need to try
Deep within these seams she finds all the words she’s looking for
She can see where she is going and there is no need to try
The kindest coat she’s ever worn, a warm embrace, a simple smile
In these soft and tender hollows she belongs
And only in the darkness of the lining of the pockets
Where she sometimes finds her naked hands relaxing into fists
There may be threads of doubt
Misunderstandings
Just like everywhere
There may be doubt
And her fingers and their thumb work together at the buttons
All of a sudden she’s electric and there is no need to try
Within these woven sleeves she’s a sky full of feathers
She’s the sparrow, she’s the jackdaw, all the starlings and the swan
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9. |
Hinges Torn
03:57
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Torn off hinges yielding rust
Vacant keyhole, naked dust
Weathered panels, scratches, scuffs
Fading round an absent hook
Knotted timber, severed latch
Sunlight spilling from the gap
Deep devotions, carved desires
Unrequited, long expired
Aching joints, jaded verse
Interrupted, aged, cursed
Bearing scars from cigarettes
Could it even feel regret?
Thinking goes against the grain;
Would it be a tree again?
Faded varnish, injured, worn
Creaking silent, hinges torn
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10. |
The Gate
03:44
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At the bottom of the valley
Where the road begins to climb
Leave the engine turning
By the farm’s dividing line
Drawn across the gravel
To keep the creatures safe
The opening, the holding
And the closing of the gate
The latch, a crooked finger
On a chain, its next-of-kin
They are old and worn and heavy
They are smooth against the skin
An eye fixed to the gatepost
Just one hill away from home
Chamomile and bluebell
In cahoots between the stones
A pause in conversation
A simple, solemn wait
For the opening, the holding …
And the closing of the gate
My fragile hope, I dare to trust
That it will know which way to go,
I swear to God, this is the closest thing to
Praying that I know
On the knife-edge of the hilltop
Cattle graze across the sky
The gate creeps back across the yard
Hinges breathe a sigh
A pause in conversation
A simple, solemn wait
For the opening, the holding
And the closing of the gate
A pause in contemplation
A simple, solemn faith
In the opening, the holding …
And the closing of the gate
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11. |
So Many Tunes
03:26
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There are so many tunes that I wanted to play for you
So many things that I wanted to say to you
So many words but they couldn't be heard
So many tunes that I wanted to play for you
There are so many loaves that I wanted to bake with you
So many days that I wanted to break with you
So many words but they couldn’t be heard
So many tunes that I wanted to play for you
There are so many boxes I wanted to tick with you
So many bones that I wanted to pick with you
So many words but they couldn’t be heard
So many tunes that I wanted to play for you
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12. |
Tomorrow's Kindling
03:07
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I can see a blade of grass
I can see a single blade of grass
With a line of dewdrops holding under the winter sun
I can sense a restless breeze
I can sense a restless shivering breeze
As it blows the eye to the edge of the cold, inanimate plash
I can hear a heron call
I can hear a heron's solitary call
As she waits on a distant rock untroubled by all she sees
We're under a barren tree
We're under a barren sycamore tree
With an ancient wound from a broken branch that was lost to the squall
We will gather some scraps of wood
We will gather some trampled scraps of wood
And we'll carry them home for tomorrow's kindling they will be
And whenever our work is done
Whenever this work is finally done
We will riddle the embers knowing what we have is good
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Maria Quinn Glasgow, UK
“The songs and arrangements are beautiful, like little jewelled boxes“ ~Findlay
Napier
“challenges our perspectives about modern music and draws us in to some fascinating story telling“ ~Norrie Hunter
"A record that fizzes with invention" ~Boo Hewerdine
Inspired by jazz/ folk/classical music, and artists such as Joni Mitchell and Randy Newman
... more
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