1. |
Sunrise
05:39
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Spearfish Sunrise
I'm getting away
I'm always getting away
Mountain splitting at dawn
Sleepy miles to be gone
To somewhere else
Towns appear from miles away
They all look like campgrounds
I hid them here when I was a boy
I'm tired of the road
The highway's all a broken line
A westbound sunrise
It's getting away
And it will steal this day
It's mountain splitting and gone
These sleepy miles will be along
fading like a dream
Towns appear from miles away
They all look like prisons
With some kept in
Some kept out
I'm tied to the road
Tired songs and broken lines
And strung out car fantasy
As real as your speed
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2. |
Two Rooms
04:39
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Picture to yourself
The darkest, most disorderly place imaginable
Blotches of mold colonize the ceiling
A broke-leg piano governed by dust
The chamber pot oppresses the room
Sheet music is strewn everywhere (as no mans land)
But beauty's within the squalor, the disorder
Plates with remains of yesterday's lunch and supper
Beethoven's room defies a law
A second law of something
Order has come from the wreckage
Igor's room is pristine, it's clean
His writing desk is like a surgeons, a calligraphers
Different colored inks
Bottles in order
India rubbers of all kinds and shapes
The implements are all glittering
Everything has got a purpose
Beauty is the splendor of order
And all the mistakes are carefully erased
And this shit will cause an infamous scandal
Barbaric chords so neatly planned out
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3. |
Mill Creek Road
04:25
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4. |
March On
05:05
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March on medicine
On Curiosity
And torches to clarity
The long walks up and down
Dim tenement staircases
To long hallways where her place is
Turn of the century plasters crumbling off
She waged a war from a room
With frozen plumbing
From inside the grey of the Rose City
From inside the grey of the Rose city
She's painting our lives
In violent color
Painting our lies
In violent color
The world's faded masterpiece
The pavement after rain
Shines like a billion stars
The universe is where you are
Turning the gauntlet of preying neon signs
She plays a whore on the corner
Of Fifth and Burnside
From inside the grey of the Rose City
From inside the grey of the Rose city
She's painting our lives
In violent color
Painting our lies
In violent color
The world's faded masterpiece
March on history
Hitler and Napoleon
March through the Russian mud
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5. |
Traffic Light
03:21
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6. |
War Parade
06:55
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A war parade is making its way
Through the giant shafts of concrete and steel
Monuments in a confetti sky
They captured it in black and white
A war parade in granite canyons
And soldiers return
The war has been won
The avenue has a thousand arms
Waving a welcome back home - where I've been lost
I've been lost
Waltzing with images
They climbed up on the lightposts
Trying to catch a look
Young boys are on the shoulders
Of fathers and waving flags
Their mothers wear flowered hats
Women are running in sundresses
Trying to catch their love
And leaning out of window sills
Waving to passersby
Greeting the heroes back
Don't leave it out in the open
Unprotected from the sky
From the sky
I've been lost
Waltzing with images
Long time passing
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7. |
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Faint sound echoes
On the sidewalk below
Someone's walking
Shoes are scraping the pave
Rattling the shades
Peering out from my window
Who would be out
at three am walking in this neighborhood?
A silhouette's travelling
In between the light posts
Dressed in a long coat
Might be floating along
But for the sound of
The shoes scraping the pave
A crowd of moths gather
Nervously waiting
Stirring by the lamp
In the light, the profile stops- checks the watch
And turning around, I catch a glimpse of her
She's white as Western
Mary and Jesus
The crowd of moths scatter
And vanish like fire to the night
Holy crap!
She's beautiful
And under the yellow light
Her face is mocking the night
Well she isn't from this place but she is owning it
She is steering this city block like her own private car
She must have some kind of exotic name
She must have some kind of exotic trade
And I would place my head into the mouth of her religion
And await the miracle at the sea
Don't care if it's a lie- if it's illusion
We'll get there and touch our naked feet
Place my head into the mouth of her religion
And await the miracle at the sea
Don't care if it's a lie- if it's illusion
We'll get there and touch our naked feet
Only for a moment
She's stepping out of the light
and from my window
On the 14th floor
I follow her silhouette
out of sight
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8. |
Lazarus
02:58
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9. |
Rummaging
05:34
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I swear I left it in here somewhere
The drawers and all of their belongings
Are thrown across the floor
And I'm rummaging
These are not my words
They're light prose from Angela
Like a thief I've come
Tore up the place
In search of a diamond
(And slowed to find meaning)
I swear I left it in here somewhere
In photographs of foreign bridges
A river flows where tanks rolled
Into Prague Spring
And History is war
and blisters rebuilding it
Buildings are without
Faces or fraternity
Just facades
I swear I left it in here somewhere
There's proof of my antique opinions
A poem follows the path
Of a falling leaf:
"I am golden rain
With forgotten path of flight
Torn from branch I've come
The wind to blame
And weakening
A lone, falling leaf to golden pile"
And in rummaging through these piles, I
Found a lost check
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10. |
Mondays
05:23
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Gresham Chicago, Illinois
Gresham is the work of Bret Stamper, a songwriter from Chicago, IL.
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