1. |
Sandwalkin'
01:48
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We went sandwalkin’ tonight.
I got moonburnt on my nose,
And on the tips of my ears,
and the corners of my hair.
You know, the seagulls go diving at night
To the bottom of the ocean floor
Through the crash of the waves
For those black, black muscle shells.
And ohhhh, I remember when we were young.
And we’d make a boat out of sand and we’d push it on out to the sea.
You were six.
I was five.
I was skinny with freckled skin.
You were taller than I was then but our heads weren’t so heavy.
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2. |
Buckets
04:05
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When I first met you you had no skin and your hair was on fire like your eyes protesting the bones kept them in.
I’m not really sure what you were trying to tell me when you tied back my hair with the pillowcase. Seemed like you had to make us the same for to see that deep in our eyes there was beautiful.
Mostly I remember your hands ‘round my neck. You were proving the fine line that stretches out between moments of trust and of fear. And I knew it was that line that brought you here.
I’m not trying to undermine the calls that were made in your name, but for me it was much scarier to see you later on, when your feet were weighted down with those chemical stones.
How much water did it take to put out that crazy fire?
How much water did it take and where’d your fire go?
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3. |
Three There Was
03:05
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When your ancestors come, do you cling to your sleep like a child?
Try to swallow, try to keep the pieces of their faces that you know fade away when it all becomes real again?
Three men, there was. Where now there are only ghosts.
I’ve been spinning their words, fruitlessly, as if somewhere in the stretches, in the spaces between, I will find that which never got said.
Three men, there was. Where now there are only ghosts.
I’ve been spinning their words, endlessly, as if somewhere in the stretched, in the spaces between I will find that which never got said.
My father, his father, and the father of my mother.
What draws the men to the clouds?
My father, his father, and the father of my mother.
What draws the men to the clouds?
Three men, there was. Where now there are only ghosts.
I’ve been spinning their words, foolishly, as if somewhere in the stretches, in the spaces between, I will find that which never got said.
When your ancestors come, do you cling to your sleep like a child?
Try to swallow, try to keep the pieces of their faces that you know fade away when it all becomes real again?
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4. |
Mandolin; Broken String
03:14
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Mandolin, broken string, got a crack in your front.
Who was it that broke your heart?
Wooden frog, on the sill, can you croak croak croak?
And are you lonely in the dark?
Oh windy organ, won’t you sing me a song? Song, song, song, song song song…
Oh windy organ, won’t you hold me for a long, long, long, long, long, long while?
Piano keys, black as coal and ivory.
What a sad, sad history.
I’ve got melting feet in this sweltering heat.
Hey soul! You better simmer down.
Oh windy organ, won’t you sing me a song? Song, song, song, song song song…
Oh windy organ, won’t you hold me for a long, long, long, long, long, long while?
Until the stars come out again, dancing in a masquerade.
Nothing like a dead quiet parade.
Pomegranates and lemonade, let’s swallow butterflies together babe,
And make the living go hazy again.
Who needs that boy's love anyway?
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5. |
When there is Salt
02:35
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And because she’d never tasted wild sorrow before, he said
Here. Drink from my lashes,
Of the Water, where the Sorrow has swum.
Here. Drink from my lashes,
See how it lingers, leaving Salt on the tongue?
Like crushed seashells.
It leaves Salt on the tongue.
And desert sands are weeping.
It leaves Salt on the tongue, on the tongue, on the tongue, on the
tongue on the tongue on the tongue.
And Grandmother! Do you remember the day so well?
When you filled all the buckets in your eyes with the waters from that old Wisdom Well?
And it was your Saving Grace. How the water aged your face.
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Rachael Cardiello Toronto, Ontario
Born in tornado alley, raised between mountains of Montana, currently based in the heart of Toronto - Cardiello sings of mental institutes, cross-border love affairs, grief, ghosts, and an alternative version of the American dream
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