1. |
All Roads Out
02:36
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In 13 years the southernmost
of continents gives up the ghost:
the empire has fallen
in the last year of our Lord
and all roads now lead out from Rome
and streetlights follow us home.
We are sand washed out to sea:
no tribute to the memory
of those winter afternoons,
smoking cigarettes behind the saloons
from Kansas to Kalamazoo:
God knows what happened to you!
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2. |
In Digital
02:11
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I know you know that I'm a know-it-all,
insufferable in digital, and I am a receiver
and you are radio, the signal sends
syllables and nouns to the believers.
And here's another fact I wish I checked,
in retrospect: that spicks and specks are only punctuation
and at the capital I genuflect but my head is a wreck
and my heart is a mess, and my mouth is a vocation.
And you were always unreal-to-reel:
how did I ever fall for that?
All the liner notes you steal
come flooding back.
And you keep an uneven keel
as the capital starts to crack,
you were always unreal-to-reel.
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3. |
Small Trades
02:25
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4. |
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I don't follow anybody
and nobody follows me
and so the three of us walk in circles
until we drown in the sea.
You said nothing doesn't matter
and muttered into your palm as though it should.
And so the three of us walk in circles
through a jumbled jagged neighbourhood.
We are moving closer every day
to houses with high ceilings where the voices fade away
and by the time our bodies hit the floor
you were half-undressed and out the door.
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5. |
Weekend
03:46
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Half-cut and in quite a state,
it's not the first time I've mistaken me for someone else,
and this is part confessional:
the confidence is parcel and a part of someone else.
A mantra underneath your breath:
if it's attention that you want my dear, well attention you shall get.
In disbelief and doubt and stress,
there's so little comfort in these things that we confess.
The mandate is for better love:
in better homes with better houses, fathers and the like.
And I can take that second shove,
a breakdown and a weekend and a doo-wop part you like.
A mantra underneath your breath:
if it's attention that you want my dear, well attention you shall get.
I am never second-best,
but by design I'm yours, I sign off every last request.
A mantra underneath your breath,
if you hate yourself, well that's about as sad as I expect.
But don't you ever second-guess
the nasal whine, the country voice that you hide in your chest.
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Post War Adelaide, Australia
Jingle jangle alternative guitar band. For fans of: Santana riffs in your bedroom, playing videogames, slam jam poetry, Space Jam remixes, other bashful behaviour.
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