1. |
The First Phase
05:30
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in our most basic form, we are little more than people who walk in out of nowhere and slam the door, but you know i have always been the type to lie about things i do not know. so basically, there are two or three people that you want to call after a bad week, but more expect you to just be perpetually happy even when you're turning cold. early in the morning, i hear you talking, but that's none of my concern. it's none of my concern. they so rarely get forgiveness, and they give it less. everyone is bored with the first phase until the next. the papers tell them that the actor prefers to have some time alone in his bedroom. early in the morning, he hears you talking, but that's none of his concern. it's none of his concern. it's none of my concern, and i pray it's none of yours.
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2. |
The Flood
05:10
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in the morning of the flood, i was awake, praying for day to break. in the morning of the rain, i was awake in the home that i'd made far away from You. in the morning of the snow, nothing felt cold, just aging and old. in the morning, through the trees, i could watch angels freeze and bless all my hornet stings far away from You. i don't mind breaking all the bricks that do surround You. and if i tried, i suppose i'd find my way around You.
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3. |
Objects of Industry
08:41
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all Your objects of industry are melting in the heat of the mid-november sun. sometimes, i wish i didn't do all the talking. i just wish i could listen to someone. i wrote a little note to You, recounting all the things i did and didn't do. all Your objects of industry are melting with the wishful and nonexistent snow. some want to build a tower up to heaven. other people just want to watch the show. so here's my little note of thanks, overdrawn at all the banks. if i could turn back to them, i'd run the other way. all my objects of industry are soaking like my clothes in the january rain. sometimes, i wish that the problem were more simple. sometimes, i wish it was easy to pin the blame. so here's my little note of thanks, obsessed with my own mistakes. some days, i could swim directly to the setting sun. all their objects of industry are tattered, casting lots at the feet of a dying King. He'll wake up and go walking three days later. He'll go walking and find me here asleep.
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4. |
Kingdom
02:31
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when i make it to the kingdom, i'm gonna have blood on my hands.
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5. |
Cora
04:37
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cora, how have you been? it's been a long and lonely time. i wanna see you again. cora, you reference a song that my parents danced to at their junior prom. and you say you're fine half of the time, but i don't believe it, not even a minute. cora, how do you do? i heard some frat boy bastard bragging that he broke you. cora, he looked in your eyes. though you said "no," he forced his hands between your thighs. cora, some things don't ever change. people are good, but not always. cora, call anytime. i could just listen and assure that everything's fine. cora, there's light in all things. there is a note you wrote in every song i sing. you say you're fine half of the time, and i start to believe it, if just for a minute.
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6. |
Our Own Language
04:37
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you and i speak in our language without any interest in translating. you and i say only what we know. passersby don't pick up on our path home. the world seems small to everyone but you. you've ideas of all that they should do, but they don't know you. they don't know you. they're concerned with only what they do. i would turn around if just to see you. i'm so far from mississippi now as the smiling priest tells us the way, and how, they assume.
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Ben Ricketts Memphis, Tennessee
musician. songwriter. visual artist.
another memphis noisemaker.
Digital releases on this page are organized from newest to oldest.
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