1. |
Barghest
04:27
|
|
||
If there is that which makes you frightened,
it is the coming of the darkness.
If in the crowded remembrance
we are good and pure.
She said: “I saw your brother drowning,
I saw his eyes wide in the water
and with a whisper he spoke out,
‘I curse you still.’”
And coming to the cabin,
you are barefoot and scented.
The dog is coming up the hillside.
You are always running.
If there is that which makes you frightened,
it is the coming of the darkness.
If in the crowded remembrance
we are good and pure.
|
||||
2. |
Morana
04:36
|
|
||
I fell asleep with my hand on her bottom
and my fingers caught up in her hair.
She woke up fattened and brimming with anger,
her strange face unknowing and scared.
All of her neighbours were quick in the building;
she watched their stairs fall from the banks.
But she was a lover of sturdy lumber
with a crown of wild forest hair.
I want a wife who is stern and steady
and forgives me everything.
In the winter she’ll be swollen with child
and swing her hips in front of me.
All of her lovers are stern in the taking.
Her daughters bear various names.
But she’ll be mother to all of my children
and she’ll be all that I take.
|
||||
3. |
Child-Ghost
05:44
|
|
||
It seems long ago that we ended the winter
and spoke of the women we loved.
We’d been to the market, you called me a sailor,
we spent all our money on wine.
Many times we’ve been drinking,
many times we’re alone.
We are shaped by the distance,
but your letters still come.
Last night you dreamt of your daughter
born as a woman in front of your eyes.
The old dream that haunts you, straight-haired she carries
the muscles and bones of your wife.
You have been left horned, old brother of mine.
And chased by a child-ghost cannot sleep through the night.
It’s early in winter, my dear wounded brother.
Sleep and be slow in your rise.
A year since she left you be sleeping in bedrooms
and paint every woman you find.
And spreading your oils, be quick to fall in love.
We are shaped by our drinking, but your letters still come.
|
||||
4. |
House Painter
03:36
|
|
||
You swept through this house
picking summer colours in a baggy t-shirt.
You said: “How can we keep out the winter
with such bare walls?”
And we shot our mouths into the water
while your eyes caught firework sparks
and your cheeks had painted-on freckles
that left yellow streaks when I wiped them off.
|
||||
5. |
Waxwing
04:29
|
|
||
The last time that we talked
the leaves had just started to change
and we passed the porcelain
cups of coffee over eggs.
And the first time that I met you,
we ran our expectations to the ground
and we wore them to the smallest
bit of thievery that we could.
So wash me in the water
where you washed your dirty daughter
and I’ll be white as the winter
and the birds that stay here.
I drank myself childish
for two days while you got dry.
In the vineyards, covered in dust,
they called St. Urban to keep me at bay
and parched by the red earth
they judged the weather by the day
and for August I cried out:
“Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord, why me?”
So wash me in the water
where you washed your dirty daughter
and I’ll be white as the winter
and the birds that stay here.
|
||||
6. |
Kingfisher
03:13
|
|
||
The last time we talked, you didn’t have much to say.
You were feeling the weight of your eyes.
We’d been to the art store. Your hand on your glass
left fingerprints in condensation.
It was early Friday evening; the sun was just setting;
we went driving too fast with cigarettes burning,
our mouths shaping women — we are loose with our words
passing long-distance runners on the side of the road
because it’s early in the evening; the sun is just setting;
we are driving too fast with your arm out the window.
|
||||
7. |
Plover
02:36
|
|
||
She is wading out in the water,
her long legs are waning under,
the waves are higher further from shore,
she is no swimmer, she is no marine hunter.
She’s in peril out on the water,
but I’m a swimmer just like her father was.
|
||||
8. |
Sparrow
03:34
|
|
||
I know someday we’ll have to kiss for the last time
and I hope that it feels like this.
And someday I’ll have to think about that,
but I can’t think about anything
when you’re in my kitchen making coffee,
my shirt draped over your body
like a bird that came in my open window
and flew in circles around my living room.
I know someday we’ll have to kiss for the last time
and I hope that it feels like this.
|
Streaming and Download help
Tyler Butler recommends:
If you like Tyler Butler, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp