1. |
The Fighting Temeraire
04:32
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The Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her last berth to be broken up on the Thames river, singing:
"Oh no, oh no, we were noble when we were young. Those days are done."
It's 1838 and fresh smog fills the sky. Ships gather in the harbour, waving sails goodbye, singing:
"You were a good friend. You saved the navy's rear end and their rebuttle was to have you rudely scuttled to make room for their new wares."
Remember, Temeraire? Before the advent of steam the sun never set without a fight and warships lived a dream, singing:
"Oh no, oh no, we were noble when we were young. Those days are done."
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2. |
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Backwards, you'll engrave - carve my face into the wall like Michelangelo.
And even in our graves we'll stare across the hall and give death glares to Galileo.
DaVinci had a... code... or something or other. It still remains a mystery.
I've got a vocal node; not much of a writer but I understand art history.
(and you understand me)
So forgive the bad metaphor but in your metopes I am the lapith,
I am the centaur.
You are the Parthenon if you'd like to remain anonymous, my goddess, you can sign your name "R. Mutt."
It was a practical joke - you practically loved me but left me with booze here.
I'll light up that smoke; even Brunelleschi was a sore loser.
so lend me your ear like Vincent Van Gogh did - my secrets, I will tell.
I'll be Camille and you can be Rodin so open up the gates of hell.
(and I'm thinking, 'man that's swell')
So forgive the bad metaphor, it's metropolitan the Tate Museum
calls a slide a sculpture.
You are Ionic, you're neo-platonic... damn, "platonic" - Rome erodes your pheromones strip my Pantheon.
You’re my Santa Maria, my Notre Dame, My ecstasy of St. Theresa!
It's like God was a cubist but due to my hubris I'm left flat and clueless like Isenheim's altarpiece - nailed, sore and boiling.
Like the old spiral jetty I'm salted and spoiling.
And like Donatello’s David from 1440 I’ll be Goliath and you are Medici.
In response to Marcel Duchamp’s battlecry:
Asjdlf, ajsdf Argh
You are anything, you are everything.
"Come hop on my bike," I said, "It's a wheel on a stool, but it can take us anywhere."
"Go take a hike," you said, and made me look a damn fool doin' Dada at the Cabaret Voltaire.
So forgive the bad metaphor but in your metopes I am the lapith,
I am the centaur.
You are the Parthenon if you'd like to remain anonymous, my goddess, you can sign your name "R. Mutt."
So forgive the bad metaphor but you're metaphysical - Impressionists all never saw this before!
If there came a day that Monet'd say his lilies would stray then he'd have to shelve his paint and I'd practice self restraint and this can't work, can this?
So let's clear this canvas.
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3. |
Pipe Dream
03:06
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Where did you go? You're calling me a star and then you run away! Off to save the world again.
Here I am, your princess in pink. Sorry! I'm in another castle again.
Locked in despair. A pear, a peach, you're never there. But I'm not scared, lady Daisy does my hair.
You're a pipe dream - fufilling fraternal loyalties. You're eight worlds away, jumping on each others heads again.
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4. |
Unhealthy Obsession
03:26
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Here name was Lara, she lived for artifacts.
His name was Francis, he knew her story front to back.
The funny thing about Lara was that she didn't exist
The funny thing about Francis was that he couldn't forget their very first kiss.
And he thought to himself: "This might be an unhealthy obsession"
And he reasoned with himself: "We both live in the third dimension."
His report card: a double D
His navel: filled with the men from the sea
Her hips: perfect curves
Her lips: pixellated and obscured
And he thought to himself: "This might be an unhealthy obsession"
And he reasoned with himself: "We both live in the third dimension."
And he thought to himself: "Why can't I think about anyone else?"
And he reasoned with himself: "No one else is worth thinking about."
And he thought to himself: "This might be an unhealthy obsession"
And he reasoned with himself: "We both live in the third dimension."
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5. |
Kisses in the Kibisis
02:29
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You were beautiful - soft and fair until Minerva gave you snakes for hair, and your sisters didn't care for affection.
You were beautiful and all alone, and your beating heart was turned to stone, gazing mournfully from your monstrous throne at your collection.
I can't see you. I can only see your reflection. See your reflection.
I can't see you. I can only see your reflection. See your reflection.
You were beautiful - soft and fair! Made me feel like I could walk on air. And the garden around your lair was perfection.
You were beautiful and I prayed when I met you I wouldn't be afraid. I had shield, helmet, boots and blade for protection.
I can't see you. I can only see your reflection. See your reflection.
I can't see you. I can only see your reflection. See your reflection.
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Xander Williams Vancouver, British Columbia
Lost Numbers is a folk-pop band from Vancouver BC Canada. Using hyper-literate and nerdy lyrics paired orchestral instruments, their sound is wholly unmistakeable despite their apparently inability to stick to a distinct style of music. The music and lyrics are written by Xander Williams, featuring Ingrid Cheung and Beaner Mitchell as primary instrumentalists. ... more
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