Lyrics to Album. (Long)

No Absolutes

Can’t tear myself away
So tell me how to leave
When I just want to stay.

I’ve seen the sunshine while it rains.
I’ve seen war in the name of peace.
I’ve seen a smile change an angry place.
I’ve seen love turn to hate.

I’d split myself in two.
To come to terms with this.
It’s more than I can do.

I’ve seen the sunshine while it rains.
I’ve seen war in the name of peace.
I’ve seen a smile change an angry place.
I’ve seen love turn to hate.

I don’t believe in absolutes.
I don’t believe in black and white.
I don’t believe in absolutes.
I don’t believe in black and white.

Thousand Degrees

Tell me about all your never luck.
I’d be the one to change.
A thousand degrees in your quiet smile.
Warm me despite your pain.

Oh I want to be with you.
I want to see it through.
I want to hold your hand.
I want to smell your skin.

Compared to your thoughts which are beautiful.
Everything else seems dull.
So play me a tune or sing a song.
And please let me sing along.

Oh I want to be with you.
I want to see it through.
I want to hold your hand.
I want to smell your skin.

A thousand degrees in your quiet smile.
Couldn’t resist your charms.
A thousand degrees lets me know for sure.
I belong in your arms.

Oh I want to be with you.
I want to see it through.
I want to hold your hand.
I want to smell your skin.

Magician

You echo inside of me.
Your voice haunts my memory.
Who are you to invade my thoughts?
Who are you?

You bring me a looking glass
That cuts through my lonely past.
Cause you wear a magicians cloak.
Fill me up, with what you forsook.

You’re the whisper in the wind.
You’re the ideal before it spins away.
You’re the ivory tower
Holding vigil in my mind every hour.

Delicate thread you weave.
A web I can never leave.
Who are you to invade my thoughts?
Who are you?

Dirt (8/29/08)

I will attempt to purge
These gripping memories
Of you.

I add the pieces up.
I see I’ve fucked it up
With you.

Aren’t you so glad
you are not like this at all?

I call you up although I know what you’ll say:
I’m not good for you.
I keep digging my own grave.
But just to hear your voice though I know it’s true:
It’s not good for me.
I keep digging my own grave.

I’ve broken every dream.
Annihilated all your schemes.
Cause that’s me.

Aren’t you so glad
You are not like this at all?

I call you up although I know what you’ll say:
I’m not good for you.
I keep digging my own grave.
But just to hear your voice though I know it’s true:
It’s not good for me.
I keep digging my own grave.

I see what I want to see.
Hear what I want to hear.
Cause that’s me!

Thoroughly

What other reason can there be?
I went to sea without a map of the stars.
And when the hurricane pulled me under.
You came along and loved me
Thoroughly.

When I was gone for good.
Rescue me, though it may cost you blood.
And all I’ve got left to give
Is a stupid apology.
And all I’ve got left to say:
"I’m sorry."

Why did I have to learn the hard way?
These glowing embers are able to burn.
And when the fire was consuming me.
You came along and loved me
Thoroughly.

When I was gone for good,
You rescued me, and it has cost you blood.
And all I’ve got left to give
Is a stupid apology.
And all I’ve got left to say:
I’m sorry.

Chief Beatty

Thought that you could leave your sorrows
Buried in the past.
But you wear them for everyone to see
In a locket around your neck.

We see right through it.
We see right through it.

You went to the doc to find a fix for what you
Could no longer accept.
The doc, he told take these pills and you will find
Exactly what you expect.

You see right through it.
You see right through it.

It’s all just another way to pretend
Everything’s okay.
All just another way to blend in.
Make it through the day.

We see right through it.
We see right through it.

All just another way to pretend.
Aha.

Something More Than Billy

Take it back before I dissapoint
The idea of what you think I should be.
Make me believe that when you look at me,
You see something more than Billy.

I’ve lost my faith in language.
I’ve lost my faith in romance.
I gave away my faith in God.
This song’s the one good thing I’ve got.

Don’t get me wrong I am an
Adoring fan of Mister Joel.
Hats off to him but when it’s me behind the keys
I’ll be singing my very own soul.

I’ve lost my faith in language.
I’ve lost my faith in romance.
I gave away my faith in God.
This song’s the one good thing I’ve got!

Crack in the Windshield (My ode to loneliness) (9/5/09)

Crack in the windshield.
Chipped piece gone missing.
Wish I could see.
It’s just too windy.

Aha when you are gone.
Aha when you are gone.

There’s a hole in the ceiling.
Whole sky is falling.
Can’t catch the storm.
It tears right through me.

Aha when you are gone.
Aha when you are gone.
I fall apart.
When you’re away.
I fall apart.

My heart is cracking.
Big hole is gaping.
Can’t fill it in.
Unless you come back.

Aha when you are gone.
Aha when you are gone.
I fall apart.
When you’re away.
I fall apart.

Not Afraid To Need You (Defense against loneliness). (8/12/09)

Need to find a way back to the one I love.
I’m using every tool I’ve got, and each device.
To end this blistering absence from the one I love.
Cause nothing’s more important than to re-ignite.

I’m not afraid to need you.
Not afraid of the bind.
Believe that I can trust you.
Believe that you will be mine.

I’m stealing back the relics from our quiet past.
Re-shape them and remake them til their fine at last.
Immortal for a second when you say you will
Keep me and protect me hold me close until…

I’m not afraid to need you.
Not afraid of the bind.
Believe that I can trust you.
Believe that you will be mine.

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My Fireworks Display

I wrote an album. Again. (I think this is the 5th one I have done now). I’m planning to take it to the studio. (Third time I’ve done that). I actually plan to release it. (Only done that once before). I’m going to record and mix with the wizard at Monument Sound. Combs is going to do percussion and Charlie Milo will do bass. Still looking for an electric guitar player… (I’m very picky). If I knew a cellist I would use that too, but I may have to make do without.

I carved a big hole into my own heart to put these songs together. I really lived life for a while with all of it’s good and all of it’s nasty. I sent my logic and my emotions out to do battle with each other and I stood by watching as they both turned into defeated ruins. It remains important to me to recognize the hero’s of my war, and whatever inspiration can be taken from this disaster. Today they seem few and far between, but I refuse to accept bitterness. I choose to believe they will show up eventually.

I do observe exquisite beauty in my story: Two opposing causes, human to a fault, defending their purpose to the end… And what a fireworks display! It is that display that I believe I captured in these songs. It’s a little hard to sing them though because the memory of the war, and the waste it laid, is so very fresh still.

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Not The Magician. Just The Rabbit.

A piano is 88 different instruments that want to be caressed by ten players in perfect harmony.  
Sometimes I feel like I am breaking up fights between 88 opinionated brain-clangers.  I can’t exactly walk out of the room and leave them to battle each other with the meanest weapon:  silence.  That is just too brutal.  I could never live with myself.  
Instead I serve myself up to them on a platter for hours every day.  I offer a distraction, and a no-longer-believed-in hope that they will someday behave and make beautiful music under my direction.
Today, as I sat at my bench, they all lined up beneath my fingers.  They surprised me.  Those keys shared their secrets with me.  And I realized:  I am not the magician.  I am just a lucky white rabbit.
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Knowledge I covet. (Technical. I advise skipping this one).

1)  All the modes, in both directions.  I want it at the tip of my fingers to know that 4 sharps means E ionian, F# dorian, Ab phrygian and all implied relationships.  The other direction is that I want to know that E ionian has 4 sharps.  E Dorian has 2 sharps.  E Phrygian has 0 sharps…  I just want to know it faster.

2)  11 chords.  I don’t know why I struggle with 11s and have no problem with 13s.   Ugh.  Build on the five.  Dominant or minor.  Never major.  I don’t even know when I would use 11s (or 13s for that matter).  I just want to know that I know them and well.
3)  Clave.  I’ve been chasing clave for 18 months or more now.  I just keep chasing it.  One of these days I’m going to catch it, and I’ll play a nice mambo.
4) II V I’s.  I’m not jazz, but I hold myself responsible for it.  I IV Vs are so easy for me, but I haven’t yet spent the time on the II V I’s.  
5) Bach’s Toccatta and Fugue in D minor.  (I’d be willing to go to church in order to play it on a massive cathedral organ.)  Also, Chopin’s Nocturne in Eb, Debussy’s Golliwogs Cakewalk, (almost have this one complete), Rachmaninovs theme on Paganini with perfect triplets, and the whole catalog of Scott Joplin (I have four of his songs for memory so far)…
6) Astor Piazolla.  It’s not that I want to merely play his tangos.  I want to understand how he built things that compelled people to dance in such fashion.  Also, I want to play Libertango with another musician.  It’s no fun solo, although I’ve gotten some of his others to sound good solo.
7) The art of producing.  I wrote an instrumental album in March, and am coming close to a vocal album (4th) being complete.  I write entire albums and record them in logic.  I write all the parts (these days usually e. bass, organ, piano, harp, vocal, back up vocal, percussion…).  I write the lyrics.  I get all this work done and then never release it because I don’t know how to produce it.  Also, I have too little faith in my ability to get a return on music so I never want to fork out the $10,000 it would cost to get an incipient producer involved.
8)  Better drum loops.  I’m not a drummer.  I worked with Kevin for so long, and nobody (myself especially) can even hold a candle to his skills as batador.  How do you move on from that?  (Ugh.  Issues.  Way too many issues.)
Okay.  Now I’ve overwhelmed myself.  I’m going to go practice some more.
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Defininions: Composers versus Singer-Songwriters

Composer:  

Studies form and structure.  
Can read music and is capable of clean music notation.  
Understands complex music theory.  
Can transpose easily and work in any key.  
Has spent time studying arranging.  
Uses and explores intentional manipulations of melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic devices.
Capable of creating art to serve a specific function outside them self.
Singer-Songwriter:  
Mostly limited to vernacular forms and structures.  
May or may not read music.   (It is common for singer-songwriters to use minimal written record if at all). 
Understands harmonic theory within the realm of popular (including folk and rock) traditions.  
Limited to familiar keys.
Arranges songs based on personal instrument bias (usually guitar).  
Creative process is mostly coincidental.
Creates art strictly to serve their own emotional purposes.
I am a composer who just happens to sing.  (It’s insulting to be referred to as a singer-songwriter).
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If…

If I were a poet, I would write Haiku’s.

If I were an element, I’d be Hydrogen.
If I were a machine, I’d be a nano-bot.
If I were a tree, I’d be bonsai.
If I’m a composer, I’m going to write whatever length song I please.  I’ve spent the entire day so far working on a recording (“2000 words”).  It’s not quite 2 minutes long and I’m happy with it, and I’m done.  I’m not making it longer just for the sake of making it longer.
-Impatient, but free.
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Lyrics to the first half of album.

Bird At The Window of my Tower” (Inspired by Maxfield Parish and Sue Lewin) Written and recorded last week.

Bird at the window of my tower,
come to persuade me every hour
That I should trade all my treasures for your song
That if I give you all my youth your beauty will go on and on.
But it’s a steep price to pay to one who may never return.
A jagged contract made with one who takes it all up (front).
Bird at the window of my tower
Lovely dove or vicious predator who would devour.
The years are mine to give to this endeavor.
But if I trust them to your wings I fear your absence will take over.
Yet a fist of diamonds (has no worth) when protected from the light.
And there is nothing I want more than to see this bird take flight.
Oh fly.  Scrape your feathers on the sky.
Fly.  Before I change my mind.
Oh fly.  Scrape your feathers on the sky.
Fly.  Leave this corpse behind.
Machine Heart”  Written and recorded last week.
How can you let yourself be so indecent?
A spectacle willing the whole world to see it.
Your heart pumping blood through machines.
Flowing in digital beats.
But there’s no surgeon who can fix this for you.
There’s no surgeon who can make your love true.
How can the worms in your head make a home there?
Feasting like gluttons on all of your despair.
You try to let go of the pain
By scrubbing the walls with your paint.
There’s no surgeon who can fix this for you.
There’s no surgeon who can make your love true.
Run as fast as you please.
But you’ll never be free.
Of this need.
Of this need.
There’s no surgeon who can fix this for you.
There’s no surgeon who can make your love true.
How can you let yourself be so indecent?
A spectacle willing the whole world to see it.
Pilgrim”  Written and recorded last week.
Tried to send a message with Frederick.
Tried again with Claude and Franz.
Despite a meticulous effort
to reach through the vast expanse…
I am lost.  (Never Found)
In a circus of sound.
Johanne’s in the air that I’m breathing.
Igor’s in the water I drink.
Frida’s in my dreams and she’s screaming.
Vincent knows just what I think.
I am lost.  (Never found).
In a circus of sound.
I’m in love.  (Never safe.)
(On this) enlightened road they’ve paved.
Spent the morning talking with Ludwig.
Peter stopped in for a spell.
As I took my notes I discovered
That this path I choose goes straight through Hell.
I am lost.  (never found)
In a circus of sound.
I’m in love.  (Never safe.)
(On this) enlightened road they’ve paved.
Habanera for Lissy”  Written in January for Alessandro.  Recorded this morning.
Canta habaneras en rojo.
Canta habaneras en negro.
Llega ella cada verano.
Traiga su guitarra y piano.
Se enamoran de ella todos los camareros.
Se enamoran de ella todos los camareros.
Canta habaneras en rojo.
Canta habaneras en negro.
Yo no conozco a ella.
Pero si la conozco por lo que me han dicho.
Llega ella cada verano.
Traiga su guitarra y piano.
Se enamoran de ella todos los camareros.
Se enamoran de ella todos, todos.
Avalon” (written in jan, recorded last week)
Avalon, what have you done to me?
Avalon, These years are gone, they’ve flown away.
Avalon, the miles we’ve spun so far.
Avalon, I’ve run and gone no where.
Your hand on the gate…
Your hand on the gate…
But this won’t wait anymore.
This won’t be contained anymore.
Avalon, your wind has filled my cup.
Avalon, the kind that dries you up.
Leaves you parched to the bone.
Parched to the bone.
But this won’t wait anymore.
This won’t be contained.
The suns gonna rise, burn off the mist.
Bring to the light, all that I’ve missed.
Avalon, your beauty mystifies.
Avalon, I have believed your lies.
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