A collection of all songs thus far
Please don’t steal these songs
The Silence of Sound
The Pedestrians
Media Mogul Superstar
The Last Chinese Ciagrette in Scotland
Money, Mother
Dream Song
I So Liked Spring
Angel
Holy
A Song for The Shelf
Mornings
News
Cowboy Poetry
The Silence of Sound
With Wonk
I’m quiet:
A surface absence
but existing silently, quietly
I can hear your hairs tangle
And feel your prodding words
I’m quiet
A meditating priestess
With heavy judgment
The people untwist my legs
Eager to know me
Thirsty for a taste
They imagine me as their reflection
Imagine me as their tight eyed otter between tiger teeth
They imagine me as the loose flesh they hungrily eat
I’m quiet
But this fat tongue you taught me weighs me down
And you found me somewhere between silence and sound
You imagine me as your reflection
Imagine me as your tight eyed otter between tiger teeth
You imagine me as the loose flesh you hungrily eat
Taking up space
Fill it with noise
Can you hear me?
You dug me a hole
Neat and defined
Can you feel me?
The silence of sound
The silence of sound
The silence of sound
Media Mogul Superstar
With Wonk
Concrete soaked paper on the floor
Melted in, these are the words she doesn’t use anymore
She’s a capitol princess, ex-dancer, eating money for lunch
Writing the news, unaware of who she’s become
Walks with fat cats down the street
smiles to the left - to the right
Her habits getting unhealthy
Is this who she’s become?
A Media Mogul Superstar
Lost her crown in california
Crying, of course
And dancing, of course!
But you know that these things dry up before they’ve started…
She was someone for a while
Magnum opus encased
Revealing slowing
Melting slowly
She’s sweating for it!
She’s waiting for it!
Spinning out, spinning around
Never in, never out.
She screams: “I am, I am, I am, I am, I am, I am”
“Watch me dance it out!”
“Watch me dance it out!”
The Pedestrians:
Wonk Band. Written with Griffin Elliott.
Two people in the house
Box still outside
Two people quiet shouts
Outside looking in
Tiger eyes unseeing
Synchronized prying
Together, we walk.
Two people in the house
Everything is done:
Is done, is done, is done, is done, is done, is done, is done, is done
Tiger eyes unseeing
Synchronized prying
Can you feel it itching?
Something’s out of place
Open box, quiet shouts, plastic breath,
Half built house
All the pieces fall out…
I So Liked Spring
With Wonk
I so liked spring
with your farmyard hands,
you held all of it
Pass some soil
and hand over the dirt:
four dirty hands,
making clean work
I can see sun slipping through your hair
Mosquitos biting strawberry freckled legs
Camcorder dead wife: you’re a religion, you’re laws to live by
Bridal dress on, married to everyone
now you’re melting, now you can’t handle the sun.
Goodness, you're young!
My small freedom’s here, hot with honey, baby.
Believe me when I say “amen, I do, I love.”
“Amen, I do, I love.”
I prayed for you last year
when winter ate me up
and machines turned me on
my small freedom exits under hot sand tiles
and pad pad padding feet
I prayed for you last year
when winter ate me up
and machines turned me on
and machines turned me on
and machines turned me on.
Amen, I do, I love.
Amen, I do, I love.
The Last Chinese Cigarette in Scotland
With Wonk
Your skin
Half burned
Your ashes, kissing
Paper wet lips
Warm stake
Witch inhales
My tongue
She blesses our pavement wedding
sullen confetti at our feet
burning breathing
Charges of heresy
Roll off in ashy whispers
We stand outside this pub and wait to be done
We stand outside this pub and wait to be done
She blesses our pavement wedding
sullen confetti at our feet
burning breathing
To your lips the last time
Taking for the first time
Black tied
Dressed up, with no light
Gentle, these dreams are melting
Money, Mother
With Wonk
Out! Out! Out!
Out the nib!
Out! Out! Out!
With tiny coins
Silver and gold
And chocolate dream coins:
Prodigy eats them and choke
Mother feeds them
To sounds of planes
Spoon full of reasons
Of why prodigy should stay
Here it comes!
Arrraaahhh
Arrraaahhh
So out! Out! Out!
Out the nib!
Eating money, garling spit
And prodigy swallows it
Will reasons fill up…?
Will reasons fill up…?
A bath
Plastic water bottles that make you smarter
(the list continues and changes every time we perform it)
Eyes, mouth, teeth, lips
I am money, mother
I am money, mother
So out! Out! Out!
Dream Song
With Wonk
I am a bird cooing with lightness
But filled up with raspberries and chainmail
I can fly only two feet off the ground
If i tried maybe I could get to three
With much difficulty.
On a pillowed saddle,
this grandma rides through a window
Into broken snow
To throw a rock on a frozen river.
Her hands were dried and hard -
She was listening to heavy metal,
And freezing her burnt angel.
There is nothing soft in this house
There is nothing soft in this house
In this house.
There’s a voice of the golden man who’s not there
His naked body’s breathing, singing under my bed
Teeth leaking liquid and a choke turns to a laugh
I’ve got nothing to answer, nothing to answer the golden man.
There is nothing soft in this house
There is nothing soft in this house
In this house.
Now, I know I’m dreaming
Dreams too are graves
Thin skin dissolving
Underground
Under you
Under grandma
Under golden man
Under birds who coo
Under this metallic rhythm
Can you hear it marching?
Through me, through you.
Angel
With Wonk
The air is heavy with Brighton spit
spit from heaven
heavenly seas
Hands on hands and windows blurry
there's rain on your fingers
there's rain on my tongue
Breath on breath
Filling up
Melting into nothing
Moulding me into something
Your wings under seatbelt sighs
following the sun carefully
finger tipping light
Breath on breath
Filling up
Melting into nothing
Moulding me into something
In our tarmac unity
I have swapped our wheels for legs
Your feet are bare and breaking
Oh angel, angel, angel
Teach me how to sing
Here comes my salvation
A burnt bloodied angel
Angel, angel, angel teach me how to sing!
Angel, angel, angel teach me how to sing!
Holy
With Wonk
Eyes up on your fantastic beauty
Rising with the dawn, again, again, again
Out with the voices of birds, and the flowers of men
You’re holy
You’re holy
With balmed breath
What can we do against it?
Except buy a big fuckoff car.
Except sleep slowly.
I can hear you sometimes…
It’s holy
It’s holy
Fighting with death
And I’m mocking in vein
Come to me like the moon
Closer, please, I can hardly see you
Shaking star in my fast car
Not fast enough that we can fly away
Gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or die this way
Stars are running blindly
there are spiders in the sky,
crying
screaming
crowing
Murmurs of a dying sun
Murmurs of enough
Speaking so I won’t forget
Singing I’m always in but I’m never out
It’s holy
A Song for The Shelf
With Springhouse
Unreal manner,
happy ants
You’ve grown bigger than before
Grill’s on real American style
I wear dresses
I smile
We sink to our knees like Sundays
And I feel like a person again
Watch me write, you impossible teacher
Lines running over my head
Rip everything out
Cleanly and quickly
I can go.
I can go
White knuckle hands like Sundays
And I feel like a woman again.
Praying to a god, unlistening
Over and over
Come on! You can fake it!
Swapped iron fists for ironed sheets
My palm on your cheek, can you feel it?
Turning away again
Cherry pit spitting Sundays
Bloody and sick again
Lapping up my lessons
Thirsty to learn the lesson again
I can be a good person
I can be a good person
I can be a good person
Mornings
With Springhouse. Written with Ronan Lenane.
Washing's out to dry
Moving to Prague sometime
Your voice - easy rhymes
Wondering what it meant
Everyday kafkaesque
Coffee and coffee
and needs met
It’s the morning and I don’t feel better
Had a dream it went as planned
Played my role, played a part
Did my best it was a start
In the end it wasn’t far
In the end I couldn’t pass.
Manufactured dreams
Strung neck of beads
Cleaner than cobbles
Cleaner once than never
It’s the morning and I don’t feel better
Had a dream it went as planned
Fresh sheets, wine stained jeans
Sing for you, a Washington dream
Come on down the street
Buying fresh bread
Becoming the person I swore I wouldn’t be
Dirty smile
Look at me
Filthy smile
for all to see
Dirty smile
Look at me
Filthy smile
for all to see
Dirty smile look at me
Filthy smile for all to see
Dirty smile look at me
becoming the person i swore i wouldn't be
News
With Springhouse. Written with Ronan Lenane.
Blow the candles out of someone else cake
You know what they say:
You gotta lie in the bed you make
New news
What have you done now
Something Vintage moviestars wouldn’t allow
Old news
I’ve heard that one before
500 years of printing what was it all for
Champagne news
Sallowed with a canopy
Goes down quicker
Goes down with the mess you made
Radio tower
TV tower, my castle, my home
Radio tower
TV tower, my castle, my home
Call your mother
See what she has to say
Does she believe
In the TV radio state?
Call your father
What has he done today
You don’t know
But there’s big news in space
Call your neighbour
Who you’ve never met
Running public access
Speaking so he won’t forget
Radio tower
TV tower, my castle, my home
Radio tower
TV tower, my castle, my home
Send me messages, send me messages, send me message
send me messages, send me message, or send me home
I’ve been asking so many
I’ve been asking so many
I’ve been asking so many questions
Old news
no space to breath
In-between headlines
Everyday democracy
Radio tower
TV tower, my castle, my home
Radio tower
TV tower, my castle, my home
Send me messages, send me messages, send me message
send me messages, send me message, or send me home
Cowboy Poetry
With Springhouse. Written with Ronan Lenane .
He wrote me cowboy poetry
I got a cowboy loving me
He took me out to the prairie (sat me down)
And said as far as the eye can see
He said it’s mine all mine
Written in cowboy poetry
Let’s turn this cowboy house
Into a cowboy home
We’ll get some chicken
And a horse
And a dog to throw a bone
I’ve got worms for fingers
I’ve got trousers for hands
I’m working in the field
I don’t need no man
But all these pretty words and letters
He must never have meant
Cos he woke me up one day
And said “it’s time I left”
He rode off into the sunset
Reminded him he couldn’t see the stars in the city
Rode off on a horse the name I forget
That’s a cowboy I won’t regret
He wrote me cowboy poetry
I got a cowboy loving me
He took me out to the prairie (sat me down)
And said as far as the eye can see
He said it’s mine all mine
Written in cowboy poetry