1. |
Looking for Another
05:00
|
|||
Now, we put our good feet in the boat
then, we try to cross the border tonight
we're looking for another... place to go
now, the waves start to give us roll and rock
then, we start to tear up our passports
'cause we want to start
looking for another... place to go
now, we're ducking in the shadows of a hungry coast guard's spotlight
then we make it clear
then we make it clear
oh, we're looking for another... place to go
don't think just row...
I can see a little place over there in the distance
it might not be the type of place that we expected
we left the ashes on the fire back home to burn out
but brought the matches our doubt couldn't steal from us
and we know and we know...
that we're looking for another... ya ya ya ya ya
|
||||
2. |
Say It Ain't So
04:57
|
|||
I hear raindrops on the roof tops
looks like the clouds have learned to swim
I hear my neighbours heating spoons
with the hate they feed to their blood
they're looking for drug lord saviours
but all they find are jesus band-aids
now the mayor talks to microphones
with a smile glued to his face
he says he's really quite sorry, but
say it ain't so...
so yeah, some people move as they please
and some move naturally
now my neighbours live in graveyards
and that mayor lives in a minor key
but I've been across this country
and every graveyard looks the same
the roses just lose their colours
but they never lose their names
and I hear the ghosts whisper
say it ain't so...
and yeah, it's easy to forget
the sound of plastic violins
those songs that move up on the charts
sounding like teenage masturbation
there you might find the gods of denial
some use to hone their discipline
like priests that chain their loins
to innocent little propositions
as the congregation pleads
say it ain't so...
childhood's for hitch-hiking
among the trees and under the sun
where the dawn never breaks too early
and the days never feel too long
I remember a choir one Sunday morning
singing songs about joy and peace
the policemen put their guns down that day
as Nelson Mandela was released
but I heard the racists
say it ain't so...
|
||||
3. |
We Go Down
03:02
|
|||
We take the train downtown
from the suburbs
we get off at the central
station where the squeegee kids
question our apologies
we go down
where do we go?
we go where strobe lights play
and our eyes start to hunt
for smiles and good teeth
and we do our best
to create apologies
we go down
where do we go
we go down... down below
we don't wanna think about... tomorrow
then our eyes get weak
and we feel like
a tall Napoleon
and we do our best
to avoid apologies
as we go down
where do we go
we go down... down below
we don't wanna think about... tomorrow
bap bap da da da da... down below
|
||||
4. |
Yesterday's Halo
05:39
|
|||
It's cold on the streets tonight
as we walk from place to place
the blue halo of TV screens
hit the sidewalk and the side of your face
you say this used to be the capital
now it's just a town of neon signs
you say innocence is for those who believe
that the guilty just didn't pay at the door
and you say "where, did it go
my hometown's halo"
so you look under the soles of your shoes
and say "yes yes yesterday's got nothing to lose"
taxi driver's making conversation
says he was a doctor in Lebanon
now he's got four kids and an accent
and Montreal in February
then he drops us off at the corner
says "may god be with us always,
everyone has a price to pay
but you don't realize how much some of us have to pay"
I say "where, did it go
my country's halo"
so I look under the soles of my shoes
and say "yes yes yesterday's got nothing to lose"
yes we've read the bible
it's one of the best stories I've read
a good story's like a shaman
that can make us believe in anything
but every shaman has a twin
the kind that leaves families broken
where one tries to hold up a light
the other claims that there's was stolen
they say "where, did it go
my father's halo"
so they look under the soles of their shoes
and say "yes yes yesterday's got nothing to lose"
|
||||
5. |
Caulfield Line
05:45
|
|||
Tie me down to the Caulfield line
you won't have to hold me down
just tie me down to the Caulfield line
'cause that train's gotta be stopped somehow
This ain't no time for waiting now
this ain't no time to pray
'cause the train that comes down the Caulfield line
once took the Romans away
tie me down
and strap the chords
and take my hand
yes tie me down
I feel the train in the cold rails now
morse code on my skin
my bones on stones, my eyes are closed
and I hear the call of the
Caulfield Line
One hand holds a photograph
the other holds a flame
and the cling and clang
of steel and love and wood and man
on the Caulfield Line
tie me down
and strap the chords
and take my hand
yes tie me down
Yes, tie me down to the Caulfield Line
you won't have to hold me down
just tie me down on the Caulfield Line
'cause that train's gotta be stopped someon
tie me down
tie me down
and strap the chords
yes tie me down
|
||||
6. |
Alarms Pt. 2
04:38
|
|||
Now it's been three days
since I stole mom from the hospital
I know there's some that won't forgive me
but it's what mom couldn't ask you to do
her life was tubes and medication
that only helped her hold off the pain
before I took her in the night
I went to buy her lots of morphine
and now I hold her hand
as I try to help her go clear
But I can't do this alone
the needles shake in my hands
I need you here to hold me steady
as she leaves us now but won't disappear
and now she holds my hand
as I try to help her go clear
now she lays her body down
her lashes sweep her eye lids closed
and unleash my mother's ghost
her wrinkles leave one at a time
like the pain that lead to a crime
that I was asked to commit
mama it's okay....
|
||||
7. |
Til the Morning
03:57
|
|||
Downtown Toronto
14 shows from home
the bar is looking empty
there's no pay phone I can find
the microphone's been beaten
the stage is carpet red
it's raining on Young Street
and there's puddles in my head
I'm thinking about your face
and how I'd hold you on the corner
and steal you in some doorway
of a store that'll be closed
til the morning
looking down the highway
my focus window-framed
the signs just change their colours
and the towns just change their names
the streets have been beaten
I'm given beer and bread
it's raining on Young Street
and there's puddles in my head
I'm thinking about your face
and how I'd hold you on the corner
and steal you in some doorway
of a store that will be closed
til the morning
these bars are full of pictures
papparazzi pictures
framing all the fruits
of tragedies
cocaine and a bombshell
winking at the camera
as the night falls
I wait til the morning
downtown Toronto
14 shows from home
the bar is looking empty
and there's no pay phone I can find
|
||||
8. |
Flowers on the Stones
03:04
|
|||
I see you standing on the street
you don't have anywhere to be
you're looking at the billboard
and you're playing with your hair
and you're reading all those lines and you believe
they say
stand up
don't put your hands up
and never shut up
and plant your flowers on the stones
now you're standing in the square
policeman tells you to beware
there might be devils lurking, people cheating
posers weeping
but you really really just don't care
never thought you'd see New York
now you never can ignore
all the footsteps walking, people talking
crows cawing, knocking at your front door
they say
stand up
don't put your hands up
and never shut up
and plant your flowers on the stones
if you make a man your saviour
you'll start digging his grave
if you make a man your prophet
then you pay him with your problems
you'll just make him your own slave
we're cooking things up on the stove
we hoist the rags up on the poles
we're feeling young we're feeling blunt
we're know we're not the only ones
that's planting flowers on the stones (aware of grammar problem)
so stand up
don't put your hands up
and never shut up
and plant your flowers on the stones
|
||||
9. |
Minus 17
04:01
|
|||
Oh it's, minus 17 below and falling
I can feel the ice in the air
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
I saw it, coming in the way that the wind was
throwing all the garbage cans around
and spilling all our dirty laundry in the street
now I just don't think that I could ever go back
to when the neighbourhood was clean and in a coma
Now the shadows, we've been keeping locked away in closets
are running all naked down the street
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
the cold brings a little bit of life to our cheek bones
and snow laughs under our feet
as we trip on all of our dirty laundry
I just don't think that I could ever go back
to where our closets were full and noisy
there's no way that love can hide forever beneath human scars
|
||||
10. |
||||
we're counting all the windows
that line our city streets
we're counting all the cracked ones
and the dream catchers there
we're writing all the letters
that will never be returned
we're lighting all the dreamers
that forget how to burn
tonight, we open our front doors
tonight, we step out on to the prison's dance floor
tonight, we pull down all the flags
and wrap up our innocence in shiny plastic bags
you spread out your curtsy
before my drunken eye
you pull up on your skate board
and say "can I give you hand"
that day was important
that day I won't ignore
when you opened up your window
but you shut your front door
and I put you in my pocket
and you fall to the street
and you say you like the devil
but we're the nicest guys you'll meet
Tonight, we open our front doors
tonight, we step out on to the prison's dance floor
tonight, we pull down all the flags
and wrap up our innocence in shiny plastic bags
....
Barber Shop Part 2
"I've never seen the pyramids"
This is what I told Sara, my companion
I'd picked her up as a hitch-hiker approximately
3 years, 7 months, 21 days, and 9 hours
approximately
Her response was,
"go buy a postcard of those triangles in the sand
and send it to yourself with a message reading
"wish you were here"
It's been three years since we left the place
where we'd already paid
that moment when the jump of your heart
is equal to the weight of your body
on the ribcage of another
One day, she told me that her mother was born on May 8th, 1945
the day the radio turned drawn cheeks into arched smiles
the news cascading through the crowds and fields
as the european guns were dropped
and diplomatic pens covered in dried blood
tried once again to share ink
she says our kids will look at those two world wars
like those of Alexander, Napoleon, or even Shakespeare
the victors as rockstars
held on the stages of our imagination like armed marionettes
wading through the glory of stardom and the poison of nostalgia
We were driving on the outskirts of some small Canadian town
the kind of town that's cradled by the CBC and tough like an abandoned teenager
she turned on the radio
some faint music sorted its way through the static and confusion
of Alzeihmer speakers
but the melodies stopped short of selling us courage
so she turned it off
Instead
she put in a different album
she explained it was a collection of the songs of a man
who when his hands had been broken by soldiers
after a September 11th military coup in his country in the 1970's
he mustered a song that sang
like spit-in-their-faces glory
before they riddled his ribcage with 44 bullets
and tossed his body into the street
the jump of his heart fading in the cadence of smoke
our tires carried us through that small Canadian pre-alarm clock town
the doors were locked, from the liquor store to the barber shop
the windows blinded to the passing lights
and his voice came through the speakers
like broken glass throwing its shards at fear
as the oncoming headlights swept across the dashboard
like unknown flags blowing in the wind
--- the barber shop is closed ---
I think often about New York
and the effect pop songs have on small villages in Northern India
and how that day in Times Square a few years ago
dumpsters orchestrated a horror movie in my head
as protectors of the peace scared the courage out of us
and blanketed us with the possibilities and maybes of violence
but did stop something from happening
now my great great aunt was diagnosed with Tuberculosis
before the cure had been found
now her reality had nothing to do with the probability of maybe
she was quarantined to the grainery on the family farm
and her father moved the family piano so she could play it
when she played her Irish dancehall, classical exercise
the sound resonated up through the wooden walls
as her family listened in from the outside
until one day the hammers no longer hit the strings
I grew up knowing this story
and I remember as a kid imagining her on the floor of that grainery
she inspired the idea that
scales are the teeth of beauty
and that sometimes a song can help you accept the grave
or make you feel
like you were born on May 8th, 1945
so I asked Sara again
if she could explain to me
what is the story of what the river gave the boat
she said don't worry,
some things float and some things don't
and the ones that don't,
well, they're kind of like a glory
that doesn't have the grace you'll find in a small town
that knows it will never be abandoned
then she rolled the window down to the let the morning in
I sat beside her
the music coming out of the speakers
became quarantined to my ears
like the sounds of sara's hallelujah
on my ribcage
at her moment of glory
.....
we're looking for that woman
we're looking for that man
we don't believe in music
that needs a hospital
we're looking for your jesus
we're looking for your allah
we're looking for the gandhi version
of the holy fatwa
we're looking for pinocchio
at least he stands out in a crowd
we're looking for the dreamers
that can sing this fucking loud
tonight, we open our front doors
tonight, we step out on to the prison's dance floor
tonight, we pull down all the flags
and wrap up our innocence in shiny plastic bags
|
Mark Berube Montréal, Québec
Montreal based singer/songwriter. Band includes Kristina Koropecki (Cello/Autoharp/Voice)
Streaming and Download help
If you like Mark Berube, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp