1. |
Gladly Go Down
02:03
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Gladly go down
To the bank low
Trudgey beat how
Will it be far
Tenors and meat
Wrappers and tin
Be it a joke
Keep it a sin
Going down down, very far
See him spread out like the stars
Gillian stopped
Pusher ring raw
Lifted her bow
Packeted tar
From our old man
Driving each car
Caravan Sam
Counting each star
Going down down, very slow
Ask him if he even knows
Lily-white rag
Smelling the soap
Crackle and rinse
Will there be hope?
Tenors and meat
Go to the bank low
Caravan Sam
Taking it slow
Going down, down to the bone
I'm sorry that you call this home
Gladly go down
To the bank low
Trudgey beat how
Will it be far
Tenors and meat
Wrappers and tin
Be it a joke
Just keep it a sin
Going down down, to the bone
I'm sorry that you call this home
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2. |
Converging of the Senses
05:40
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I memorized your number from the paper that your signed
Painted with the colors of my mind
The six in every section was the color of December
Pink as the dawn, pink of an ember
And the fours and eights between are Halloween
In dusty orange and green
I recognized your address, it was painted on the door
This was a place I'd never been before
It's blue in January long past is the Fall
Seven seven - yellow on the wall
And all they seem to say is it's a pity
You have to recollect your lovers in this way
Through a converging of the senses
That proves to be so senseless
If everything I sense is true
Reaching 'cross the table, he lay his hand to mine
Could you somehow make these colors mine?
Yes, reaching 'cross the table, he lay his hand to mine
Could you somehow make these colors mine?
And his eyes they gleamed and shined with summer wine
And they told me I would never leave his mind
Through a converging of the senses
That proves to be so senseless
If everything I sense is true
And as the months fly by between the sea and sky
I think upon how colors can so boldly lie
To a converging of the senses
That prove to be so senseless
If everything I sense is you
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3. |
Of This Shore
04:20
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Stay you well behind me, do not break into a run
I know you are just waiting for that step when I'm undone
And when you found me bent upon the rooting of a tree
I let it go unsaid that I had feigned the weakened knee
Oh god oh god it's true, I am not hard to shame
But I can sleep it off oh I can bear the pain
He said you look just like a lighthouse standing on the shore
And the pace your head is spinning makes me want you even more
Pulling into anchor oh it seemed he was in reach
But in the wake of moonshine sunrise met an empty beach
Oh god oh god it's true, I am no guiding flame
I am not of the stars, no I am not the same
A new man came and asked me for a mermaid for to moor
Oh yes I said I like the sound of travel to be sure
But in the end the boatman couldn't move me much at all
For I had become a siren standing twenty stories tall
Oh god oh god it's so, I really can't explain
I am not of this shore, no I am not the same.
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4. |
1929
04:07
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All the ice cream trucks came out today
And the springtime in the Village let them stay
So they made a barricade around the square
For to feast upon the young 'uns who were there
So I stepped into a bar and thought it hip to leave some sugar on my lips
Mmhmm
And with a lady and a six string in his hand
Stood my favorite faded blue-jean one-man band
And he was singing:
I am young and old as open wine
Love me like it's 1929
All the smoke and joking in the air,
Well it mingles with the springtime of my hair
Oh you know that I can pick and sing just fine
All the better just as long as he ain't mine
For though he sings just fine he won't recall
Anything he sang tonight at all
And though he looks my way he cannot see me
Oh them handsome eyes they mean too much to me
And so I'm singing:
I am young and old as open wine
Love me like it's 1929
And every drifted dreamer with a dime
Will swear he loves me like it's 1929
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5. |
Can I
04:16
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6. |
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Jess Clinton New York
A NYC-based songwriter of 10+ years, Clinton bears her various facets of mind and personality through her own sensuous, often swampy-but-tender brand of addictive folk rock.
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