Song Texts from Studio Grand
Apr. 17th, 2016 in Oakland, CA, USA
(the footage heads this thread)
--
"Keep My Strength"
In the time I've been alive,
I've realized two or three truths.
First part of my life has gone by
and I'm not satisfied.
Why?
'Cause I've tried
with all of my wits and brawn
in vain.
It was not enough.
I need you to open my eyes
so that I can see you.
I don't need two or three truths.
Just one, if it's you.
In the time I'm still alive,
I'll keep my strength for you.
--
"All The Vim Is Drained"
Too late, see?
All the vim is drained
from my chemistry,
leaving me.
Every day do I succumb anew,
ever forgetful of you.
What of virility?
What's the point?
What's the endgame
of this half a century?
Everything about me's fake draperies.
My niceties pale in light
of eternity's compassing luster.
So why should I be shy?
Gotta sing with more heart,
taking to heart that in giving,
I'm depleting.
--
"Same Old Places"
Some of the same old places,
whose graces do still remain hiding from view,
humble abiding homes for you.
One earthly paradise resides
there where my eyes
alight but on your throne
in my own quiet insight.
A light but on your throne
in my own insight in
some of the same old places...
Is this whom I've been serving,
whose dwelling preserving,
who's rejuvenating where silence can thrive,
whose all-pervading life from here radiates wide,
and every secret niche fills with riches until the end
of all of the same old places?
--
"Infinity Receding"
The sky's power.
The size of multiplex clouds.
The sun drowns all candles
around a bay
bioluminescent
in a burning way.
Underneath we unearth ore
for the patterns airplanes aim for.
With destinations ancient,
constellations maintain flight.
Constantly is your infinity
receding sidereally.
--
"Tertiary Knowing"
I hear the train whistle blow, and I know
I'm at home, time proceeds slowly, and my mind expands.
Like old times, new times unfold along much the same lines.
Eternally at hand,
the timeless WAS is IS,
and whatever will be will be.
Whatever became of those carefree nights?
Where did the wild creatures go when those times became these?
Am I the same as whomever came before?
All my time is for you,
and yet it all goes by.
Who knows why?
Before, I wanted so for the journey to last forever,
but I'm here, and bliss exists - it's seeing yourself
with the eyes of years ago.
Whether you've anything
to show for it or not is not
important, but what is
is your commitment as
time cradles you in its arms longer than the law,
longer than any human contrivance like trains,
like songs like this one,
to remember how you've remained until now
like plants stretching in the longer light of spring,
being after winter due for growing, striving,
staying where tertiary knowing
has a chance of showing
such a rich, slow dance obtaining.
--
"Begin My Plenarity"
Why isn't beauty news?
It's all I want to see.
Maybe I'm naive.
Yup - in fact, hopefully.
If it were up to me
which truth were true,
I'd always choose the one whose
music were noteworthy.
Yes, I've seen the sunsets.
Yes, they're pretty, sure.
But I expect to be permanently enraptured.
And if no longer moved by
them or their memory,
what's left of me but to
begin my plenarity?
--
"My Imperfection"
The songs I've sung - you've heard them sweet.
But just keep in mind they're incomplete.
Grounded by being sung here
upon earth, one among the spheres,
human music in human ears resounds
and reaches beneath the sounds, the songs...
My imperfection, like a falcon peregrine,
every season turns in a new direction.
Your sky returns my cry its reflection,
but corrected, pace perfected, purified.
I can't sing a single thing
without grace overwhelming
vastly my limits surpassing,
submerging the songs I've sung.
--
"Old School"
He's old school;
can't fake that sleepy durability.
No use for a shortcut to laugh lines -
they're earned signs that he's learned
to surrender mirthfully.
Even his clothes fit no style,
though they seem suited to the sunlight
all the while he daydreams.
--
"Idolatrous Fantasy"
When I say you, do I have a clue
as to whose attention I'm calling to,
whose ears I'm asking for,
whose eyes I yearn to look into?
May their enlightened stare
calmly return my gaze.
Some character, some fairy
tale archetypically arrived
from mythology, beloved
by everybody?
But I mean something else,
someone whose face only
occurs to me, whose reality,
whose personality, just may be
a trope whose poetry
makes believe that I'll see
an idolatrous fantasy,
whereas I don't stand on
any ceremony.
So I invoke freely you, epithetically.
Even if invented you still reflect my philosophy
that an unaccountable demon bears responsibility
for what's best in me.
