1. |
Amber
06:10
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No one can change me;
I change with the leaves.
No eye can hold me;
I shift with the shade.
The sky is my mirror,
and so I am blue.
I have no reflection,
no colour that’s true.
When the sun stops and stares,
golden-haired upon the stone,
I am transparent,
transcendent, unknown.
When the crowd presses in,
voices drone and pulses pound,
my hands have no feeling;
my words have no sound.
No one can find me;
I was lost long ago.
No form can sustain me;
I am scattered like sand.
Brittle shapes in the air,
what are they? Thin veneer.
And what hides underneath—
it is only too clear.
So the ship is adrift;
all is still on the sea.
In the eye of the storm
all the answers agree.
All the wheels—
clicking gears ticking time din my ears.
I’m standing outside,
untouched by the years.
Dust to dust, to and fro,
so the pendulum swings,
but frozen in amber
I know not of these things.
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2. |
Firefly
04:53
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Firefly, if you cry,
bolts of lightning split the sky
into shards of disbelief.
And, firefly, if you know,
why this circle ‘round again,
why another dance with grief?
Is it always down, down,
never rebound, safe and sound?
Is it always get through,
always make do?
You don’t have to.
Firefly, if you go,
no more sparkle in my eyes,
no more take away my voice.
Firefly, if you stay,
I know someday you will go;
that will always be the choice.
Is it always down, down,
never rebound, safe and sound?
Is it always get through,
always make do?
You don’t have to.
Like a little starry sky,
a reflection passing by—
a memory of fragile light,
and suddenly you’re burning bright.
Firefly, what you say,
I could take a thousand ways
and twist and turn it round and round.
And, firefly, what you mean
Is a mystery for oracles,
treasure never to be found.
Is it always down, down,
never rebound, safe and sound?
Is it always get through,
always make do?
You don’t have to.
(No, you don't have to...)
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3. |
Common Ground
04:02
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Eyes on the highway;
ears in the wall.
You do what you’re supposed to;
you think you’re fooling them all.
You bought a packet of ideas
to make an instant point of view.
With no opinions of your own,
how dare you tell me what to do?
Days filled with distractions;
keeping boredom at bay
takes all your attention—
you’ve got nothing to say.
But the conceit of ignorance,
the safety of your common ground—
It makes you open up your mouth
because you love to hear the sound.
Maybe when I was made
there was a flaw in the mould,
but I can’t see why people
would choose to do as they’re told.
Perhaps I am not here;
signs all point to that.
Look in my direction—
what are you looking at?
The journalists, they have no words;
the media is out of touch.
Convince yourself I don’t exist,
and I won’t bother you so much.
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4. |
Hollow Things
05:05
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I have the light all to myself here.
There are no shadows closing in.
Every candle here is blazing,
as if the night has never been.
As if the morning is forever,
and the afternoon a lie.
As if the twilight isn’t coming—
as if we will never die.
And splendid in her gypsy clothes,
Sunset opens like a rose.
And everything you think she knows,
like the light it comes and goes.
There is a volume on the mantle,
beneath the dust of many years.
Inside are pages never written,
and pages washed away by tears.
A catalogue of wasted moments;
a ledger of defeated souls.
Letters drawn in blood and tarnish,
drawn on paper made of holes.
And splendid in her gypsy clothes,
Sunset opens like a rose.
And everything you think she knows—
a door that opens, so shall close.
And the mask she wears is pure,
and the words she speaks are sure:
“Gifts you bring are hollow things.
The gifts you bring are hollow things.”
And splendid in her gypsy clothes,
Sunset opens like a rose.
And everything you think she knows
is in the face she never shows.
It’s in the face she never shows.
It’s in the face she never shows—
and like the light it comes and goes—
a door that opens, so shall close.
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5. |
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Cary Grace UK
Cary Grace is an American expat, residing in England since 2005. She is as much at home wielding a soldering iron as a
guitar, and runs
Wessex Analogue, manufacturing Wiard brand boutique modular
synthesizers. She devotes as much of her free time as possible to making and listening to music, and finds much of her creative inspiration exploring the beautiful English countryside by motorbike.
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