Get all 11 Cary Grace releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Lady of Turquoise, Sacrifice (Single), Without a Trace (Single), The Uffculme Variations, Tygerland, Constant Things, Green Carrot Jam, Vanishing (Single), and 3 more.
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1. |
Tygerland
03:39
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Instrumental.
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2. |
Cyanide
04:47
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She’s a golden idol.
She’s a sacred cow.
There is no cheaper mistress,
But you’ll pay anyhow.
And is it really like a feeling made electric?
Is it really like a fire inside your soul?
Or or you only waiting for a single moment—
Don’t you know you won’t be getting out of this one whole?
She peels poisoned apples—
That’s it, open wide—
All your decaying Eden,
For a taste of cyanide.
And is it really like the summit of the mountain?
Is it really like you’ve finally arrived?
Or are you only waiting for the very first time—
Don’t you know you won’t be getting out of this alive?
Crawling like an insect—
Empty as a hole.
Nothing left to show for
Everything you stole.
And is it really like the end for all beginnings?
Is it really like a blazing apogee?
Or have you waited all your life for this one moment,
Just to watch it all subside into the sea?
© 2008 Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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3. |
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We have sailed the orange sky
We have scaled the solar wind
We have bled the summer dry
Held the means but sought no end
We have named forbidden names
We have uttered the untold
These were our immortal games
Played for glory, not for gold
We have fallen for the ground
We have reckoned with the dead
But when the tables turned around
No words remained that need be said
© 2012, Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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4. |
War Child
09:09
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I've been to the crossroads;
I shook the hand of Fate.
He said, "I am eternal."
I said, "You are too late."
It's natural selection—
Gonna paint this red town black.
I don't need the Lord's protection—
The Devil got my back.
I was born a War Child,
A weapon for the times—
I creep in like a lover,
And I live between the lines.
Brother is a killer,
And sister sings the blues.
I have a thousand faces,
And most of them are true.
I'll twist you 'round my fingers
As you spin me through the crowd,
And just when you think you've lost me,
I'll speak my name out loud.
I was born a War Child,
A weapon for the times—
I creep in like a lover, baby,
And I live between the lines.
I have no moral compass
To help you find the way.
I wave no flag in earnest—
It’s just a game to play.
I’ve been to the altar,
I’ve held the relics high—
I did not wear a costume,
But my skin, it was a lie.
I marked you with a letter—
You took it in your stride.
You said that you saw nothing,
But your eyes were open wide.
And the creature of your ashes
Will rise on silent wing,
And even as the shadow falls,
You won’t suspect a thing.
I was born a War Child,
A weapon for the times—
I creep in like a lover, baby,
And I live between the lines.
I was born a War Child,
A weapon for the times—
I‘m working undercover, baby,
Gotta read between the lines.
(repeat chorus)
© 2015 Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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5. |
Limelight
05:22
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Freeze me, no air, only limelight
Kite on weak string
Fearless, rising
Swing me, wide arcs, deep glide, turquoise
Noise, deaf Zephyr’s sparkle carpet
Wet skin waiting, endless eyeblink
Sink me, no air, only limelight
The rotation spirals - the mobius cadence
Colliding in crystal, combining the senses
Letting go and holding on
Letting go and holding on
Letting go and holding on
Letting go and holding on
See me floating in the limelight
White as winter, real and unreal
Feel this beauty is forever
Blur the edges, turn me over
I’m a nomad, searching snowblind
Find me - not here - only limelight
© 2009 Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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6. |
Razorwire
07:47
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Razorwire - mind on fire
There’s no stopping what you never start
Telescope - seed of hope
Flames violently and comes apart
Teacups filled with footfalls
Left on tables, wait unnoticed
Empty stages, breathless windows
When the curtains move
You are ghostly recollection
Always leaving out the details
Drawing portraits on the floorboards
Incandescent gaze
Watch the key turning me
Hear the sound of clockwork winding down
Solar flare; see you there
In the places where we often drown
Broken glass cathedral
Scent of meadows
Drawing inward
Are you waiting
Were you wounded
On the edges here
We are shadow - can you feel it?
As the Earth moves, disappearing
Growing smaller, and at mid-day
We become the sun
Teacups filled with footfalls
Left on tables, wait unnoticed
Empty stages, breathless windows
When the curtains move
We are shadow - can you feel it?
As the Earth moves, disappearing
Growing smaller, and at mid-day
We become the sun
© 2009 Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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7. |
Into the Indigo
05:23
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Will you conduct the stars tonight?
The orchestra is gone,
But ready floats the firmament—
Awaiting your baton.
And all the tales of Helios,
And chariots of dawn,
Echo in the atmospheres,
Where lines cannot be drawn.
In the ears of all the Earth,
The symphony does rage—
A million voices, but you stand
Alone upon the stage.
And spinning in the vortices,
A moment is an age—
And multitudes of constellations,
Sketches on a page.
Is it such a simple thing
To sail upon the air?
To look into the indigo,
And all at once be there?
But borne aloft on ringing song
Of golden bells, beware:
Nothing is impossible
That's possible to dare.
© 2009 Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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8. |
Windsong
20:16
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Many years ago
When I was a naked child in the forest—
Pillowed in the velvet moss,
Lying in the circle of stones,
Watching the sun play through the leaves of oaks—
Throwing sparks on the quartz,
Turning the petals of the violets
First to jewels, then to bruises, and back—
I heard the song of the wind.
It drew my eyes down to the water—
Little ripples of insect feet,
Dancing the surface tension—
To the storm-blue of the heron,
Trying to hold every feather still,
Staring deep into murkish bronze,
Ever patient for the flash of a silver skin.
My thoughts were not of words, but of sound.
Humming the minutes of June,
Murmuring mystery flights
In the tall trees—
The song of the wind, and I knew,
The waiting is the hardest part.
Slumped at a chipped formica table
At a truck stop in Oklahoma or Kansas
Or someplace—I forget,
The sound came back.
Someone was talking to me,
But I only had ears for the wind,
Playing over and again—
Between the clashing curtains,
Under the drone of engines,
Under the mutterings of tired waitresses,
And a few words on a napkin,
But nothing important—
Keeping my eyes on the water
For the flash of a silver skin.
Boarding a plane to England;
Unremarkable voyage
From one November to another November—
I heard it again in the whine of jets,
In the muffled rustlings of handbags,
As the lights dimmed
And the ground dropped away.
But then it was gone.
Overland, slow motion trick—
Speed that has no sensation—
Flat-topped cloud banks
Blanked with fog—
Curds and whey—
Fire river snaked through—
Illusion of flashing rouge—
The spreading of ink on fingers—
The ache of travel—
The lines strobed red, then black, and I slept.
FLASHBACK:
Coming up for air
Tearing myself from the wreckage of the crash
Headlights beaming underwater
Crawling up the bank
Face on the ground
Trying to hold every feather still
Searchlights skimming just above
Straining for a glimpse of my silver skin
Pressed flat in the mud
The windsong ringing in my ears
Though I was the catch
And the bird knew not how to wait
And so I watched,
And the flash in the blue was gone in a moment.
Perhaps I will wait forever,
But not like the heron,
Trying to hold every feather still.
I will try to learn the song,
And someday I will sing—
Sing the wind,
Ring the chimes,
And melt the fields.
Because a great bird
May snatch its prey from the waters and fly,
But only to the next lake—
Only to the next lake.
And the wind sings all the world.
© 2012 Cary Grace/Door 13 Music (BMI).
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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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