1. |
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The gas lamps all have been turned down low
Please heat my heart whose waves of woe
Into your heart shall always flow
Gretchen!
It speaks to you as sweetness sours
The harpsichord’s neurotic powers
That punctuate the grief of flowers
Gretchen!
Gretchen, etched in my memories,
Gretchen, hold me please
Touch my hand, won’t you hold me please,
You treasure of my reveries
As we walk on down those paths with ease
Gretchen!
Gretchen, etched in my memories,
Gretchen, hold me please
When the frost that never dies
Wintrily does harmonize
With sweetened ice, canals and skies
Gretchen!
And when our two beloved pets
Show their eyes in grateful sets
We’ll see how hot the hearthstone gets
Gretchen!
At the shivering of the vigil’s thrill
My distraught and tender will
Will rise to you, suffering still
Gretchen!
Gretchen, etched in my memories,
Gretchen, hold me please
Heat my heart whose waves of woe
Into your heart shall always flow
The gas lamps all are turned low
Gretchen!
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2. |
Shepherdess
03:22
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You that I loved in the holly boughs
In bohemian evenings in the countryside
Shepherdess dressed for the countryside
Remember those evenings now?
You’re the star at my window, open wide,
And the star of gold in the holly boughs.
In bohemian evenings in the countryside
You that I loved in the holly boughs
Shepherdess dressed for the countryside
Where in the world are you now?
You’re the dark at my window, open wide,
And the sadness in the holly boughs.
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3. |
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Behold the tulip, behold the rose
Under massive gestures of marble and bronze
In the park where love frolics on the trees and the lawns
And the pink and monotonous moonlight glows
Behold, behold the tulip and the rose
At night sings the joy of the flowers and grass
Where the moonlight might strike the obliquest pose
And the great breaths go by all heavy and morose
Troubling the white dreams of birds as they pass
Behold, behold the flowers and the grass
Behold the tulip, behold the rose
And the crystalline lilies all purpling dark
Shining in sorrow as the sun leaves the park
And the sadness of all things comes to a close
Behold, behold the tulip and the rose
And the bruise of my love like bleeding flesh
Calms its neuroses and changes its clothes
Now behold the lily, the tulip and the rose
Whose tears bathe my soul till it’s clean and fresh
And the bruise of my love like bleeding skin
Calms its neuroses and changes its clothes
Now behold the lily, the tulip and the rose
Whose tears bathe my soul till it’s clean once again
Behold, behold the tulip and the rose
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4. |
Sad Serenade
02:39
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Like the tears of gold that drain from my heart,
So you leaves of my happiness fall, fall apart.
You fall in the garden of dreams left behind,
Where the wind tears my hair, and the dark tears my mind.
You fall in the intimate arbor of white,
In the alley of statues struck dumb in the night.
Color of swaddling clothes, destined to pass,
With the great winds of autumn all moaning like brass.
You fall, and your agonies drag me along
In a concert of pale, ill-harmonied song
You have sprung into dawn in the furrowing lands;
You cry from my eyes and you fall from my hands.
Like the tears of gold that drain from my heart,
So the wasteland of life will fall, fall apart.
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5. |
Autumn Tarantella
03:26
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Do you see, in the hills, in the cow-studded scenes
The leaves falling slowly to fill the ravines,
To fill the ravines?
Do you see, down the cliff-sides of year after year,
My illusions all destined to fall and disappear,
To fade and disappear?
Do you see with what swiftness our time, in a rage,
Runs like the wind from this sorrowful age,
This sorrowful age?
Do you see, in the hills, in the cow-studded scenes
The leaves falling slowly to fill the ravines,
Fill the ravines?
Do you see how my serenade’s sorrowful tune
Lifts up a funeral voice to the moon,
To the light of the moon?
Do you see with what swiftness our past, in a rage,
Runs like the wind from this sorrowful age,
This sorrowful age?
Do you see how the bloodhounds bolt down the shale,
And we have no choice but to follow the trail,
The dangerous trail?
Do you see how the birch-trees each disembark,
And abandon in sheaves all their leaves and their bark,
Their leaves and the bark?
Do you see, down the cliff-sides of year after year,
My illusions all destined to fall and disappear,
To fade and disappear?
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6. |
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Oh how the snow continues to snow
My window’s become a garden of frost
Oh how the snow continues to snow
The flicker of my life is lost
To the sorrow that I know, that I know
The pond is but a frozen rind
Where to go, where to live with my blackened soul?
My hope is but a frozen rind
I’ve become the new North Pole
That all the golden skies have left behind
Cry, o birds of winter sheen
At the sinister shiver of the valley and the rise
Cry, o birds of winter sheen
Cry my roses, cry my cries
Upon the lonely boughs of evergreen
Oh how the snow continues to snow
Windows become a garden of frost
Oh how the snow continues to snow
The flicker of my life is lost
To the sorrow that I know, that I know
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7. |
Little Hamlet
03:30
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There’s a hamlet of green in the far countryside
Where the holly is high, and the folk full of pride
Where the awestricken shepherds look out at the plain
And my tired horse sweats with the height and the strain
And I bless you that joy may hang from your eaves
In the country in the evenings of the dying leaves
We follow the fall and its pastoral calms
I bring you my lyre, my vespers and my psalms
The cows are brought in, in the stable they bray
As the soup sheds its steam in its joyful old way
And I bless you that joy may hang from your eaves
In the country in the evenings of the dying leaves
How happy you are, you good country men
Far from the town, its reek and its din
And I bless you that joy may hang from your eaves
In the country in the evenings of the dying leaves
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8. |
The Old Streets
03:10
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What do they say to you now, the old streets, the old streets,
The old streets of the old-time towns?
Roof-deep there in the dust, bittersweet, bittersweet
There in the dust sunken deeper down,
Dreaming of history’s repeats and retreats,
What do they say to you now, the old streets?
What do they say as you walk there late, walk there late,
Walk there late to pay your respect,
Like the soul of a widower wandering the estate,
He has lost all the will to protect?
Whispered in the fog, and bent below the weight,
What do they say as you walk there late?
They say yesteryear’s nocturnal passers-by,
Passing by the walls and the tracks,
Were carrying within them, till the day the die,
The vessels of their impure acts.
Remorse shall leave them mute and shy
Like yesteryear’s nocturnal passers-by.
What do you hear there now, being said, being said,
Being said in the old-time towns?
Roof-deep there in the dust, overhead, overhead,
There in the dust buried deeper down?
Among the disappeared glories of cities dull and dead
What do you hear there now being said?
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9. |
Pure Sorrow
02:35
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Our hearts are as chasms, deep and hollow
My love, let’s go on, in your sorrow, my sorrow
Flee toward the castle of moral commandments
Flee from our bodies’ and eyes’ enchantments
In the kingdom of poems and birds where we’re heading
We'll sleep there together with reeds as our bedding
From the beaches of lies, from the isles of our scheming,
From the harbor of innocence flee as though dreaming
To sleep within intimate, tender disasters
There among the woodwinds and waltzes of asters
Flee toward the castle of moral commandments
Flee from our bodies’ and eyes’ enchantments
Do you wish to die of your sorrow, my sorrow?
Our hearts are as chasms, deep and hollow
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10. |
October Roses
03:45
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So as not to see die the roses of autumn,
Bury your dead heart and my own killed one.
Alongside the months of monotonous motion,
Toward the suffering evening my sorrow has run.
The carmine and crimson and bright detonation
In the forest of timber has already begun.
So as not to see die the roses of autumn,
Bury your dead heart and my own killed one.
Out there, the cypresses’ heartless shadow
Blocks out the last of the last setting sun.
Deep in the earth underneath the cold meadow,
We’ll sleep together, my dear sweet one.
So as not to see die the roses of autumn,
Bury your dead heart and my own killed one.
We’ll make a bed and we’ll sleep at the bottom,
We’ll sleep together, my dear sweet one.
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Brian Laidlaw and The Family Trade Moab, Utah
The Family Trade is a folk/Americana act fronted by poet-songwriter Brian Laidlaw and vocalist-instrumentalist Ashley Hanson. The band has recently uprooted from Minneapolis and now calls Moab, UT home. Their sound is a word-rich, harmony heavy revival of sixties and seventies Americana; their performances make even the biggest of stages feel as intimate as a bonfire circle. ... more
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