Forget me not

by Brendan Bonsack

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Songs from Brendan Bonsack albums, THE SKY GROUNDWARDS, YOU ARE HERE and OF BURNING THINGS Vol. II.

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released July 18, 2013



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Clockwork Monkey Melbourne, Australia

Folk noir for modern primates.

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Track Name: Edible Prayer
All the prayers were edible, as far as we could read
All the words forgettable, but their fragrance so sweet

All the air was breathable and we could feel it weaving in
Those mesmerising eddies that loved you for your sins
All the voices clambering for accord, just like the drowning
Choosing to live after all

Rippled pane, I can't see an aeroplane
With no vision of an ashen cloud swollowing Liberty and Broadway

Every prayer was do-able, said the voices at accord
No machine unmovable, no driver left unmoved
Everyone's inflatable, and no-one's left unflown
No flag dug in the moonside will ever be alone
And all the rustling papers on our knees,
Just like the drowning
Reaching for the surface of the sea

Gilded frame, I can't see a cityscape
With no vision of glass and steel swollowing an aeroplane
All the prayers were edible
All the prayers were edible
Track Name: Grows on Trees
There were these trees of poems
That all the women knew
And they took their sailors to them
'neath a blue and dusty moon

And remembering that magic
Passed from a mother to her girl
They deftly palmed their wedding bands
And straightened out their curls

They would say:
Speak to me, sailor
Here are the words -
They're growing all over the trees -
My heart is a cravin' someone who will shake 'em
And shower us will all of its leaves

Some sailors got lost in the jungle
Their ears still ringing from the storm
Of the smoke and the noise
As the captain's fine boys
Tossed them o'erboard

They found these strange trees in the jungle
Each leaf bore a regal visage
And that is the day that money was born
And they could tell this was gonna be large

And they said:
Speak to me Money
Cut me a road and a rail
Through the trees -
My heart is laden with violence
And cravin' a castle on the cliffs by the sea

There were these trees of poems
That all the women knew
And they'd trek with their sailors into this place
And kick off their dusty shoes

But this time the sailors had got there first
With their pouches of fiscal seeds
And their saws and chains
And efficient little trains
And a new definition of weeds

Now, I hear it said from the sea to the city
If you want to bed a sailor
You will not get it for free
No - you've gotta shake his tree

It'll shower you with money
The meter will be running
And of words he will have no need -
Of words he has no more need
Not from that ol' poet tree
Not from that ol' poetry
Track Name: The Mountain
In 1925 she came, February 5th
Hitched a ride on a motorcar
And rattled up into the mist
At the cenotaph on the mountain-top
They popped a cork and drank the lot
The clouds stared up from under them
And whispered "forget me not"

"And hold onto the mountain
Forget your fair friend
These stony crags and twisted limbs
Will be here till the end
We carry a tempest we may never use
But, oh, when we do..."

He carved her name into a stone
And she held him so close
She could feel his bones
Through his skin and through his clothes
Caging his heart and arranged in rows
And the wild birds said "come with me"
With their permanent eyes
And invisible teeth
Treading so sure on what lies underneath
And keeping time by the twists in the trees

"And hold onto the mountain
Forget your fair friend
All the heel tracks you etched
Won't be here in the end
We carry an absence we may never use
But, oh, oh, when we do..."

In 1925 she left, February 6th
His hand around the webs of her fingers
Hers dangling just shy of a fist
They walked to the feet of the mountain
(The rain had kept tourists away)
And he read from a paper full of
Black curly lines
And she was married the very next day
Track Name: Man in the Moon
How can the lawn be feeling?
And the gray trees are steeling
Themselves against a hyperactive sky

See the people seeping
Liquid they are speaking
Fermenting with their salads
And their little tubs of steam

Birds do not twitter
They shriek and they scream
Feckless mercenaries
Profane around her seat

And she burns like a sun
Like a sun she does burn
And I have nothing in return...

Machines are peeling
Walls are moaning
The hearth that briefly took me in
Has grown to an impossible cocoon

Filling in the room
I'm just a witness as she grapples
With this wayward Time Balloon

And she sounds like the earth
Like the earth she does sound
And she burns like a sun
Like a sun she does burn
And I have nothing in return
Only dust became the man in the moon...

There's a repeat screening
The earthquakes in the ceiling
Resembling all the lines
Within our palms

The world dispersing
Sounds like ___________
I can't rehearse these words enough
To have them spin the
Finest gossamer array

Can you feel the mighty sway?
One of my eyes follows this shadow
As it clocks its field of gray

But she burns like a sun
Like a sun she does burn
And I have nothing in return
Only dust became the man...
Track Name: Fear of Balloons
He comes around with perfect timing,
Hang-dog coat and dark eyes shining
Bag of tools, clinking in hiding,
Book of rules and schedule of tidings.

He funnels the air with his silky voice,
Changes the locks and gives me a choice
Of keys and pieces of curly wire
And matches and strings and everything, everything.

My Victorian doll's house
I sleep under the stairs
I get pins and needles
I grow nylon hair

Here he comes with bags full of mirrors
Boxes of wine and TV dinners
Four-legged, absolute certainty winners
Beat-up books with soft-center inners

He circles the house and cuts all the wires
Scrambles my numbers and lets down my tyres
Shades the bedroom and candles it red
He incants to me softly - everything, everything

My Edwardian doll's house
I squeeze into their rooms
I get pins and needles
And a fear of balloons

He comes around with pumping devices
Black coat shiny and voice full of niceness
He comes around with collars and ties
They're all the right lengthes and all the right sizes.

He circles me with his delicate fingers
The world doesn't end, the world simply lingers
He huffs and he puffs and my rooms get bigger
He incants to me slowly - everything, everything

My Suburbian doll's house
I squeeze under the stairs
Put my eyes to the windows
And count everything there
I grow pins and needles
I feel no fear.
Track Name: The Sky Groundwards
All the ghosts in this vessel
Frightened of dying
All the words on the tips of their thumbs
Abbreving in Latin and mechanical pidgin
To conserve all desire in their lungs

If I turn the sky groundwards
From the sea they'll rise,
All those hapless navigators
Reaching for the stars
As they fall around our feet
And underneath our cars

All the stone in this bread cannot be turned
Despite the gnashing of my teeth in my sleep
But men do prefer the whole room to be burned
Than to just treat the floor to a sweep

All the ghosts in their windows,
Tapping and etching
Out the living into bottle-necked enfolds
Every hothouse has a memory of the
Bees that don't get through
But none of how all the flowers grew
Only that they must be new
To take on such a ghostly hue

If I turn the sky groundwards
From the sea they'll rise,
All those hapless navigators
Reaching for the stars
As they fall around our feet
And underneath our cars