From Every Twisted Rung

by Brendan Bonsack

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about

A sampler of ballads from three albums by Brendan Bonsack, YOU ARE HERE, PARTY SONGS and OF BURNING THINGS.

Full albums available at brendanbonsack.bandcamp.com.

credits

released July 18, 2013

Photo by: Rolf Bauer

Performed by:

Brendan Bonsack
Chrissy Misso

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Clockwork Monkey Melbourne, Australia

Folk noir for modern primates.

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Track Name: Your Tree
If I could climb into your tree,
Meet the monsters, apply the threads
To the implements of sleep
That you dangle, methodically tangle
From every twisted rung.

If I could take this scenery
And get it spinning - here, it's easy -
You just grab right here and pull,
Still as a dancer on a
Pirouetting stage.

Careful, careful, how to hold you
I would not die old just for you
Softly, softly, you're not sleeping
I would carry you into dreaming

If I am a matchbox cute and trivial teaser
Found on the slide faded by years
You're the cockroach at ground-zero,
Nonchalant, pointing fingers
As the world ups and burns.

What part of drowning compels
Your ear to the shell?
I've watched you scramble for an edge,
It's a vision I have held


Careful, careful, how to hold you
I would not die old just for you
Closely, closely,
Like a disciple to a prayer
Like an old man to the
Railing of the stairs
Like a winter to the bear.
Track Name: A Dead Man's Clothes
In a dead man's sleeves
You can feel the sea
Coursing round your hairs
Even though you're not even there

Wearing dead man's pants
You can step through each dance
On your ways to work
His partner with her cheek upon your shirt

In a dead man's clothes
In a dead man's clothes

Every dead man's tie
Is a Bridge of Sighs
The knot against your throat
Never lies upon the creases of its ghost

A dead man's shoes
Have heard every excuse
They don't take to shine
They step in and out of time despite of you

In a dead man's clothes
In a dead man's clothes

The dead man's gloves
Press upon your palms
The hands of all his children
Waiting with him in the rain and counting cars

In a dead man's clothes
All dressed-up for the show
Your fingers finding pockets
And your shoulders finding arcs they've never known

In a dead man's clothes
All the ceilings never seem as low
In a dead man's clothes
All the figures in the room begin to glow
In a dead man's clothes
In a dead man's clothes
Track Name: The Appointment
Lie with me my darling
We'll talk of burning things
The black urgency of the horses' eyes
Melted in the street

The faint smell of hibiscus
The cracks around your lips
Slowly painted over
In some morning before this

My love, I stood for days
Trying to piece back into place
All the words that fused together
In the fluffy ashen pages

I surrendered every one of them
And the case that couldn't come with them
Just to be with you
To be surrounded by your room
With its outline of a fireplace
Behind the chair, by the fern

Talk with me my darling
We'll lie of burning things
The girl ablaze by the lake
Though I could never have seen it

Your light breeze from the ceiling fan
And traffic hum downstairs
That thing you do with your left foot
At the edge of the carpet squares

My love, I could never sleep
Beneath the blankets nor the sheets
Beyond the new meridian
Scratched into my years

I surrendered every one of them
The long long days, the months of green
Just to be with you
To be surrounded by your room
With its sunlight on an absent mantle
And the hour ending soon
Our hour ending soon
Track Name: Age of Stone
Does everybody come here, to your silent field of shiny crows playing absent chaperon?
Does everybody lie here, pressed down into the cool, sweet grass, enwoven and forgotten?

Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
Just kiss me into the Age of Stone
And sit with me a moment, while all the other ages pass

Does everybody come here, to your ramble house with its dogged thorns and distant kettle sounds?
Does everybody lie here, in your flower room with its scattered postcards all patched into a wall?

Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
Just kiss me into the Age of Stone
And sit with me a moment, while all the other ages pass

Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
And please don't tell me

That everybody comes here, to your little lost car with its crows-feet scars and windows licked with snow.
That everybody lies here amidst the ebbing maps and the bottle caps and the dusky rivulets

Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
Just kiss me to before the Age of Stone
And wait with me here while none of this has ever begun
Track Name: Party Songs
This party is long
Its songs are all wrong
Hasty keys don't quite match the door
Submarine laughter
Clinging to the walls

All the water that found you
And decided to stay
I felt every bubble
And every cascade
Traveling my skin
In search of a way
And I am etched
By each invitation

Without the strings we fashion
Into fast and bright allures
Without light enough to synthesize
Our crimsons and azures
And reposed in your hands
I'm neither woman nor man
Without number
Without name
Without face

Do you still hear the party drums
Clocking out the party songs
Of shapely and forever-love
Of together-til-the-end-of-love
(But never near the end of love)
Ooh baby ooh
Yeah baby yeah
mmm baby mmm

But within this soft horizon
Ruffled on our skin
Within the wetness
And the salty dull perfume
And reposed in your hands
I'm neither woman nor man
Without keys
Without song
Within you
Track Name: Beach
The waves lap on a city beach
Like desperate fingers weakly reaching
Out for the edge of the cliff
A child learning to swim cries
Between determined adult hands,
Tiny arms flailing and failing
To communicate the terror.

Under the gaze of the horizon's
Hard verticals of industry
Plastic spades and buckets manufacture
Canals and castles at the sea's edge;
Half the fun is the race against time,
The thrill of impermanence.

Towels perched on a bed of sand
And shells and broken glass,
Out of water we dry our naked skin,
Your team is heading for a win
Your crackly messenger cries
Above the babble of the traffic going by.

And putting trust in the desperate kind of
Niceness of it all,
It's like learning to swim -
It's better than drowning after all.

And as the sun goes out we congregate on cooling sand,
Eat chips, walk the dog,
Ride on the conversation of friends
Or huddle with our choice of drug
And sleep amongst oblivion,
The city concurs
And merges with the stars

And putting trust in the desperate kind of
Niceness of it all,
It's like learning to swim -
It's better than drowning after all.