Baldy Longhair Records

Lyrics | St. Sunday

nightingalesong

The Points

These highrails run across our homes.
The many workmen still scraping along
with silent ears pressed to their phones:
you have to pay to keep your bones.

Go walk in lines and ordered pairs
with iron matches and electric chairs
through forest fire and golden stair
to find some answers to your prayers.

A young boy keeps his dreams in check
against the flood: the lights rusty gleam,
and inside his heart and mind may crack:
you have to decide what’s real and obscene.

The city and all the people will stare,
but they will never see each other look.

Will we regret all we never took?

The Forlorn Hope

The lowlands speak in tongues.
The children learn to kill.
The fire burns so steady.
There’s another body on the hill.
I let myself down.
I cling to the wall.

Do not give in. Keep hope within.

The water floods the streets.
The ships still cannot sail.
The captain’s dead with defeat.
The clouds are black with hail.
I let myself drown.
I let myself fall.

I let myself and some will drag me up.
I let myself and some will stay above.
I let myself and friends will find me again.
I let myself and family brings me back.

We will send (We will send) the water back.
We will drive this train right off the track.
We will make this diamond dark crack.
We will bring the future back.

Instinct & Faith Designed

Let us drink from the river.
Let us eat from the fruit.
Let me inhale my questions:
Answers stolen from birth.

Let’s steal the light from stars
with clumsy hands through nets.
Let’s steal the light from stars:
rearrange their holy set.

Live life, drink water, keep safe our quarter,
and lock your eyes from the sky.
Lock on where your feet lie.
Safe self; safe water: pay coin and quarter.
Our locked eyes from the sky.
Our locked lives: where do they lie?

Let us swallow our saviors.
Let us gnaw on the earth.
Let us choke on the children.
What is all this life worth?

Is it faith that keeps us alive?
Is it life that makes us cry?
Is it faith that feeds the poor?
Is it life that steals and hordes?

Sing secret rivers and be well.
For whatever reason: be well.

From Underground

Conspiring gods that stand on our heads;
Pigs of princes that ask for more bread;
Bishops that fill us with burning and dread:
you keep your ears close to the earth

for the lower level lives!
You all talk but never give,
and the underground begins.
For all your over-timing,
undermining, kill-denying sins,
know the underground begins.

Wayward saints who need to remember;
Paranoia-wolves who still stick together;
All you gods with some sort of ember:
you turn your heads back and listen

for the lower level lives!
You all talk but never give!
and the underground begins.
For all you’ve been over-timed,
undermined, and given blame for sin,
know the underground begins.

Contain your resentment; maintain your will;
(You all talk but never give)
by day we’re descending; by night stand still.
(You all talk but never give)
Contain your resentment; maintain your will;
(You all talk but never give)
by day we’re descending; by night stand still.

Coal (Heart)

Sorry boy in run down sorry houses
stumbling through the maze of sweat,
ten cigarettes and things aren’t better.
Exhale a temporary reset.

Another drink and nothing’s changed.
That sorry feeling in your gut still stings.
Save yourself! These drugs won’t catch you.
Only you must mend your broken (wings).

So, stumble for miles back to your home,
or press into the crowd and go blind.
You are and will never be alone,
for there’s far too many on your mind.

Wake up! Walk out and wind this wheel back.
Stay strong! Stay sure! or paint your sight black.

Like the words your father spoke:
this is how you grow old.
Stain and kill your soul with smoke:
this is making coal from gold.