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lyrics from the album:
parakeetfishhead
In
the Valley
We make our
home in the valley
beneath a sky big as time
We walk along in the valley
with our eyes and our minds
then we sit around the fire and tell the tales
of our souls that burn through the night
while shooting stars fall 'round our heads
and move our sight
when we're home in the valley
We make our
home in the valley
where the river runs around
We cover these bodies with water
and sleep on the ground
we sing our songs to the rising green hills
we hear the music of the birds
we learn to sit beneath the quiet
without words...
There are people in this valley
young and yet so old
We hear the music of the treetops singing
like stories we've been told
as we sit beneath the wise old trees
passing the heart of sound around,
leaves like the stars at night
fall and fall without a sound...
We make our
home in the valley
and we listen to the land
Here our dreams and situations pass
like sand through our hands
as we move through the heat of the day
beneath skies wide as a heart,
time does a handstand and falls apart
when we're home in the valley
We'll return
to the valley
like we have for so long
before the pyramids were even built
we stood here tall and strong
we stood here tall and strong
once the grasses covered all the high plains
once the rivers ran so clear
once the buffalo grazed all around
and all we could hear
was the song of the valley
was the song...
Little
Raccoon (by Patty Peebles)
I was distracted
for a minute
for a minute I forgot
the world is sad and sorry
and could end soon like as not
but I'll blame it on that Crow
she flew across the sky
and took me with her
for a minute I knew how to fly
Well, it's
kind of like when someone
when someone is taken up
in a spaceship when they're riding round
in their pickup truck
when they get back they just glow
and they're not sure what to say
they've been gone a hundred years
they think they only missed a day
ohhh, they only missed a day
So, I rose
up in the sunlight
sunlight settled in my heart
the wind went rushing by my ears
and blew my mind apart
there was stillness in the motion
and it wasn't very long
before a light as feather feeling
filled me with this song
Way up above
the trees
above the trees I'm looking down
I saw a Little Raccoon
she was walking on the ground
she cocked her little head
and met me with her eyes
she said "I'm walking on the ground
but still my spirit flies
ohhh, you know my spirit flies!"
Now I'm back
out on the highway
on the highway breathing fumes
where there's broken shards of glass
among the ancient ruins
there's a look of mistrust
in the people passing by
but a light-as-feather feeling says
"joy cannot hide!"
You know,
mama's like a marble
like a marble in the hand
of a mystery that's much too great
for me to understand
but a messenger flew like an arrow
straight across the sky
and took mewith her
for a minute I knew how to fly
ohhh, I knew how to fly
(for Malcolm Smith)
He's a good
brother
his eyes are like a whirlpool
like a mountainhotspring retreat
to soak and soothe your soul
He's a trust feeling
his heart's been changed by lightning
now he takes his place in the circle
and tends a sacred fire
He listens to the thunder rage
western in the wind
His words are few and chosen well
I see the moonlight on his violin
He's an old soldier
his eyes have seen the glory
and the fury and the thunder
never shook his wonder
In the space where sound is light and heat
where moon is pulled by ocean
coverging with a restless urge
in a singular devotion...
He's a gypsy brother
his fingers fly right through the music
in the aching of every longing
he opens the only knowing
He's a sky pilot
he's got his finger on the button
like a wild tailor cuttin'
it out of whole cloth
And if the river rises,
spilling swift in overflowing,
he might just jump in and ride the drift
not even knowing where he's going
And if the river rises,
spilling swift in overflowing,
he'll jump in just to ride the drift
not even knowing where he's going
gypsy, jump in and ride the drift
not even knowing where you're going...
A
Small Word
I counted
all the seeds in an apple
who could count all the apples in a seed?
How can I know the things I want are the things I need?
Only the asking brings receiving
Only the asking brings regiving
back to me for all to see
Sing out a
small word for such a big thing
Sing out a small word for such a big thing
So who are
the ones who question intention
who hold a whole universe in their hands?
Who are the ones who know the meaning of high romance?
Only the asking brings receiving
Only the knowing returns the regiving
back to you through all you do
Sing out a
small word for such a big thing
Sing out a small word for such a big thing
All my relations
beneath the sun
I can see myself mirrored in everyone
Still I can forget to see myself in my closest ones
As if the reflection of my nearest mirror
is too much to bear so I can't even hear or
see the truth as if I still needed proof
Sing out a
small word for such a big thing
Calling
You
Your voice
is calling you
you cannot hope to hide
it's all around you
like a descended cloud
Your voice is calling you
it's different everytime
though it's always been the same
another smoke ring curling around
bringing back a memory like that old forgotten song
a ringing sound that's always true
a breathing growing strong
Your voice is calling you
like some forgotten tide
rising with the moon
and laughing inside your pride
maybe some winter's day you gonna hear it echoing
waiting so patiently for you to come back home
Your voice is calling
it's neither loud nor afraid
it never says I told you so
no matter how many mistakes you've made
just like the wheel that turns and learns to spin so true
that voice just keeps waiting there to remind you what you can
do
Your voice is calling you
it's the river beneath your skin
it's pulling you to the water's edge
calling you and drawing you in
don't turn away from the song you've waited this long to find
if it keeps you growing strong, you can't leave it behind
#
9 - 0 Decadedance
There's a
rumble in the heartbeat of the land
undulating almost out of hand
There's a people rising up to take a stand
as the rivers drain and the plates shake
and the mountains blow and the oceans ache
the hourglass is running out of sand...
What's all
this techno-talk and psychobabbledrool
all those things we never learned about in school
There's a clicking and a ticking in our brains
in a digitally synthesized refrain
it's telling us what to wear and when to eat
what to need and who to meet
while the system is corrupted and insane...
It's distraction
and retraction called the news
in double-speaking words meant to confuse
but there's a forest disappearing everyday
and where the oil spills it will not go away
and while the greedy belch, the landfills scream
from no-deposit disposable dreams
and we wonder what on earth to do
to keep the worst from coming true
though we may never know the reason why
we cannot be afraid to try
the children need to know it's safe to play...
Box
of Maple Avenue
There's a
jukebox sits inside a storefront
on Box-of-Maple Avenue
When someone spins a quarter in,
the buildings all commence to shaking
and people move by walking
in a dream of creation
the earth beneath drinks deep
of the sound of souls and feet
in syn co pa tion
On Box-of-Maple Avenue
is the Right In/Right Out Hair Saloon
The convenience store that sits next door
sells cigarettes one at a time
and cars drive by with their windows down
to hear the boys sing at the lampost
without a song
man, you know everybody else is singing right along...
On Box-of-Maple Avenue
There's a
man sits on the brownstone steps
in the middle of the avenue
He hardly has a word to say
'cause he's always playing a guitar
and some folks think he's been here
as long as they remember
he sits beside them everyday
already far away so far
You could take the number 42 bus
if you want to come visit us...
There's a donut smell at 6 a.m.
on Box-of-Maple Avenue
and even the guy who sleeps outside
is sitting up sniffing the sky
By ten the jukebox kicks in again
and the world is drunk on coffee
and it takes a long time
to come down from that ride
as hours become days become weeks
become years here
On Box-of-Maple Avenue
On Box-of-Maple Avenue...
Turning
Into Salt
Everybody's
sugar is turning into salt
not because of what someone did, it's nobody's fault
Birds are sitting in the top of the trees
watching the sun go down
Alberto Campesino lived in Enquentabo town
Alberto Campesino
lived in Enquentabo town
his days were effervescent and his socks kept falling down
The people all pointed and whispered too loud
and called him "Apfleppy Donado"
and the children hung 'round like grapes on a vine
and sung of the magic Alberto
Well, he knew
every joke and riddle and rhyme
and laughter had wrinkled his skin
Alberto Campesino had every convenience built in
Tuesday mornings he'd go to the laundry
to look for forgotten old clothes
and whenever he found something holey or torn
he was happier than anyone could know
You know he
had an old stick he'd carved long ago
with pictures of Eagle and Deer
Whenever he spoke of the animals he'd seen,
the children would all gather near
Then he'd talk of wild horses in fields of green
and water so cold and clean
and sometimes he'd stare right through everyone around
while his eyes watched those faraway scenes
When Purple
Glowbeeza came falling from the sky,
Alberto would lay on the ground
All the people would run to their houses and hide
from the purple falling all over town
"Such a strange man" they'd say with their heads in
their shoes
and their tongues moving faster than sound
and the children would long for the chance to play
splashing Purple Glowbeeza all around
Now everybody's
sugar is turning into salt
not because of what someone did, it's nobody's fault
but the birds are sitting in the top of the trees
watching the sun go down singing:
"Alberto Campesino died in Enquentabo town!"
He forever invented a thousand new ways
to keep the world spinning around
and people were amazed when they emptied his house
because they only found pictures of angels...
and the children hung 'round like bats in a cave
and sung of the magic Alberto
river wash the
dust
show me trust and cleanse the sorrow
i come to you a pilgrim
i'm weary from the road
river wash
the dust
adjust my sense of being
the pages are so tattered
in the volume of this soul
i come to you a drifter
down the backstreets of america
i've seen so many people
with hunger in their eyes
ribbon wind through time
electrickling current
remind me of the reason
we got to keep on trying
i know the times are strange
take me back to the silence
help me summon the patience
this old world sorely needs
when you cool my body and clear my fever
sunlight breaks into silver slivers
with your current and your movement
you balance-giver...
river do you know the good you help us grow?
so river sound
round the bend
send your song to the ocean
river carry me home as you roam through rolling valleys
i know you change the land
you move the rocks and you shift the boundaries
you help the world of man understand
this land is sacred
i come to you a warrior
grateful for sanctuary...
Lightbulbs
So many souls
in these troubled times
are frightened in upheaval
many fragile hearts and minds
lay shattered and revealed
Saying goodbye to the sun and fun
and sometimes to our only ones
saying hello to the mystery
while watching it all fall apart
How many lightbulbs will it take
to turn an uncertain heart?
So many days light comes through
in an angular brokenglass way
while so many growing hearts and minds
struggle to find a way
to move beyond preferences
to rise afar from fear
saying goodbye to perfection is
a hello to surrender
And It's as if everything that falls apart
can never be disconnected
so how many lightbulbs will it take
to turn on the unexpected?
Like looking at a river for years and years
you'll never hold it in your hand
Sometimes a river can make you cry
it's nothing you can understand
and it's as if everything that falls apart
can never be disconnected
It's as if everything that falls apart
never gets disconnected
There's so many ideas in a worldmind
how they spin in a centrifugal whirlwind
with so many knowing hearts and minds
outpicturing beliefs
There's more than six billion people now
so even ten percent of a whole world mind
cryptically tilts the balance and
significantly alters formmmm
So how many lightbulbs will it take yeah
how many lightbulbs will it take
to change rampaging storms?
How many lightbulbs will it take
to transform rampaging storms?
The
Kings of Time
O, the kings
of time
never knew what hit
all collected and sober
O, days were
young and the nights were long
and the people didn't know they were breathing
everywhere they went, they walked on their feet
not moving on but never really leaving
O, spring
rained sweet and rivers ran deep
and the people didn't know who they were being
so they lay down to sleep as the dusk grew deep
and at first light they wakened into seeing
and the wakening eye saw itself fly by
'til the whole world became another shining
ringing loud and clear with the music of a sphere
moving through the void with colours flying
O, the kings of time thought they knew how to climb
to the home of the dervish on the mountain
as a goat floated by, they knew they'd climbed way high
'til they showered down like coins into a fountain
So the goddess
of mirth dreamed a new kind of birth
and the people felt the presence of the spirit
Old lives became new now they knew what to do
and how to listen better for to hear it
O, fall came
too fast and whole lives hurried past
growing old was a gift denied to many
With the world on a stage acting out its rage
it's a wonder anybody made a penny
and the wakening eye breathed an audible sigh
'til the whole world became a green sapling
a little askew like a vision coming true
growing tall into the tree of ever knowing
O, the kings of time rubbed a twin paradigms
'til the faces on the coins started sneezing
Then the ground opened up like a punchbowl cup
and everywhere the people started freezing
Then the sky
blew apart like a broken-down heart
and the weather had its way no matter what
and the ones who were scared found themselves unprepared
for the goddess of mirth's almighty laughing
And the kings
of time
never knew what hit...
all collected and sober
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send an email to Brian:
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