It’s a dream of a face of a friend of mine with things erased things undefined her mouth is traced in a lazy line by a sleepy apprentice boy who paints the faces on the toys for the rich kids in London who play with their cousins who say they love things and hate things who buy things and break things ‘cause they know it’ll all be okay.
So wave your hair in your garden and feel the wind in the trees and take your share of your garden but don’t come crying to me.
The meaning’s gone from every word the blades are dull the lines are blurred the sounds are shapes of things I heard on an April night in May, you playing songs as we lay on the roof of the barn counting the stars I knew I’d be fine for a while shine for a while ’til they tore the lights from the sky.
So build my road through your garden and put on a shirt that’s ironed and clean and grow your dirt in your garden but don’t come crying to me.
They say the world does what it does it’s the same old world it always was it’s a dream we dream all because of a sleepy apprentice child who throws a log on the pile to keep up the fire before he retires to lay as the cracks let the sun in but rich kids in London know the whole thing’s a game.
So roll your eyes at your garden and put on a suit of irony and wave goodbye to your garden but don’t come crying to me.
Modular synths sparkle amidst piano, vibes, and other organic instruments stringing together constellations of sound. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 22, 2023