1. |
After The Flood
02:55
|
|||
2. |
Tower of Clouds
03:50
|
|||
|
I love the concentration I see upon your face,
Watching you creating this maze of crazy space.
Later on, you’ll show me the way to make it through.
But you don’t have to tell me, just do this thing you do.
A bomb in the garden, tower of clouds,
Pens in the center spin around and around,
Page after page falls down to the ground,
A bomb in the garden and a tower of clouds.
Another side opens with a crinkling sound,
A tunnel of purple and a sea of brown,
Better move quick or you’ll get caught from above,
A bomb in the garden and a tower of clouds.
I love the steady progress, and I can’t draw a lick,
The scratching sound on paper as you form your latest trick.
A drop towards the bottom, a portal appears,
Red and orange pools, and a river of fears.
Don’t step here, the floor disappears,
And you fall and you fall (and you fall and you fall.)
Off the page left, then right back around,
It looks like the sky, but it’s actually the ground.
All of this happens without any sound,
A bomb in the garden, a tower of clouds.
Later on, you’ll show me the way to make it through.
But you don’t have to tell me, just do this thing you do.
Eventually you’ll show me how I can make it through.
But you don’t have to tell me, just do this thing you do.
A void in the center, through it you soar.
Red and orange flash, and the void is no more.
Don’t zoom over there, he’ll settle the score,
And you’re all the way back at the start.
Out of this chaos straight on you fly,
It looks like the ground, but it’s actually the sky.
All of this happens, and I don’t know why,
A bomb in the garden, a tower of clouds.
The bomb in the garden, a tower of clouds,
Pens in the center spin around and around,
Page after page falls down to the ground,
A bomb in the garden and a tower of clouds.
Another level on, and it’s some kind of town
With buildings of purple and a river of brown,
But you better not linger, this town’s going down,
A bomb in the garden and a tower of clouds.
A bomb in the garden and a tower of clouds.
A bomb in the garden and a tower of clouds.
|
||||
3. |
Where Are You From?
04:51
|
|||
|
Such a simple question: “Where are you from?”
But it stumps me every time somebody asks, and everyone asks.
Didn’t move much growing up, it was never like that,
But I can’t say what my place is, that tie to the past, a home at last.
Vermont might be the place, though I’ve never lived there.
July visits with the old folks, the cool evening air, deep roots there.
Where I am now seems solid to me, but that’s not what they mean.
Georgia on my mind and sometimes in my talk,
Magnolia summer air, bulldogs and chalk, an old farm where I’d walk.
But we came down from up north, they wouldn’t let us forget,
“A Yankee friend” I was called, some unpaid debt, rebellion regret.
Where I am now seems solid to me, but that’s not what they mean.
Where I am now seems solid to me.
Upstate New York, a little time overseas,
Out to Seattle to find the real me, whatever that means.
Albuquerque and Tucson, travels all through the states.
And a long time in Maine now, I think that I’ll stay, though always from away.
Where I am now seems solid to me, but that’s not what they mean.
Where I am now seems solid to me.
|
||||
4. |
Slow Down
04:29
|
|||
|
Night is falling, so long to the sun.
Songs and stories after dancing and having fun.
A nightgown for my first born and PJs for my son.
So much action, but now this day is done.
Sometimes patience is the hardest thing to keep,
Inside the chaos you've got to dig and dig deep.
But I know that these days will be gone in a flash,
So I try to slow down, breathe deep, and watch these children laugh and laugh.
|
||||
5. |
Sunny
03:11
|
|||
|
I see you,
And I judge you.
You dance for me,
I don’t know what you mean.
Nite Angel calling,
My sun never sets.
I follow my eyes,
Bugs fall from the skies.
Sunny, Sunny, Sunny,
Black beard fear.
Sunny, Sunny, Sunny,
My hour is here.
I may never move,
Or so it seems to you.
Drop a roach inside,
Watch the dragon come alive.
Keep me nice and warm,
As the skin falls off my arm.
Sunny, Sunny, tongue.
Now my song is sung.
Frog snake Jimmy!
Sunny, Sunny, Sunny!
Death claw beastie!
Sunny, Sunny, Sunny!
Frog snake Jimmy!
Sunny, Sunny, Sunny!
Death claw beastie!
Sunny, Sunny, Sunny!
|
||||
6. |
Another Field
08:30
|
|||
|
It’s early in the afternoon when I walk down,
Not a single cloud in the sky and not a sound.
It’s hot as hell today, it takes my breath away,
As I move through the hay towards the pond.
My mind is ticking off the things that need to get done.
My legs carry me right along under the blinding sun.
Butterflies cling to the mud at the edge, and then they rise up as one,
I breathe in the muggy air, and think about my son.
But he’s in another field, far away.
I know that he’ll remember these far away ways.
May he be protected and not afraid,
I hope he makes it back here when it ends someday.
The spring came late this year of 1945.
Back and forth with frosts and thaws, cold and slate gray skies.
And when it finally warmed, the floods came, the worst in 20 years.
But it doesn’t seem to matter much when I think of these wartime fears.
I know he’s in another field, far away.
I hope his mind can bring him these fields of tobacco and hay.
I hope he keeps his head down and out of harm’s way.
May he make it back here when it’s over someday.
It was after the floods when a letter came our way,
Nothing as clear as yes or no, just MIA.
And as weeks slipped by, our hopes faded away.
His absence colors quiet moments in every passing day.
And now the boys are coming back home, the war is done.
And we try to look ahead but no word has come,
It’s easy to forget sometimes, working these hollers and hills,
But the heat of a summer day can’t erase the chill I feel.
Now he’s in another field, far away.
And I fear that far away field is where he’ll stay.
Maybe I can see him there on some distant day.
But I have to move on through these familiar ways.
|
||||
7. |
The Tone Rings On
07:26
|
|||
|
I hear a bell ring, pushed around by the wind.
Energy rising as the heavy clouds glide in.
The tone rings on while I move around the place.
Getting ready for the storm, the winter’s dark embrace.
The tone rings on, a drone of tiny sound.
The bell bobs on a branch as the first flakes touch the ground.
I move around, holding onto that steady sound.
Getting ready for the storm, the winter’s first big snow.
Inside, what I know, heat and light, a steady glow.
And the tone still goes, and the wind still blows.
Here now, a place to rest, to let the tension out, to take a breath,
While the storm works itself down.
And after, a calm. A quiet.
The tone is gone. Until the next one comes.
|
||||
8. |
Obsidian Girl
08:23
|
|||
9. |
Walking Home
05:37
|
|||
|
It’s a long walk back from the falls, the wind through the trees is chilly and sharp.
And it seems like it’s singing a song, "go home now, you people, go home."
And home isn’t far from this place, where the falls wash down to the bay.
And home is wherever we are, a house on a hill or a distant star.
It’s a long walk back from the falls, the wind through the trees is muggy and hot.
And it seems like it’s singing a song, "stay awhile, you people, stay awhile."
And home is never far from this place, where the trails up and down set the pace.
And home is wherever we stay, a house on the water someplace far away.
You’re my person, and I love you, I’ll stay by your side.
If you’ll love me, with my bad jokes, my flaws, and my pride.
I’ll walk with you anywhere, I’ll even push your wheelchair,
If it ever comes down to that.
The open road never looked so real,
Through two sets of eyes open wide.
It’s been a lot of long walks for us now, in all kinds of inner and outer weather,
Storms might come and go, but let there never be a curtain between you and me.
And home is a thought out of time, your hand slipping gently into mine.
And home is a laugh or a talk, our heads nearly touching as we walk.
|
||||
The Franklin Farm Portland, Maine
The Franklin Farm is the moniker of John Sayles, a Maine-based guitarist, singer, songwriter, and producer. A dedicated home recorder since the early 1990's, John is also active in the Portland music scene, as a solo performer at area farmers' markets, co-ops, and coffee shops, as a member of the band Futureshoes, and as half of the musical mantra duo, Jaap. Thanks for listening! ... more
If you like The Franklin Farm, you may also like:
Plinky shoegaze-inflected guitar rock confronts the world with both nihilism and hope on the sophomore release Philadelphia band Knifeplay.
go to album
Indie rock with a light shoegaze shimmer that won't blow your ears out.
go to album
Euphoric noise pop from Seattle-based Spiral XP puts melodies first, feedback second.
go to album
The first new music from Philly group Knifeplay, “Hurt Someone” is a dark-hued dreampop song with rippling guitars and ample shadows.
go to album
The video for "Theurgist," from True Widow's forthcoming "Avvolgere," is as prismatic & hypnotic as the song it accompanies.
go to album
Lefse announce the forthcoming LP from a Winnipeg psychedelic-dream pop outfit who promise "a 1-way ticket to make-out city."
go to album
A Dallas based trio making gritty, dark, stoned, shoegazing tunes that thud and grind with a relentless drive.
go to album
