1. |
Questions For Lazarus
04:02
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I want to know the details of the moment when you went.
What shelter did you have? Was it a building or a tent?
Did you feel the chill of winter or the heavy air of summer?
Did you know that it was coming? That you wouldn’t recover?
Was the weather fair or foul? Did you twist and did you turn?
Was it dark? The dead of night? Or was it light? Was there white?
Were your sisters there weeping? Were the neighbors there peeping?
Were you scared? Were you lucid? Did you wish you were alone?
What’s the first thing you remember when your Lord brought you back?
A rush of air into your lungs? The stone against your back?
The shock of women wailing, of fresh tears on your skin?
The searing light into those eyes, wide open once again?
Were you thirsty when He woke you? Was His face the first you saw?
Was it just like being born again, this reversal of God’s law?
Were you happy where you were? Did you even want to come back?
Did your eyes well with tears as you began to forget?
Could you look Him in the eye, and ask why?
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2. |
Long Winters
05:08
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There’s barely light in the sky when I’m driving, home on the freeway at five,
The tail lights stretch down to the water, ebb and flow like their own glowing tide.
I used to say they would toughen you up.
It gets hard to remember the summer, the ease of just walking outside,
Of jumping right into cool water, of wishing the time wouldn’t fly.
I used to say they would toughen you up,
But I don’t feel tough enough.
Button up now, it’s only the wind, look up now, see the sky start to spin.
The hours they crawl, but the years rush right by, the hours they crawl…
Button up now, the snow has to come, look up now, feel the wind start to hum.
The hours they crawl, but the years rush right by, the hours they crawl...
Take me out to the ocean, take me down to the sea,
It’s cold and I need to get moving, let the waves raise the blood inside me.
I used to say they would toughen you up.
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3. |
April Skies
04:11
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Leaving, Leaving on a Sunday.
The way was never very clear.
From the passing fields, I see the mist that swirls into the
Dust I leave behind under the wheels, the spinning wheels
While miles above my head, the darkness hides a determined
Sea of traveling birds, going back, back through April skies.
Nothing, Nothing really makes sense.
The way was never very clear.
Leaving, Is never not a problem.
The time,
The changing of the year.
Racing into nothing, this illusion to be free,
They rest upon the sand flats at the edge of the Yellow Sea.
Black and buildings, wings and streetlights,
Dive down swallows at the edge of night.
Leaving, Leaving on a Sunday.
The way was never very clear.
No reason, Why it should have been.
No reason, no reason at all.
From the passing fields, I see the mist that swirls into the
Dust I leave behind under the wheels, the spinning wheels
While miles above my head, the darkness hides a determined
Sea of traveling birds, back in April skies.
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4. |
The Lights Stay On
02:54
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The lights stay on when you're not home,
Used to be I liked being alone.
Now I pace from room to room,
Listening for footsteps, listening for you.
The quiet it sinks deep into my bones,
The quiet of night and of resting homes,
The kids are sleeping and the cat is, too,
I drink a glass of wine then a second one, too.
The snow glows soft under a lone street light,
A little oasis on a cold, dark night.
You'll be here soon, and I can't wait. I can't wait.
When summer comes, we'll be born again.
Running, laughing, visiting with friends.
Coats and hats left all in the dust,
It comes back around like all things must.
A few months to wait, but it seems forever,
We'll see it through, like all things, together.
And on these nights when it seems absurd,
I'll try to bring up the thoughts and the words,
To keep the light and heat inside,
To not lose hope, to keep it in stride.
Your headlights sweep across the yard into my eyes.
Into my eyes.
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5. |
Surrounded By Words
05:41
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Sitting in a darkening room surrounded by words.
Some recent, some ancient, some clear, but mostly dumb and obscure.
The thought is there to organize and make some kind of claim.
To put aside some tokens of my history and of my name.
To hold what I can as time runs down on this place,
To take what I'll need to help with the memories I'll chase.
It's getting towards five, and outside the windows the world is pure white.
The snow has been falling since Tuesday, all day and all through the night.
I went for a walk and was the only thing out there making a sound.
The hills were in haze behind trees on the old road up into town.
I glanced towards the church, the snow drifts high on the lawn,
Then walked to the cemetery to say hi to my grandpa and mom.
The road was dark and twisting, and I didn't want to get nailed by a plow.
I knew where I was going but felt shaky and lost somehow.
Sitting in a darkening room surrounded by words.
I'll be moving on, but they'll sit here forever, unspoken, unheard.
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6. |
Death With Dignity
07:39
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The phrase “death with dignity” has invaded my brain,
As I hear about doctors and options and pain,
This fog won’t be lifting for a long time to come,
You end as you started, go back where you’re from.
They say it’s all about grace and embracing your fate,
It’s easy to believe that in an undying state.
I don’t think one should rage against the dying of the light,
But saying “hold on, now” seems fitting tonight.
Maybe it’s the jokes that you’re still telling me,
The worn out old stories I could repeat in my sleep,
I’m a son and a father, caught in between.
What the hell is “death with dignity”?
It’s too early for this, but I’m picturing the space,
The end of your voice and your wit and your face
I’m thinking about airplanes and that I need to buy a suit,
I’m wondering what you’re thinking…
Maybe it’s the pictures you’ve taken of me,
Of the places you’ve loved, of old friends and family,
They hold laughter and balance and old memories.
But what the hell is “death with dignity”?
Maybe it’s the way you gaze out at the sea,
Ships gliding by with distant places to be,
We swam out together, but now you’re out deep,
What the hell is “death with dignity”?
Maybe it’s the ticking of my own clock I hear,
The gray in my hair and those flickers of fear,
I imagine my own kids looking down upon me,
Asking, what the hell is “death with dignity”?
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7. |
Time & Memory
05:59
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You begin without memories and with an endless stretch of time,
The road rolls on before you, there’s no past to leave behind.
And you wind up at the other end, with no time left at all,
With a trove of memories to feel as you’re waiting for the call.
I’m somewhere in the middle of this funny lifelong shift,
Looking forward to the unknowns and the places I might drift.
Looking back across the people and the places that I’ve known,
At my words and at my actions, at the things I have to own.
It’s a strange place to be, between time and memory.
Somewhere closer to an ending than I’d prefer to be.
Wandering through the gloaming of these two realities.
The past and the future, the known and the mystery, between time
and memory.
Conversations thirty years ago are as vivid in my brain,
As the coffee steaming in my cup, as this morning’s steady rain,
The tree outside my window has leaves right in between
the crimson hue of autumn and the fading summer green.
As the sun upon the water is swallowed by the sea,
I’m grateful for the chances to dream and just to be.
To reach the highest branches just to see what I can see,
It’s a strange place to be, between time and memory, between time
and memory.
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8. |
Too Tired, Too Fried
03:16
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Mindless distraction all around, the confusion abounds...
Too tired to speak, too fried to see,
I barely understand what’s been reflected back on me.
Too tired to speak, too fried to see,
I cannot fathom how it is that this has come to be.
This happened first, and what came after, I can't remember anyhow...
Too much to do, a million places to be,
I barely understand this responsibility,
Too much to do, so many places to be,
I cannot fathom how it is that this has come to be.
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9. |
Oh, My Freedom!
04:05
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Oh, my freedom! Oh, my human rights!
Oh, say can you see, I’ve just got to be free.
So you do you, neighbor, and I’ll sure as hell do me.
There’s something funny going on, I think it’s a con,
Different ways to control me, but I won’t play along,
It’s just a bad flu, why are people so scared?
People need to work, so what the hell do I care?
That health guy’s a geek, a little mask-wearing freak,
And I sure as hell ain’t gonna be missing church this week…
These guidelines are ridiculous, and probably illegal, too.
I’m healthy, I won’t get it, and neither will you.
I won't live in fear, I’ll believe what I can see,
That’s why we live and breathe in the land of the free.
I won’t listen to these people, they’re not on my team,
And you can forget about sticking me with Bill Gates’ vaccine.
They don’t know a damn thing, it’s all maybes and supposes,
I just know I’ll raise holy hell if the Wal-mart closes.
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10. |
DwD CoDa
03:18
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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
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