House With No Home Album
CURS IN THE WEEDS
Lover of things,
won’t you agree
how the winter could bring
the darkest spring?
With hell on your face,
dirt on the walls
in the back of the place,
you grew and complained.
Father of three,
won’t you believe,
that the ones in between,
the ones that are blamed.
Of fickle faith,
cynics that seethe,
how their children are cursed,
cursed to believe.
It’s like marrow without bone.
To live in a house with no home.
Where the son is the darkest seed.
He crawls with the curs in the weeds.
Where had you been son?
Not in the street, not in the yard.
Only once, I’ll call off the dogs, if you call off your guard.
Where had you gone?
Where had you been?
RUDE TO RILE
Maybe he could wait a while?
Maybe grow too tired or old.
Maybe they just lay to look.
While we were young, we all laughed and we sung.
Now we’ve been beat by work.
Oh, he just waits, he just hopes, and he prays.
But the more she is loved she hurts. . .
It’s rude to rile her up.
Those fools for god don’t love another’s touch.
Making babies for good or grief?
To these types of fools he pleads,
“If beggars aren’t loved they leave!”
She learned it from a book.
Suiters approach, receive dirty looks.
Calling on her for good or grief.
These types of fools who beg and never read.
WORKING POOR
We are young and we are weak.
Just as blank as we are bleak.
Too far gone in our heads.
We all live and work in the red.
We’re cold,
we had done all we’ve been told.
There’s no court for our case.
What failure gave us suits our taste.
We all bend, we all break.
We all forfeit what we make.
Too far gone, in our heads.
We all live and work in the red.
We’re cold,
we had done all we’ve been told.
There’s no court for our case.
What failure gave us suits our taste.
There’s no money to our names.
Empty pockets to our graves.
There’s no court for our case.
What failure gave us suits our taste.
ALBINA
Now we’ve got concrete.
A place those blacks won’t be.
If we come they’ll know.
They should flee,
They should go.
Here comes a white shadow.
Blues aren’t made from greed,
this feast on famine pleads.
To take their space,
if we can, if we may,
make a darker day.
Please, shame on me.
These things, they come in threes.
This feast on famine pleads.
To take their space,
if we can, if we may,
make a darker day
Please, shame on me.
This street ain’t made for me.
A BURDEN
A bitter birthday.
I can’t shake.
It seems that lately,
there’s no break.
I’m pleading.
Why can’t I see?
It seems that lately, I curse me.
A bitter birthday.
You can’t make.
It seems that lately, there’s no break
I’m pleading.
Why can’t we see?
It seems that lately, you curse me.
How do you go?
A curse it is right behind.
How do you go?
A burden may change your mind.
HELEN
I just heard the news,
a new one is on your line.
I just heard the news,
it’s taking all my time.
What will you do
when I’m fine?
What will I write
when I’m fine?
I just heard the news,
a new one is on your line.
Legs they’re wrapped around,
a victim by surprise.
What will you do
when I’m fine?
What will I write
when I’m fine.
Helen, if you called my name you know I’d go.
In much the same way the sun steals the snow.
I’ve been burned by the heat two bodies make.
A little bird told me that your type is too ripe to take.
HEATHEN’S KISS
Lyin’ on the floor and through your teeth.
Tell me where you’ve gone, speak softly.
Crawlin’ from the dark up to your feet.
Tell me where you’ve gone, speak gently.
Crawlin’ from the dark up to your feet.
Tell me where you’ve gone, speak softly.
Tell me where you’ve gone, and what you’ve done.
A fever keeps on comin’, I want none.
Are you true to me?
Are these vows we say profane?
Are you true to me?
Are these vows we make obscene?
Heathens kiss softly.
From their mouthes there’s nothing.
They cruelly come gently.
With violent lips smashing.
Heathens kiss softly.
DIFFERENT GRAY
Oregon loves too few.
Oregon loves just you.
Curse the rose, curse the rain.
Now two bodies, can’t start the same.
How our sun has gone away, there aren’t days,
there’s just different gray.
How can anybody only just sleep?
How can anybody only just leave?
Who talked to you?
Who’s in your ear?
Probably a better man.
Who’s probably got better plans
for wealth or success.
THIS IS WHAT
Baby brother don’t you know?
I’m cross when you come,
I’m cursed when you go.
I won’t waste my time, let the worst get in line.
I fruitlessly labor for show.
As time passes distance grows.
My son is so late.
Mother trust I will bring you a face,
even on the wrong days,
you know I could dream to lay,
next to that body,
I’ve yet to make.
This is what it is to be.
Call it joy in youth,
don’t dare call it free.
He won’t come, he won’t crawl.
He won’t answer at all.
I fruitlessly labor for show.
As time passes distance grows.
FATHER
Father your failures are so grave,
they have seeped to son.
No amount of wishing,
for grace to be regained or won.
10,000 pounds of hope,
on the shoulders of one.
It’s clear to me,
how the son has gone to seed.
It’s clear to me,
how the roots shape the tree.
If I found a penance to be paid,
if I found a payment to be made.
There’s no real letter to write,
To no real father of mine.
With no real things,
it’s hard not to think.
With no real things,
it’s hard not to sing.
Father your failures are so grave,
they have seeped to son.
No amount of wishing,
for grace to be regained or won.
((FATHER REPRISE))
Source: http://www.myspace.com/horsefeathersmusic/blog/451487189
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