Discography

 

Loom



Merri, your water flows into the quarry
Where bluestone once lay below,
But now the gutters are paved with your heart,
And the hole is filled with clay
And fallen homes.

Evening, when we ride into the valley,
Cool air and tannin sighs,
Allocasuarinas whisper the same song,
As the water follows home,
And so do I.

Down past the convent,
And under river,
And through the headland,
And out to sea;
Allocasuarinas whisper the same song:
I will always follow you.

I always sew with a double thread,
A double thread around my neck,
Keeps me strong,
Keeps my head,
I always sew with a double thread.

My mother taught me how to sew,
I watched her well, as sisters know;
I still heed a caution now,
As you can see my furrowed brow.
There were many worries grown,
Lessons lost,
Overturned,
But I have learned through my own fault,
And so the thread is double taut.

I always sew with a double thread,
A double thread around my neck,
Keeps me strong,
Keeps my head,
I always sew with a double thread.

I slept in the bed of a horseshoe lake last night,
A cartridge crown and a shroud of silvery light,
Oh mirror of Mercury:
Am I poison enough to be -
Phosphate and DDT

I take my leave through the channels to the west,
I rise with the salt 'til the trees are white and bent.
Ploughshare of iron rust,
Return to me as red dust,
Now we're feeding the citrus trees,
Bringing your blood to me,
Am I poison enough to be -
Phosphate and DDT

And where I fall
You take me in,
And where I fall,
Oh fortune
Begin.

May I confess to you,
I'm not the boy you thought you knew,
I'm tired and confused,
I never saw the change,
I never knew the pain I put you through.

May I confess to you,
I'm not the girl you thought you knew,
But maybe,
Over time,
We'll watch the waters rise,
And sedimentary gardens grow anew.

May I confess to you,
I'm not the one you thought you knew.

You can run, you can run -
But you will never, ever run
Truly free;
It breaks my heart,
Unbridled future's not the plane we see.
I remind myself,
That I still
Want to grow old;
From recklessness,
To blanket,
And bowl -
Finding a home.

You can run, you can run -
But there will always be a pull at the rein.
From the heart to the head,
There is a wilderness of thought,
Unframed,
Like a wish, like a hope
That I know cannot come true;
I remind myself
That sometimes it's the things we don't do,
That define us too.

Japanese Mountains,
Japanese Mountains -
Please receive me,
I want to leave here.

Run through the cities
Crying and weeping,
There's nowhere for sleeping
When it's light all the time,
Don't ask about sweet dreams,
They're not the ones that follow me,
Crying and weeping,
I run through them all.

Maple and cedar,
Paulownia,
Maple and cedar,
Seeds on the wind.
We all have our secrets,
And the ones who betray us,
But everything's made up of
Darkness and light.

Shinpai shinaide kuddasai

Rust red, at the start of May,
Sun turns your sap away.
Soft wood,
Shedding spine -
You take me
To the other side.

This is the first month I ever knew,
No spring child,
Just a season twice removed.
Millipedes, and fallen fruit,
Snails reach:
Silver tracks afoot.
Silver tracks afoot.
The pond is dim,
But it's yawning wide;
You'll take me
To the other side.

Make a boat from that husk of bark,
All along the bank,
Here - you see the mark,
There - you see the mark.
Moths are here (and their allies);
You'll take me
To the other side.

Down by the river where the factories lie,
And the Westgate stretches across the sky,
I've moved north and I've lived south,
But I always return to the river mouth.

Out from the city all the secrets pour,
Through pipes that were laid a hundred years ago;
Love and ruin in the straining wells,
Rags and bodies and teeth and gold.

A woman of science in the tower above,
Her laboratory a labour of love,
There she worked while the war raged on,
Never to marry or she'd loose it all.

When I was young I never knew
That I'd be brought back here to you,
No stranger thing than how we're drawn
Back to the place from which we're born.

Dust off the picture books,
Creaking spine as pages fall
In the hallway dancing.
Your coat hangs behind the floor,
I stand beside it in the hall,
Loose threads fall together.

Leaves fall around my shoes
Cushioning my soles,
Aimless walks in winter.
Clothed piled in plastic bags
I meant to throw away,
Are they useful,
Am I grieving?

Go.
Why did you go?

After four years on the run,
Why did you come home,
Why did you come home,
With your bells and mistletoe,
Got your favourites on the wall,
The fairest of them all,
You couldn't even call.
You couldn't even -

Calls on the telephone,
Strange voice, you're not alone,
I wish I was dreaming.
Waves wash over me,
Down here I feel free,
I can't hold my breathing.

Go.
Why did you go?

Winding thread around a spool,
Insects gather at the light above.

They think it's the moon,
And they'll die soon -
fall into the loom.
Pheromones and tears,
Are woven,
Into shirts for you.

By day,
Machines will make the song
That lives within my limbs all day long:
Pull and turn,
Twist and thread,
Wrapping skeins around my neck.

A sawtooth roof -
To catch the northern light (not the arctic kind).
Insects watch, from above,
Always there.
Always there.

They think it's the moon,
And they'll die soon -
Fall into the loom.
Pheromones and tears,
Are woven,
Into shirts for you.

On all but for the highest peaks
The snow will melt, the ice will speak,
Fractured face, tears and rain,
As white begins to show the stain.

On all but for the highest peaks,
The tide will blanket cliffs to sleep,
Beacons call to warn ahead,
Sirens take you to the end.

Rise above.

My silken dresses are made of coffins:
You never had a future,
Plunged into boiling water,

Mulberry, momento mori

The message is within you,
White and crimson berries are bleeding on my fingers.

Growing your white wings,
Though you will never fly,
Sleep soundly under branches,
For it is not your intention
To soon die.

A felted capsule,
A strength unrivaled,
A sheen with magic lustre;
A hope you cast in circles.

I used to value all those silken dresses,
But now the only feeling,
Is the texture of a deathbed.