1. |
Impossible
02:44
|
|||
|
Was regret in fashion? 'Cause the months roll in with grace.
Your voice, muted with passion--I remember you prayed, "I'm not usually the type to cling to the hem of a dress and I want you to know that I'm not easily impressed. But what's impossible drips from your mouth and what's impossible eases your mind."
Up in Maine, toes in water--I'll admit it crossed my mind that all we are is fodder speckling this design.
I'm not usually the type to fuss on how the table is set but you've gone and outdone yourself and served only the best.
'Cause what's impossible drips from your mouth and what's impossible eases your mind.
|
||||
2. |
Surprised by Hope
03:14
|
|||
|
Autumn has poured itself out through open widow sills and has stripped bare every sacred, secret place, where one would caress a face with a hand.
Still, the place remains in the chambered minds of our fathers.
A skeptical heart will need years of wasted time to bleed out and know the hours drive the writing hand the callous builds the working man--oh I know even as we sleep, come the screaming doubts that withhold us.
I found it all quite sickening,
The trees tore their clothes at the seams,
Their stark bodies caused in me grief,
It's more than I can bear,
Jesus, please, don't you turn back into nothing but stain glass, peering down,
Frozen with your arms outstretched, ne'er to draw my heaving chest to your own.
Through all my doubts, lies your faultless face in a sightline.
You stayed away so I could see,
My rancid thoughts staining everything,
Surprised by hope I've come to find,
It's more than I can bear
|
||||
3. |
Summer Clenches Fists
04:51
|
|||
|
What you say you feel weaves poison ivy into the daisy chain that's placed round both our wrists.
Skin will blister, boils spread, nails will scratch and scar our skin.
Summer lives with clenched fists--He's waiting on my step to throw me out--I'm late with last month's rent.
A loan from you will not prevent my broken thumbs.
'Cause in the end, love will tear us apart.
'Cause in the end, love will tear us apart so we must hush now, hush now, He who'd turn you to dust.
Altars creek for bent knees.
Do spirits crack the knuckles of your heart or is it simply memories tearing through the keys of every song of praise.
People flee.
Good God almighty can you give me time to pack my things?
We won't need much for where I hope we're going.
I'll follow.
'Cause in the end, love will tear us apart.
'Cause in the end, love will tear us apart so we must hush now, hush now, He who'd turn you to dust.
'Cause there's no one who loves me like you do.
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
Laugh, my dear, and say, "It will be alright; Don't you know I've stared away the night with my eyes? Dead though they were, they still reflected light."
Do, my dear, all you can and then some--bow your head, lace your fingers, pray, clap your hands, dance to the sounds of the earthquake.
Don't, my dear, trip on mortal gladness--step instead on pennies facing up to the clouds where the rain hides when summer's left its wake.
Search, my dear, through the wilted garden.
Break the chain held by seraphim.
Burn away all of the dirt on your unclean lips.
|
||||
5. |
Sycamore
04:00
|
|||
|
Look alive, it's a new day dawning.
All your friends have been dragged from their beds.
Has the sun chewed, open and yawning, the leaves that drop the accordion lights?
Loose yourself, wash the day from your body.
Did the summer burn a hole in your pocket?
Turn to rust all that looks so inviting.
I'll haunt the landscape under every sky.
Don't choke on your words like the grass chokes on winter's heavy breaths.
Don't rush, oh Lord, searching for signs in every aftermath.
Draw a breath in time we will need it!
Fill your lungs with hymns trapped in a bell--the tapestries of which are woven in secret.
Ring the dust from songs we knew so well.
Does God write the book of life with the bark from every sycamore?
Does his band, made from the hills, play in time with hinges on an open door?
Oh Lord, where did I go wrong? Where did I belong? Was it here?
|
||||
6. |
||||
|
Buried with the violets, sorrow spread like classroom notes painted from a palette.
Hide your face wiping mirrors with your sleeve.
The steeple's key to heaven took the street and stole the sun.
I swear that I'll unleaven every word that comes from me to you.
What's the point of singing songs if there's someone who will hear you?
What's the point of waking up if there's no one who is near you?
Circled round the ballast, we threw up prayers like paper planes.
My fingers, laced with callous, felt her hand slip out as I let it go.
What's the point of cheering up if your sorrow's been out drinking?
What's the point of breathing out if you're drowning in your thinking?
I'm almost home to this land of unclean lips.
|
||||
7. |
It's Alright
06:10
|
|||
|
The hands that clasp and raise themselves, crying out, in my Father's house can't compare to the songs that washed us into our beds, flowing from our Mother's mouth.
Prayers can sometimes fall like fire escapes leaving you holding on for dear life.
But it's then that the love in those songs will redeem you.
It's alright, just don't forget to say some praise everyday, as you stumble through your life.
It's alright to have some sorrow now and then but don't pretend it won't consume you.
If it does, then the love in those songs will redeem you.
Nations rise and furrow the Earth with their graves--Still your heart remains with the one whose creases on her face run like rivers eating at their banks.
When thoughts follow close behind and overhead like a pack of gulls' greedy mouths demanding that you give up the ghost and something's gotta give.
Each account moves his heart with a genuine affection.
And it's alright to doubt what you can't see but let it be when you're stripped of what you want.
And it's alright to be lacking in some faith but please don't hate the one who cures the blind.
Cause each account moves his heart with a genuine affection.
Were you now to fade to grey, I fear I'd say I'm finally satisfied.
Just leave me with one last look at your face as you go through through the parted curtain.
Cause in the end, there's no one to blame for your mistakes but yourself--and it's alright.
|
||||
If you like Nathan El, you may also like:
Westward, to Nowhere
by Ian McCuen
This sweet, mournful “loose concept” album from folk artist Ian McCuen tracks a journey across the bleak landscape of American life.
go to album
The Australian singer's debut solo album is filled with creative indie pop tracks.
go to album
Tense, moody, guitar-forward songs from VanWyck that emphasize tension and fragility.
go to album
Tides of a Teardrop
by Watchhouse (formerly Mandolin Orange)
The forthcoming album from Mandolin Orange blends rustic Americana melodies with aching, orchestral arrangements.
go to album
Here in the Pitch
by Jessica Pratt
On her fourth album, Jessica Pratt blends up 60s pop and bossa nova into a spooky mix of soft psychedelia.
go to album
Fool Me As Many Times As You Like
by Daudi Matsiko
featured on Bandcamp Radio Aug 29, 2023
go to album
Oslo's Siv Jakobsen showcases a gift for plush, softly strummed indie folk on her bucolic third LP.
go to album
