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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

I had a song come to me in a dream once, nearly in its entirety.  Countless times I wake up with a lyric or a piece of an idea to scratch out, but I’m not talking about that .  On New Years Day of 2010 I woke up in my brother’s bed, near Louisville, Kentucky.  The new years party from the night before had been family friendly and my head was clear.

The house was asleep; Ryan and his wife (Ashley), my Ashley, plus a few dozen children bundled up with small animals.  I reached for my ipod and typed out a note that was as if I’d already sung it before.  The feeling was surreal and impossible not to describe as hopeful.

A little bit about songwriting: songs are seeds.  A finished song is a small bit of matter that only the author has witnessed.  It only exists in the time between start and finish, and only on the days when the author plays it.  It has no significance and must be enacted or it will be forgotten.

Until it is heard.  When a song is familiar to someone else, it begins an existence other than itself.

With my homemade recordings and videos, I try to make songs tangible.  When people spend their time to sit with and consider my music, I am grateful.  However you may find it, I’m glad you listen.

 

 

We who were born yesterday we haven’t cut it out

Haven’t fallen down enough I fear

I’d say that many times we pulled a favor in

Had a better chance to win by sex or skin

We who were born yesterday we’ll have it in our hands

Be busy with the plans we made from here

And I hope it’s better in our 1984

Than token social gospels we’ve seen before


We who were born yesterday we can’t take all the blame

Like a river can’t be tamed by those downstream

It’s a shame that a no good dog, he doesn’t know his name

Only knows he came like all the yesterdays

And I hope it’s better, there’s parts I would repeat

I’ll keep my mouth wide open and I’ll move my feet


Clocks will strike and hammers fall, the iron oligarch

Sovereign patriarchs upon the wall

If you wake in a marble cave, don’t try to conversate

Better get away under another name

Don’t be caught on the borderline of brotherhood and hate

Throw me in an open grave, put me in a better place

And I hope it’s better, time is borrowed

They’ll look back for answers in a day or so


We who were born yesterday we’ll get a chance to play,

We will have a say, we will point the way

We who were born yesterday we’ll have it in our hands

Just a little sand and a broken wave

And I hope its better and I hope to find

That hope is worth the effort and faith was right

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