Native Wildlife все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

and then the devil said, "when you were broken I took you in. gave you a purpose, a family, a new home." his teeth clenched, his veins swelled. I'm oaken-hearted for a moment but my nerve slips. "we all have someone we try to protect. if that was your boy on the altar, you think a father wants to take that risk?"

so we crept up in the dirt just like a rat or a thief, falling in upon the preacher like a sudden disease. spilling blood and fear and fire with reluctance and ease, we strung him up outside the Blackwood to avoid the police. we fought for my soul.

curse that weakness and desperate men, tempted often and easily. it's a shame you were lost, my son, led astray so easily.

our hands weren't meant for this,
such dark and bitter work.

brown eyes never looked so bitter, so lovely, so fierce as when I first saw you at the Blackwood with that wicked company.

you were always at home among cowards and thieves, bastards and drunks. but you scorned this life and you scorned us all. though the devil's daughter, you were silent and calm, and somehow sobering.

now speaking in hushed tones, I say, "we could leave this lion's den, these thieves and the honor among them." just ask and I would say, (if only I could say) "I will never touch another bottle as long as I live."

and I'd only ask one thing: stay with me as we grow old, grow tired. and when we are weary and ready for rest, we'll put down roots and throw up branches. harden over, intertwined as oak and linden, finally say:

Is everyone my age doomed to selfish death?
Held down by the immaterial?
Is everyone my age doomed to selfish death in all their everything?

My sense of purpose has been dulled by the taunting of ghosts that visit my head.
I need peace in silence, comfort in stillness.
It’s insignificant, but I’ll remember how I was reborn among the bright flashes and screaming.
I’ve never known the delicate platitudes of life not trapped in, or maybe tethered to, the warm embrace of indoor spaces.

(A Man and His Muse)

I’m not in this place, I’m far away. And though you see me here, this form is just a shade. No more than words or wind, I’m ethereal, incorporeal, fading.

You’re not in that place, that brick and wooden cage. Under dim skies, in distant twilight. No, you’re not in that place. In harsh snowfall, across black ice.

No neither you nor I. So when I say I’m right there beside you, that’s no empty comfort. No, I mean every word I say.

(A Translation of Martial X:47)

How can it be so hard to live a simple life, to have a quiet mind? But who has ever found a peaceful enterprise, those things which blessed are?

Wealth not labored for
Rich home and warm hearth
Carefree sober nights
Wise simplicity

(My Father's Second Most Important Lesson)

[Introduction: Strange Language by William James]

We've lived, had hope, taken your words to heart, and tried to do right by you. Its easy to forgive now that I see your intention, now that I feel that same burning thats plagued you.

But I won't forget. But I can’t forget. No, I can't forget that as your blood boiled, we swallowed the flame. We bore the brunt of it.

(Second Chances, Vicarious or Otherwise)

Everything I’m not is everything you are, or could be in time. God willing.
Unmarred by time, or circumstance, you wear your potential like a golden raiment, beautiful but burdensome, that I cast aside long years ago.

Someday I’d need you as you need me now.
But what chances have I, what have you?
I hope someday you can finally understand.

II’ll keep pretending that life is a continual work in progress.
Like the wounds I’ve accumulated won’t one day catch up to me.

It’s the paradox of non-existence—the unknowable space outside of endings, before beginnings.
But in the middle of those, what is left there for me?

I'm not cut out for these forty-hour weeks.
This "real world" has no place for me.

(Closed Doors at an East Boston Home)

What savages are we, to not see what we've done to this sacred place? This house of healing, this place of mourning; how many lives passed through its gates? How many families were comforted in its sweet embrace?

Now the building stands empty, reduced to the bricks that make up the walls. The offering emptied, the furniture stolen or given away. We sealed its fate in a single day. Then went out to drink to our callous hearts and careless mistakes.

We washed our hands of it, casting no second thoughts to the unhallowing of this no-longer-sacred ground.