Music and lyrics by Damon Waitkus
Gusty morning, open door.
Feel like I’ve come through a war.
Winter stalks stand black in sunlight
and the furrow is bare.
But morning walks so far from night
neither sees the other right,
and though I should be heavy-hearted
I am ash on the air.
I took a walk beside my fear.
He whispered quietly in my ear,
told me that my ship had sailed
and he was dying to ground me.
But the world was tender as he spoke
and vivid like a broken yolk
and I felt the open witness
of the people around me.
People changing, people
burning up before your eyes:
lights out, but someone is still in there.
Well, I’ve been talking through me dread,
I’ll talk a roof over my head,
I’ll talk myself a silver chariot
to ride into town in.
But talk conspires to disguise
where the real decision lies.
You talk about the peaks you’ll conquer,
not the ocean you’ll drown in.
I am not afraid of you, are you afraid of me?
Don’t go–step into my home,
we’ll fry a little fish,
we’ll brew a little tea,
we’ll walk around the town,
we’ll go down to the river,
we’ll stare across the river,
animal to animal like we were
kind of dumb, and we are kind of dumb.
DW – voice, guitar, guzheng
EP – psaltery, melodica
KM – bassoon
JH – acoustic bass, voice
JG – vibraphone