The edge the middle lyrics (2006)
Bow and Arrow
Tease apart the fear and the art with long, labored strokes, and I will walk on the ceiling and solve the equations slow. But birds entrapped in photographs sing silent songs, I drew a line in the sand between what wasn't right and what was wrong. I shot him down with a bow and arrow. Sometime in August I had the idea to put my hands in the fire to prove I was honest and sometime in August I had the idea to put my feet on the wire to prove I was faithful and shy.
Halfway to dust and shadow, there is a flaming meadow, we ran to get our buckets, we filled them up with photographs. The wind plotted resistance from hilltops in the distance, the trees were popping bravely, we formed a circle singing "let their blood be upon us. let their blood be on us and our children."
Fingertips to Claws
"Parachutes are the wave of the future" you said, coming out of its folds. Like the way you'd appear in the doorway and I'd float to earth numb and cold. A train is roaring through dreamy skylines, thirty-five miles away, but I've been writing, and you've been drinking, and we are both just the same. Overcome by the violence of writing your words lose their ache and their sigh. If you could shudder and put it on paper you'd leave it and let the ink dry. But Thursday evening my head was spinning, the fire trucks far away. You looked at me like you saw my insides, it made us both so afraid. You've been watching for twenty minutes while I pace, but you're still fleeing the same old demons that I've faced in mirrors in the hall with fingertips to claws.
Cherry Soda Weather
Found your will to power, under a bed of flowers, I boiled it in water, we sipped tea for hours. But now you're thinking about implications, and reading works on french revolution. Cherry soda weather, we spoke in falling feathers, we had conversations, you would unremember. But you say experience is just an art form. We find the lines in the place where we drew them.
The lights went out in every house on Tuesday. You could hear the sirens from the beach. We had locked every doorway to the street. The photographs were growing pale on Tuesday, the paper trail would prove the end was near, in a file cabinet somewhere there is fear. The lights went out in every house on Tuesday, the sky was an old man with failing health, bending forward and whispering "save yourself, save yourself, run'.
That Letters and Numbers Make
Gave my humanity up to disciplined reflection while watching birds land on telephone lines, the moon was a phantom then, like I saw it through a screen door, caged in against the threat of my eyes. And I thought I could ignore it, but the fear was in my bones, peeking out through golden curtains, waiting for the fire trucks to come. Dream. The letters and numbers make up a reassuring blueprint, that we can refer to when we want to hear, the sounds of machinery, with its soothing repetition, the tight calculations that cast out all fear. And I thought I could ignore it, but the fear was in my bones, peeking out through golden curtains, waiting for the fire trucks to come. Dream. And our shadows were dancing slowly, at the back of the cave, I said "I will return to find you when I learn to be brave."