(A​)​Live in a Room

by Deer Thomas

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04:58

credits

released March 5, 2016

Written, recorded and performed live by Rupert Hill-Hayr @ The Spare Room, Foxton, New Zealand.

Album art by Jeremy Aston Hill-Hayr

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Track Name: Face It, I'm No Good
If you saw me in another way, would you talk to me?

If you saw me in another light.

And if I saw this in another way, would I let you in?

If I saw this in another light.

It's true that I'm a bag of bone, but that's not all that I hold.
As deep as the ocean, as shallow as the rain drops.

Someone's son.
No-one.

Let's keep it that way.
Track Name: Skull and Bones
Skull and bones, and yet, and yet.
And yet not a skeleton, not yet.
At least not dead man, and yet.
Sometimes it feels I might as well be.

Does that make me some kind of freak?
Well, that's exactly what some seek.
And although that means nothing to me,
sometimes it feels it could just as well be.

Now the waltz is a winner, though akin to sin,
and I'm back with the poems of saints.

The song felt good I had it turned up.
It filled me like a gumball machine.
But the fog rose in and I was dispensed, and it was cheap.

Quivering hands clutching five cents worth to the coin slot.
All the more hollow as the fog rose in, and I pried inside of you.
If only to solve the ticking clockwork of a terrifying mind.
A faint idea it is my own that scares me,
it soils my intentions with a desire to win.

Call it possession.

Bandaged up as an artist, masquerading as a fraud.

Skull and bones, and yet, and yet -
and yet not a skeleton, not yet.
At least not a dead man, and yet,
sometimes it feels I might as well be.

Does that make me some kind of freak?
And that's exactly what some seek.
And although that means fuck all to me -
sometimes it feels it could just as well be.

Now the waltz is a winner though akin to sin,
and I'm back with the poems of saints.

Now the waltz is a winner though akin to sin,
and I'm back with the poems of saints.
A prince masquerading as a frog,
and an artist as a dog.
Track Name: Achehead
Now I.
Now I - just found the means to describe you.
Two keen eyes looking right through you.

Seen your longing talons reaching out.
I've seen a dirty old man with a hidden agenda.

Ache head.
Fake head, let's dance.
Do you wanna dance under the moonlight?
I'll break you down in the middle of the night.
Ache head.
Fake head, I'll meet you in hell.

Oh I.
Oh I - I'm like writing in charcoal, so black and white.
Seen your two blue eyes, and your carny smile.
Don't need an analogy, see.
I'm calling you out, I'm calling you creepy.

Seen your longing talons reaching out.
I've seen a dirty old man with a hidden agenda.

Ache head.
Fake head, let's dance.
Do you wanna dance under the moonlight?
I'll break you down in the middle of the night.
Ache head.
Fake head, I'll meet you in hell.
Track Name: Clementine, R.I.P.
I just saw Mr. Slinky at the petrol station,
bowed my head and said, "hello, how are you?
All's well that ends well, now that's a paradox.
And then again I'm talking to a lamppost.
If that's not unorthodox enough."

He said -
"I heard from God that your fish died in the morning,
Clementine wasn't it?"

I heard a Dog barking in the neighbor's yard,
Clementine it was not.

You know what they say at the pearly white gates?
"You can always replace the fish, but you'll never replace its personality, aye"

Be-bop-a-lula, I'm going to drown in the river.
'Cause the girl that I love just left Foxton town.

I just saw Mr. Slinky at the petrol station,
bowed my head and said "hello, how are you?
All's well that ends well, now that's a paradox.
And then again you're talking to a lamppost,
if that's not unorthodox enough.

He said -
"I heard from God that your fish died in the morning,
Clementine wasn't it?

I heard a Dog barking in the neighbor's yard,
Clementine it was not.

Well you know what they say at the pearly white gates?
"You can always replace the fish, but you'll never replace its personality, aye."

What a shame, aye?
What a shame.
Track Name: Burning Obituary
I've got a fire going, growing from the embers,
of the day before's newspaper headlines.
Burning obituary - the sitting room is now a crematorium.

Bow my head for the dead of yesterday.
There'll be more next week, 'til then I know I'll be warm.

Oh dear lord it's a travesty, like an awful dream.
I feel my legs go weak, every time I read the brunt of the story.

There'll be no houses to let of yesterday,
there's an arsonist in our wake.
At least they'll keep us warm.
At least they'll keep us all entertained.

There's a missing black cat in the classifieds,
I'll be god-damned if I get superstitious.
I'll burn, burn page 66, and just call it superfluous.

There's a trail of smoke from the chimney,
and I feel safer in the dayglow.
It's apathy, and I couldn't be happier.
My skeleton key, I'm warm in the living room.

I've got a fire going, growing from the embers,
of the day before's newspaper headlines.
Burning history - the sitting room is now a-burning, burning.

Burn.
Burning, burning, burn.
Burning, burning, burn.

The sitting room is now the safest place on Earth.
Track Name: I Wore Blue Sunglasses Upside Down That Day
Let's take a walk down to the river loop tonight.
I feel like getting out, and besides it's Friday night.
I know that doesn't count for much at all these days, but -
we could always get two bottles of wine.

Now should we walk up to the forest by the chicken factory?
I know they slaughter there, and you don't like it, but -
there's the cows in the field by the pine trees, and,
if we assure them we mean well, they might not run away.

Back on Main Street it's dead again tonight.
There's just two people, and then again that's us in the reflections of the windows.
Sure is a ghost town at night.
So let's go walking down in the boardwalk,
towards the weeping willows.
Did you see that shadow? Maybe just a rat.
Come on, let's go home.

Have I told you of the time in psychosis?
At a desolate spot just through the trees.
In the muddy waters I went wading, I was all alone.
And at its deepest it felt like quicksand. there was a voice in the mud. But as it whispered, it never said my name, I guess it just wasn't my time.
So then I walked home my clothes soaking wet.
People turned away.
I wore blue sunglasses upside down that day,
and ruined my shoes.

Let's take the long way home again tonight.
I feel like staying out, and besides the full moon will attract the wild cats.
Hey look, the grey cat fell in love with the white cat, and there's that black cat with green eyes.
Let's turn down Park Street, on to Thynne Street, back to Avenue.
Track Name: Sleep
Mother Nature tells us to be good to creatures great and small.
But the mice have got the food supply climbing up the wall when I sleep.

Sleep.

Father God has spoken of a love that reaches from the soul.
Stated: personalities are often wasted us all whom dream of material things.

But I am in two minds about the whole thing I suppose?
Should I trap a mouse and then articulate its bones, to keep taxidermy?

I might add that I don't mind spending time with the animals.
One can hear the sparrow from a cushion made of wool.
Jake the dog is yellow, in a kingdom made from mallow.
Whilst Daniel Johnston is walking the cow,
to end his search for true love in the end.
I've seen lucky stars in bovine eyes,
she could be your friend?

In a colony behind the fridge they know not poison.
It's resting on the shelf whilst the speakers give the reason.
Mary mother let it be.

Beatle bug, beatle-boo.
There's a beetle on its back in the kitchen, on the counter by a dirty spoon.
Sleep's coming soon.

I guess it boils down to the heart and to the soul?
I often think about them, and what I need to know.
I don't want to kill.
Mmm...

This is not a poem to suppose a metaphor.
This is just a story of the evening.
It's been going on for some time now.
Going on for quite some time now.

And if Earth is just an obstacle - a school of heretics,
as it say's here in philosophy, not in politics.
Then sweet, is sleep.
It gets darkest 'fore dawn.

We encounter life as hurdles, so we jump until we fall.
Raised as though we'd kill to be beautiful, and almighty.
Well-rounded rounded ones, just like one of a sheep.
Led into the slaughter for a minute,
and then it's better than before.

Then sweet, is sleep.
It gets darkest 'fore dawn.