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In the Thick of It

by Wood Spider

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1.
i have three kinds of relationships: personal, social and business. in my mind, there’s three kinds of time: morning noon and night. this feeling in my back and the place that I call home I expected to remind me of what my future holds. i’m worried it’s taken me too long to see. is this the point of no coming back? the adverse effect is nothing but social stigma.
2.
San Marcos 01:23
frames of speed and ticking clocks roll past me like the clouds. temporarily alive, i listen to silences we have. and this feeling i get when I'm with you, i don't know, i don't want it to go! roots break tide. growing through and spreading through ligaments that bind up to the leaves up high that form a conscious effort to transform. say how bright the city lights of conscious efforts to transform we find in central ties. worn out rope yet knots that hold show valuing a feeling missed with noble stories told. and i know I'm not simple to fool. I'm just trying to learn. i'm not here to follow in such steps. I just want to try.
3.
well, i still have a little doubt if i want to make the sounds of my feet on your porch. but i did, so will you let me in? now i'm sitting in your kitchen and i'm begging for scraps of your intellect but I know full well that i can't control any advice that i might get. the summer's green and hazy and i can't slow down to its pace and you don't seem to be relating to all my guilt from feeling lazy. but when it's 4am and your window's pink and blue i will drop my thoughts because i know your melody will soon ring through. reread those pages that you wrote and you'll find out what they mean to you. our sketchbooks spoke a language of pictures that just sang the truth. and i've found comfort in the words of other people. now i can go to bed and say "amen". but don't get lost in the shadow of a steeple because then you're doing someone else's praying.
4.
just this morning i read the last page of the book that you gave me when we were in sydney. what did i do? i closed the covers and went underground to be alone in this city again. find me a lonesome shore that's not my shower floor where i can rest my weary bones. and it'll be years until the day that i'll come back with things to say. i'll say that i'm not sorry i went away. four walls a bed a kitchen of honey and bread does not make a home for my head is in pieces the tension increases inside a skull that's so deep in the ground.
5.
split apart and broken back bones. like castle teeth on open wounds, you leave me here with no choice. i can't do this again. check off your list of names and open up my cage. this country fools the reader as the martyr for our gain and oh we try. integrity through labor, the one thing that you hate. oh please I try to live again. roads untraveled were created. this pavement hurts my feet. you lack attention to your own trail. oh please spare me the rest. the rifle is up and loaded through words and common speeches. don't mistake devotion for your visions of our different love. as we all know, the river's violence flows. uncertainty in residence hold in your breath for more in metal doors. but oh, my voice resides here, encased with endless tries of fallen monarchies. but oh, these smoke stacks grow with me. machines in industry to tend your dreams. rooftops guard our close belongings. as nature has its way, i take your golden apples. quiet now and liberate me and let me out again. prowling streets like savages increase your paranoia. increase your anger but please don't blame my genetics. parallel lines never meet but have such great intentions. rationally and equally aligned, never needing to collide
6.
Pen Pals 01:05
i met someone in western mass. we exchanged a few but it didn't last. now i don't know who to write to. you seem like you got a story to tell and i want to know when you're feeling well so please won't you write to me? and if you are still far from home, i'll be the one to get it going. it's a nice way to be welcomed home. it won't be hard for me to do because i just want to hear from you. so please won't you write to me?

credits

released January 4, 2012

Mike Ditrio - Banjo/Guitar
Alex Krokus - Ukulele/Glockenspiel
Esteban Gaspar Silva - Accordion
Fanny Rose - Cello
Maxwell Lysobey - Saw/Washboard
Pete Olynciw - Upright Bass

recorded at:
Grove Studio by Mike Ditrio
Diner House by Mike Ditrio with help from Greg Hartunian
a secret place by Mike Ditrio


Mixed and Mastered by Mike Ditrio at home.


released under Birthquake Records (BQR-009)
Birthquakerecords.com

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Wood Spider New York, New York

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