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Great white puffs of lumbering buffalo
Blanket the fishbowl sky, and I am tired.
I sip my tea and sniff the ocean.
Not but an hour from now, I will be home.
Swing me low, mark me a coward.
The whims of the West must die.
Here is the resting ground.
here is my smile, my pink little toes.
(Bound to your oil machines)
Death to the civilized.
(Hoarding the land and sea)
Death to the civilized.
(Stolen through violent means)
Death when all want masquerades as need.
The marbled godwit line the coast.
I grasp for my straw cap;
I'm lashed to my brave little raft.
The waves do toss this worthy vessel,
Impress on my tiny brain
This strange and dangerous beauty.
I feel it's scale,
I feel its industry.,
Making a flea of us
And dusting us off
And talks in a hush,
A little disappointed.
(Bound to your oil machines)
Death to the civilized.
(Hoarding the land and sea)
Death to the civilized.
(Stolen through violent means)
Death when all want masquerades as need.
- Album:
- Lost Souls
- The Clearing
- Upper Air
- Danger At Sea
- Miscellaneous
- Hymns For a Dark Horse
- You Be My Heart
- Paste mPlayer #36
- BIRP! February 2012
- Dead Oceans Winter 2013 Sampler
- Daytrotter Session
- Rolling Stone: New Noises, Volume 90
- Musikexpress 139: Sounds Now!
- Long May You Run: 15 Tracks in the Key of Neil
- Dead Oceans 2008/2009 Sampler
- 34 Stars
- SXSW 2008 Showcasing Artists
- Dead Oceans Spring 2010 Sampler