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The Train Comes and Morning is Gone EP (Ultimate Mega Deluxe Edition)

by Blue Canary

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1.
Mama, I've been crying in my bed, seeking a sign, trying to align with a world that will bind everyone, and I've found none, I am wretched, crawling in the sun; free in a maze. Dreaming of days when I was dreaming of days yet to come. This must be vertigo. Sometimes it’s better to drown than to sink, I'm hazy, I'm in hell. But when I'm swimming in drink I'm happy, like a baby. From all things that tether me, please lord deliver me, but until then upon this I depend; I would rather not think "Lord, save me". Closer comes the sound of ringing bells, held by the grim specters of men who would take every baby now grown. Hold on, brother, hold on to the souvenirs of yore; blue Saturday, pink lemonade and the screech of cicadas at night. This must be vertigo. It’s funny how the world around just shrinks in disillusion ‘til you’re down in an old town, drunk every night, plucky in plight, and just trying to make it alive while wishing for death when the train comes and morning is gone.
2.
Cat 04:18
In a field of sound, her heart beats not deep underground. A thousand players wide, a dazzling and rapturous sight. Could nobody want to be free? I guess I was born too late to see the world as green and not as grey. Yet still she twirls through air. A'ribboning; a sweet sillage of her comes to help me sleep. Why won’t you wake? Why won’t you come? Where are you love? Catalonia, She's my favourite girl. Caught in her hair, Catalonia. All the sense of her a illuminates an ageless scent of love, the sweetness of her song elucidates all things that I forgot in my hazy sleep. Catalonia, she's my favourite girl, my baby; everything she said, everything she made. There is fire in her veins, though slain her body lies. When the bird takes flight, all things will drench in its light should tomorrow come. It will, it must, for to let me sleep.
3.
Do you believe what the troubadour told you? Doom in his head when the troubadour sings. Holy chanteuse with his perfume and purview. Luminous pet with so pointed a pen. That's the mess made by a paid rhetorician, who bows as he halts to the people of worth and all they accord the words borne of commission; avowed and exalted like salt of the earth. And such a shame it is, for there's a truth in your eyes. Brightest day, clearest sky. If the banks of England are well, and the men who feed them are ill, and the lies that keep them are taught, is the fate of freedom then bought? When you arrived at the summit of Sinai, had you kissed feet and were yours kissed in turn? Did you receive every virtuous guideline in revelation, or were they presumed? I could guess. Now you intone with divine ululation, enveloping all in mellifluous verse. Hey troubadour, all things of your creation are poison and vacant, you cower and curse. You're the rag round the heads of all men for there's a truth in your eyes, brightest day, clearest sky. The banks of England are ill and the lies that keep them lie still and the men who feed them are poor, for the fate of freedom is bought.
4.
Bloom 03:03
I stay up late in the Summer. Baby I dally and dream, smoking. Seems I’m aggrieved, a rake of late. But I’m still a fool for you, darling, sweet and patient. Wave after wave break the bow. It’s a test of the worst to be blessed with that curse. Oh, gold New England sun, the hold you have of my heart, you control me and console me for to rouse each sliver paused in bloom. See, trinkets surround. I hold each one held dear, fleeting they sear, brimming zeal like a flare. I swear to declare it to be reckless in the morning, which is easy in the sun.
5.
Rosy in F 02:43
Rosy. Counting the time 'til Summer's sun is set, for any town in England brings the threat of an evening's cry, when we're together again. Any fool would die too soon to call you a friend. Like a doll, inanimate, you dull all sense of ill. You burn disquiet in the night, and choke all discontent. Rosy, I found your love. Your love was something to bear. With chic, your guise betrays and belies the horrors of the carousel. Weathering storms with sweet melancholy, some would say ‘drunk’, others would say ‘rosy’. Though a man more free than most may shun the allure, there’s a patient ache too dull for most to endure. Then the fall, illusions swell and burst around my bed, I curse you with a thousand words, I hope you break your neck. Rosy, stray from the start. I don't seem rosy no more. She stole my heart.
6.
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released September 18, 2014

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Blue Canary Southampton, UK

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