1. |
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|
Why are you running in that direction?
It ain’t sound.
You’ve got to climb the wall
To make it back around.
I’ve got to go.
I have to go.
Fell in through the wrong black hole,
now the felonies are magnets on my coat.
Afraid to take the fast way home,
I take cover in the shelter of my own shadow.
The hurried pace of my heart and feet,
as I envision the odor of my home sweet
home, it’s like I’ve fallen right beside
my own tombstone.
Then, I hear the crow.
I see the distance of the jagged tier beneath.
How could this happen in a mint democracy?
They trumped you all - so easily!
Now caw for silver with great alacrity.
What does it say when you look
at the weathervane?
Will the southern winds subside, or inflame?
What about the weatherman?
Has he got something to postulate,
other than rain?
I am now higher than a Himalayan peak,
and come to think of it I feel terribly weak...
and so I fall.
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2. |
Dawn, She Woke Me
03:29
|
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Dawn, she woke me with her rosy fingers,
From this slumber I’m scared of, but I can’t remember.
I saw wisdom in her flaming eyes,
All the lonely people she has patronized.
I walked the eerie valley; I’ve never seen the valley. I swam the darkest river;
I’ve never seen the water. I woke up in the middle of old Taroko road.
Struck dead the moment that I opened up my crusted eyes.
I climbed the grimmest mountain; I’ve never seen the mountain.
I prowled the angry city; I’ve never seen the city.
Got caught up in a fire fight in someone’s former life.
The bullets flutter by my head, until I taste the bitter lead.
I’m pulled in by the light; I’ve never seen the light. I hear the sound of laughter;
I’ve never heard the laughter. I fell into the hollow, and didn’t cast a shadow.
I feel the rosy fingers try for me, mais je suis fini.
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3. |
Nostalgiablue
07:37
|
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|
And the smoke
coats it all
nostalgiablue.
From the walls, the song seeps to curl me in a ball
In the room, the company you keep is burned into your memories.
Come to the road, the one your mother built to get you over the hill.
Pinch my skin, the rising veil revealed the end, and then, the new ideal.
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Matt Holubowski Montreal, Québec
Matt Holubowski's first album 'Ogen, Old Man' was written and recorded in the spirit of simplicity, embracing of
imperfection, and the search for truth and meaning. The raw, lo-fi album meant to bring the focus back to story telling, as was originally the tradition of folk music.
Holubowski's second opus is set to appear in the fall, with more arrangements and colours, but the same candour.
... more
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