Part of a collection of piano works, working title "Under the Woods We Go" - more information on that later. This piece as the others, have themes, but are always improvised. This one in particular, it's tempo changes based on how the buildings in this balanced town tilt back and forth, nearly toppling over but not. One is dislodged, and the other piano piece, "The Falling House/Room Tied to a Balloon" https://soundcloud.com/dariusgreene/the-falling-house-room-tied-to is the next sequence. I hope this incarnation is enjoyed, love and regards to all my listeners..


City On A Hat

WORDS MATTER

Do you find that your words even matter?
Well I do.

I do.

It’s the actions of our hands as they chatter. 
Quite pitiful noises. 
Quite marvelous too.

The birds may pick out your eyes if you cry those tears.
You better watch yourself out here if you show those fears.

These little woodland creatures with such BIG hungry mouths.
They’ll eat out your heart, those little kings -
keep their chins so neat and clean when they 
carve you with their little forks and knives.

Don’t you know it only takes a word or few 
to take everything you love
away from you?



Artwork by my dear friend Kelly Haigh: 
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelly-Haigh/40778625903

Words Matter

Touch me and I'll burn your heart to ashes

Wraith

https://dariusgreene.bandcamp.com/track/bitter-sea
For Mareike

          Bitter Sea


You are the wild wild waves.
An endless wraith.
My seaweed heart aches.
I'm just a monstrous craving.
A fish eyed thing, face turned blue.
I am just a nameless shadow.
Lost upon the wild wild waves.
Spit up in this black blue dream.
I am just a monstrous thing
I'm a drowning man.
I'm a drowning man.
I'm an aching monstrous thing.
I'm a drowning man for sure.
You are the wild wild seas
Endless waves of ocean heart ache.
I'm just an animal raving.
Drowning crashing howling sounds.
I'm a wild wild thing.
With a monster's face.
I'm a monster.
I'm a monster.
I'm a monstrous thing.
I'm a monster.
A monster.
I'm a drowning fish eyed thing.
With a monstrous shape.
All I want is this.

Bitter Sea

Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants. - Dorothy Parker

April's Shower

something you never get back

I'm a terrible thing in pain
I'm a terrible thing that burns
I'm a terrible that loves
I'm a terrible thing that wants
something you never get back
something you never get back

It will break every bone in your blood
it will drown every bone in your back
I'm a terrible thing that loves
I'm a terrible wreckage of 
something you never get back
something you never get back

it will break every bone in your blood
it will drown every bone in your back
I'm a terrible thing that loves
I'm a terrible thing that wants
something you never get back
something you never get back

Something You Never Get Back

-
-
-
-
Kinda still a bit of wip but Ill replace it maybe when I return from the other side of the planet.

Wild Sugar

Your face it blooms as your roots grow down and drowns your mouth with an ocean sound;
honey lightning mud on your lips, can’t hear a word from the noise of your hips,
you leave a streak of wild creepers and crooked thorns where you weep and moan -
oh how we shake when the small words say what big words only think.

Break this wall of teeth -
they will gnash and cleave and pull your head apart like it was flower meat

Surround the brutes with your tendril throne no one screams till their heads are gone
honey lightning mud on your breasts  - can’t feel a word from the thump in my chest;
you leave a streak of wild fingers and crooked heads in the  blades of grass,
oh what we make when the small words say what big words never grasp

Gamma Flower

I don't come in peace, 
I wanna hit the floors and sheets 
and dance away the pain completely
with my little green feets

Martian

And there's a possum that comes by...

Old stuffs from many years ago, maybe not the best recording and all but yeaaah. 

Dreaming while those lotus blossoms blink, blink, blink. Lulling in the river where we sink, sink, sink. Down to that bright and weary ivy sea, under soma fountains, with a banjo on my knee, singing 
Yippie Ki Yay Yay Om! 

All them Texas girls like to swing, roll, and sway, their third eye's open wide like sapphires all ablaze. All the dancing legions, like the wings of manta rays, or the scintillating rhinestones in mandala braided lace. 
Yippie Ki Yay Yay Om! 

All them Texas girls like to swing, roll, and sway Spinning for their queens on a kiss of moonlit beams do-sie-do with Kitesvara's thousand arms of light, through the veil of Maya as it’s brushed with ease aside 

There ain’t no place to find you love, I’ve searched down low and everywhere all above Dance like Shiva the flames of love arise , and crush the heads of babes the ignorance of mind out of mountains, steam dragon trains haul away illusion’s pain Yee-hare!! 

On a tiny seahorse there’s a cowboy that rides with shiny sitar pistols, and a pearl of mother’s smile A flask of old amrita, with a taste you can’t ignore and boots of Naga scales, from the waves of Meru’s shore, singing Yippey-Ki-Yay-Yay-Om, Yippey-Ki-Yay-Yay-Om 

This Kali Yuga’s coming round the round, down the path the breath of incarnations in the waving prairie grass, the sheafs of grain a gathered by the swinging of the scythe, neither waste of tugging early at the shoots which give it life 

All them Texas boys like to punch, shoot, and dip countless universes in their black tobacco spit the flowers from their navels, on an ocean milk and cream in a blinking eye, a dream, in the back of Vishnu’s jeans 

There ain’t no place I can find you love, I’ve searched down low and everywhere all above Dance like Shiva the flames of love arise, and crush the heads of babes the ignorance of mind out of mountains, steam dragon trains haul away illusion’s pain. 

Yee-hare! Yee-hare-hare!

Yippie Ki Om

You and I so lost in space,
let our rockets blast,
for if we fall back to Earth one day
this might just be the last.

Why on Earth do astronauts go back?

You and I at the speed of light,
let the worlds go past.
For if we fall back to Earth one day
it might be futures passed.

Why on Earth do astronauts go back?

We’ll be shooting stars
and burn up our own hearts!



Why On Earth

"Pull the skin over cold steel
blackened lungs won’t breathe but fire will!
Satiate my tongue with battery acid,
sign on the hill says NO ONE DANCES,
but white flags are waltzing on the oil stains,
on the blisters of hearth, rain, and bone;
animal skulls flower on clusters of speaker cones
that cry and wail and moan like cats in holes.

She drew her lips into a bullet kiss,
pumping black bellows spit and hiss
a jagged bit key goes into her breast -
with a sigh she spilled her guts and confessed,
there were red moths and butterflies inside her,
they flowed out in flaming streams into the rusted world,
we hollowed out the fair of spoiled grounds
and that old hungry grave ate our wounds.

They drew a circle around her iron feet, oh
how she’d loved the sweetness of honey teeth
we raised our dead anthems to burning fields
and gave up all we gathered, just bits of peels,
out where the slaves pumped and craved,
the howls of pain of their chains and broken wheels.
She made that old machine baby cry and squeal!
And sang the wastes to sleep with a tongue of steel!“

Sing the Wastes to Sleep

LYRICS:
"Plastic hearts and thimble heads all wrapped up with rubber bands
hunted by toy buffalo kings, bad dreams poison everything
shoot their arrows - pop their guns;
you lose yourself in ghost radio. In a signal made of smoke.

Our feet are lost in the willow trees. Sound alarms. Frost bite comes to eat
You shove em out in the quaking light, their shining breasts bend the light
in velvet crumbs they die and tower, where all the hours go.

They say they love you but only they need, like hummingbirds come to feed;
boys and girls on mounting pins, under a glass in a dusty bin; with worn limbs tattered at their seams, 
on empty beds, unbuttoned eyes and heads;
would you look at all the mess!
Don’t recognize them. Melted and burned, by the wrath of ray gun baby feels.
Mouth glum. Hearts of power. Warm to the bone, the bandages on fingertips hold the little ones 
hold the hands that shake!


Crooked eyed queens and fat little kings. Sucking on flowers. Fucking on dreams. Their nibs and stoles on pillow trees, drinking of reek and smoking bees. And I'm afraid their apple brains had all grown roots, unglued the stars from their beds, knotted limbs from wooden heads "



Artwork: 'Madame McAllister and the Twin Sippers' used with permission of the voraciously talented Kristian Adam

https://www.facebook.com/kristian.adam.art?fref=ts
http://www.kristianadam.com
BUY PRINTS HERE: 
http://kristianadam.bigcartel.com

Unbuttoned Eyes

Horns & Hooves

I’m not the problem you see,
there’s not one horn on my head.
All these bishops and statesmen, 
just blame me in their stead. 
For their own dark crimes
they commit for greed and pride.
I never fed you an apple, just a taste of
 the seeds. I gave your weak hands a grasping, so
you could get off your knees; and there you stand,
that bloody book still in your hands.

Don’t blame me, you swear, you’ve done all that you could.
Dont’ blame me, you swear, by your horns and your hooves...

I see your whole world is burning, I
didn’t put the flame in your hand,
your ambitions are quite ugly if your thirst has no end;
for the ignorance of your mouth, to devour 
the rooms of the house.  And to the wild-eyed pious,
who all scream out my name, who stand there shaking their feathers, 
but were always to blame...

You’ve danced around the truth for as long as you could,
but your tail’s catching up, to your horns and your hooves!

Horns & Hooves

A little song to praise that special someone in your life...

Not One Good Thing

Pollywog

She keeps the sun inside a box
though she knows it’s ashes and locks.
Neptune rests where birds made nests,
in the broken tail lights of that ghost Buick 6.
She draws diamonds with sticks and tells mother sun, don’t fear, 
she won’t let him near.
Mad bees float where poets would drown.
She sleeps with hymns on gold grass downs,
she has a dream a dark storm comes and
 washes away all her windows and pains-
opens her doors and lets the wind blow in,
then everything blows away.
———
They might look like the stars. Moon-bit scimitars.
But she knows, its only nails in boards. 
A frayed electric cord. Peels of paint on the shelves
that look like coves of caves and bells, but she knows.
When the lights go down, who knows?
———
She keeps her rings and Saturn’s wings deep below 
in a useless heavy coat. A worm in a jar with 
soil from afar, the flowers are dried. it never rains outside. 
How is it wind that blows the seas can
never bring their waves back here? 

Pollywog

Bringing this collab back out for a spin for the holidays. 

Bryan Ciliberto is the writer of this song.. 

Pall of a Past World
http://soundcloud.com/bryanciliberto

He had approached me with an acoustic demo for a Christmas song, asking if I could fully orchestrate it out more 'Darius' style - and here is my result. His idea was based on writing something for his son, or that his own cynicism at the holidays was brushed aside by being able to experience it in a new way. For myself, I find Christmas songs either the most horrendous earworms, which should be set on fire and stomped into nonexistence, then, there are the other half which are truly beautiful works and classic songs. I can only hope this work nudges itself towards the latter. 

All hail Krampus, Happy Saturnalia and beyond to all.. 

I Remember Christmas (song/lyrics by Bryan Ciliberto)

7-BIT HORSE
A river rusted the heavy metal under my skin
I got a magnet heart and its stuck with every nail and pin
I got 20 eye balls and 19 are blind, a rubber tongue that reeks of insecticide.
I got nobody close but I wish 
I had a creepy post-terrestrial lover of mine own

Mah’ fuzzy brain buzzes like the flies up in the attic
My voice is like a busted TV that’s haunted with the static
my face slumps like a seven-bit horse a’thrice mangled by a tractor off course -
and all the squirrels have left holes where the bugs n’ the beetles
like to munch down on my circuit boards.

I want a lover like a dreadful halloween bride. 
we’ll get a married in the ruby orange mellow of night 
and make the love underneath the big blood moons 
drippin’ down the mountain hide of June
we’ll roast fat raccoons on an iron spit. 
and suck anti-freeze from the tire pits.

The rain it rusted the copper gums under my fangs. 
I got one good back but the other’s got inscrutable pain 
I got 25 arms and 19 are shot, a rubber tongue that reeks of lichen and rot.
I don’t got nobody close but I wish 
I had a creepy preternatural lover of my own

I want a grisly abominable valentine
we’ll get hitched in the blood hot eventide
we’ll do the jelly underneath the bent scuff moon
inside a crevice full of eyebolts and screws 
and we’ll boil up a dead skunk in wiper fluid
and sip a little turpentine

Deathcrux

7-bit Horse

(Tales for) Feral Beds 

Brush the witch moss from your face and storm his lips. 
Sew the black clouds to the sleeves of bulging ships. 
Why teach the crickets how to shoot their bows, 
they won the War before we were even born. 
Don’t count the graves by rusted rakes who cross the glooms. 
The terrible clocks know their hands far more than you. 
No one wants the crowing of your sad glow, 
just bring them the soft hiss of the rain and snow. 
I’d rather hear a lions tree with roaring bees. 
I’d rather lay in feral beds of sticks and leaves. 
I’ll cut the eye out of a summer moon, 
from an oily puddle sick with the rainbow bloom— 
so you will never starve for color and light 
when you find yourself drowned at the bottom of the world. 
You will grow a baby star from out your loving head, 
swimming deep and deep and deeper 
down and make your way on. 

Catch the red sun on a muddy hook of snail. 
Break the chimes or be impaled on wedding nails. 
Why teach the creeper vines to strangle what they climb, 
they won the War long before we were born. 
Don’t count the waves of silver grass as each one gleams , 
the ghastly meadows know the way far more than we. 
No one wants the crowing of your rank or fame, 
just bring them a wild kiss of the lighting flames. 
You’d rather hear the ghost owl cry where beetles stir, 
you’d rather lay in feral beds of wheat and fur 
You will run from nightmare houses hunting the plains 
on raving legs and starved for names. 
I’d rather let them eat your bleeding heart 
than keep you in a hole so deep you’d never grow one at all.

Feral Beds

STAR PUPIL

Love me like an atom bomb. 
Burn and freeze me while I come. 
I keep your fallout on my tongue so I can rain down in angry songs. 
black shrouds leave corpses in drains. 
black clouds rain corpses of the plains. 
would you dance with me skin to skin to skin?
my pupil stars - oh lonely! - are as wide as they are grim;  
I was lost inside your life-like dream.
I was wakened from a field of bloody wings
by tanks of  wolves that were howling at the sun;
who buried us so deeply to see what we become. 

You frack my hull with gasoline and break my skull to leave your seed. 
we don’t need needles - we’re played on ghost cassettes 
we don’t need withdrawals, we’ve already placed our bets
on bloated vultures over fed - circle buzzwords of the dead;
cash cow leaders - we’re coerced to eat our own;
and our feelings can’t be hurt when we’re just drones.
—
drowning in your lies we’ll stand up tall 
and grow a million limbs or none at all
you bruised the heavens skin 
as swallows eat the clouds 
and I will never hear another sound 
—
The armored taste of napalm lips. 
Dragon teeth to poisoned ditch. 
Lysergic sermons proved their worth. 
salute hallucinations in the dirt. 
the manics grieve for every time and space
what gardens leave the graveyards will taste
don’t need needles - we’re played on ghost cassettes 
don’t need withdrawals  we’ve already paid our debts


artwork by me self

Star Pupil

Tearing Through the Surface and Diving Into the World Inside the World

For no particular why or where, here is a cover of 'The Hanging Garden' by The Cure, which I took a stab at yesterday. I don't do many covers but this was a lot of fun to work on. It may need more work but here's the first real incarnation. 

The Hanging Garden - (The Cure - Cover)

Clandestine cavortings of the most ostentatious carousal of caprine storm pilots.

the secret rites of the black cloud goat flying society

Wooden Legs


I’ve got arms of broomsticks and straw 
they can’t do anything much at all and all I have to walk on are these crooked wooden legs but I'll stand tall though I know l fall again

I'm always a stumbling-ing
I’m a wobbling shuffling thing
I know it must look like I’m always out at sea...

I’ve got rubber bands instead of hands
I throw away my habits but they come right back again 

But though I’m made of lost and found, 
bird songs nest in my pumpkin crown;
and in my barrel chest there’s an garden
prides of dandy lions rooting for my heart;
and in my belly a queen and her lovers
a hive of bees that buzz me off my knotted knees.

My two eyes are holes gouged with a knife. 
I can’t see where I’m going, but I still feel the light.
and all I have to walk on are these crooked wooden legs
but I’ll stand tall though I’ll just fall down again

Wooden Legs

Here is my first collaboration with Kelly Haigh, an incredible artist, musician, hair dresser, taxidermist, philanthropic comedian, proud dog owner and lover of green matcha tea.
Her music is here:http://soundcloud.com/kelly-haigh
And check out her incredible artwork here:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelly-Haigh/40778625903
And her pearls of twitter wisdom here:
https://twitter.com/#!/kelly_haigh

I'll Bury You (Kelly Haigh & Darius Greene)

All improvised. I've wanted to write some real lyrics for this but haven't got around to it yet, so I thought I'd share something more on the rough end of things...enjoy..

Dark River

The Ghost of L

Oh let us see you closer!

We'll wrap you in our legs

Kiss your pretty cheek before we spin you in our threads

We might roast you on a spit!

Or suck you through a straw.

Or melt you down with heaps of sugar and lick you off the floor!

We'll baste your face in your own delicious fat.

Tell us how you taste, should we add a hint of cat!? 

We'll prick you with our sharp fangs and lick you off the tip

So deep down in your precious heart there's not a drop left for a tick

We'll fork you in the eye to see if you are done

We can spice you up and stretch you on the rack.

Tell us how you taste, should we add a bit of grubs or mice or gophers stuffed with rats!??

Come to us you sweet thing we want to see you close.

We'll pluck and stuff and plump!

Your belly and your rump!

We can lightly toast your skin 'till it crackles nice and thin.

We can bake you into pudding 'till you're crusty at the brims.

We'll skin you alive just come to our legs. We'll make you a place to lay that sweet head. We'll spin you in wire. Just go to sleep. And into our mouth to keep. 

We can pluck out your entire skelly - leave you one quite lumpy jelly!

Wait until your head turns green and serve you as a cheese, next Spring. 

Just let us have a taste.

A shoulder or a waist. 

Just let us have a taste and come down to our web sometime :)

Morsel

from the upcoming album, whose working title is "The Devil and the Moon"

Illusions of Beauty

Just a bit of piano, entirely improvisational. A quiet-ish piece with all it's scars

Evidence of Motion

Oh what a sight in the old sun's stead was Mandarin's whirring angel heads

Captain Mandarin's Whirring Whirling Angel Heads

Time is just a place that moves around a bit.

Granny Warlox

Another song from my lunarscape cantina album, The Devil and the Moon.  

Lake of Sorrow

She is delusioned and hypnotized, 
by the glitter of rings and spiral eyes.
She counts every star one by one by one and still hasn’t found her own sun;
she grew thin as paper roses, as faint as a last kiss of steam,
there’s nothing left but pictures of poses, a tango of corpses in weeds.
She’s the lost of Lucifer’s saviors, 
the waxed of the damned and the scorned,
those creatures who bottle up their lovers undone, 
drink and drown when they’re broken and worn.
Down in the fires of the bongos playing, among the demons of their own waste,
flames dancing cheek to cheek, scorched mouths, chalkboard screech,
dead voices and razor tongues, bleed the lipstick, mascara runs, oh she
lies empty and burns.
In that vast bed of sorrow, nothing is what it seems,
hung up by the thistles, entangled by your dreams, 
lies pour from soft kisses promised with teeth,
poisoned by favors to feed.
She’s the spite of the flares, oh their smoke and greed,
oh, a burnt bleeding ocean of libertines,
their broken soft spines, skulls bloomed on vines,
frothing with fear by design.
down in the fires of the bongos playing, among the demons of their own waste,
flames dancing cheek to cheek, scorched mouths like chalkboard screech,
dead voices and razor tongues, bleeding lipstick, mascara runs, oh
everyone’s empty and burns

Lake of Sorrow

Songster, Composer, & Sound Mangler

Warbling sea harbored melodies - rhythmic tintinnabulary cabalettas inside soft baked fairy tale threnodies - lilting moontouched theramins and/or psychic lithographs of balloons, barns, and braided banana leaves - sleeping during dogwatch in the crosstrees by the languid moans of threadbare weatherboards - gritty euphonic lo-fi transmissions from long dead moon farms - invocations from antique radios short circuiting in cool spring rain.

This is for the anchors which bind the sugar to the orange.
For summoning unseasonal titans to storm the calamity of drab hours, out of ether,
the cloud throned dumplings who give suck to fat breasted delight and unabashed waking -
the blimpy sprites who gratify each naked fig by imbibing their mistaken turns
into the cotton headed sighs of unloved mouse trap music. 



My work has been featured on various Netlabels, film experiments, and worldwide radio shows, including BBC6's "Introducing".

Darius Greene

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