words by ellyn maybe
music by robbie fitzsimmons

On the ceiling is a mural of a man who grew younger every week.
Once he was old like Methuselah's uncle.
Twice he sang into the caveman's paint.

He lives in the bottom of the sea when he's not in his chimney.
He is cooking with charcoal.
He is dancing with boots made of flame.
He is wearing a suit of armor, suddenly Camelot.

He is a mapmaker by nature.
By nature, he is a dove mixed with a hurricane.
He is primordial ooze stirred with the world's oldest library book.
A tonsil devoted to myth and story.

What napkin wipes the crumbs off the man's dreams.
Hybrid, bread of angels.
The man is able to sing all the notes with a monocle and a backpack.
Going travelling into the million years of miles.

Suddenly it's as sunny as a diamond in the corner of the apricot sky.
And you sift while leaning in for some wisdom and rice cakes.
Celebrating the beginning with a blast from the past time, primal as baseball and older than a scream bursting into a bouquet.

All and everything wrapped in a song.



Recorded and mixed by Robbie Fitzsimmons in Mar Vista, CA   April 2013

Photos by Rachael Rankin

ellyn & robbie