Ghost of Corporate Future: Regina Spektor Ukulele Cover

the cookie DOUGH was still unfinished
RAYS of sunlight gleaming off the stainless bowl
it took ME too long to realise
what I once called home is FAR from home

and sticks and stones couldn’t help me
and jam and scones couldn’t help me
ascending tones couldn’t help me
and these unknowns couldn’t help me at all
oh no, not at all

SO I learnt to take my baggage
and LA-la-lug it all behind me fast
TEA gets cold and DOUGH gets old
and I know that all good things cannot last

and sticks and stones couldn’t help me
and jam and scones couldn’t help me
ascending tones couldn’t help me
and these unknowns will never help me at all

Dough Re Mi

I whisk you were here
why aren’t you near me?
I want you to call
I want you to care
I want you to be there

I whisk you were here
why can’t you hear me?
I want you to see
I want you to care
I want you to be there for me again

I whisk you were here
I want you here with me
I miss you so much
I’d die for a touch
I’d die for no reason at all

I whisk you were here
I wish you were here

I Whisk You Were Here

well you know I’ve been sweet as sugar to you
let you do whatever you wanted to do
but my patience is wearing thin
my endurance is running out
you strain my nerves with your reservations and doubt

well you know I’ve been sweet as sugar for days
but maybe I ought to put you into your place
you’ve no right to be so bold
your temper is getting old
you’re grating on me with this contrarian phase

ba ba ba da da da da…

well you know I’ve been sweet as sugar and more
but I don’t quite know what I’m being sweet for
my efforts are going nowhere
my anger is boiling over
maybe it’s time that I showed you to the door

Sweet as Sugar

you’re the apple of my pie
you’re the flower/flour of my heart
you’re the apple of my pie
you’re the stop and you’re the start

you’re the reason I would wait for hours
in this god-forsaken oven of a town
I could swear that you have got leavening powers
‘cause my spirits rise whenever you’re around!

you’re the apple of my pie
you’re the currents/currants in my stream
you’re the apple of my pie
you’re the skill and you’re the thrill and you’re the dream

you’re the reason I would wait for hours
in this god-forsaken oven of a town
I could swear that you have got leavening powers
‘cause when you are with me nothing gets me down!

you’re the apple of my pie…

Apple of My Pie

instrumentation is composed completely of baking supplies!

full track with vocals at https://soundcloud.com/gothhabiba/i-whisk-you-were-here

Dough Re Mi Instrumentals

I Whisk You Were Here Instrumental

instrumentation is composed completely of baking supplies!

full track with vocals at https://soundcloud.com/gothhabiba/sweet-as-sugar

Sweet As Sugar Instrumental

instrumentation is composed completely of baking supplies!

full track with vocals at https://soundcloud.com/gothhabiba/apple-of-m-y-pie

Apple Of My Pie Instrumental

instrumentation is composed completely of baking supplies!

full track with vocals at https://soundcloud.com/gothhabiba/half-baked

Half-Baked Instrumental

instrumentation is composed completely of baking supplies!

full track with vocals at https://soundcloud.com/gothhabiba/dough-re-mi

Dough Re Mi Instrumental

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgW4KvfD82Y&lc

lyrics:

I was hoping to get through this in silence
weighing my wagers, it’s an art, it’s a science
dreading the dreadful, mourning the mournful
doing what’s needful to quell my own violence

I was spinning this yarn like thread in a loom and
living my life like the inside of a tomb but
I’d rather not keep living like Shalott
shut up to rot in this cold, lightless room

so I’m trying to get at the heart of the structure
keying the keystones that don’t pass muster
there’s nothing so old that I won’t take hold of
and burnish its gold to a brand new lustre

when I shattered the spell like cracks in a mirror
the whole world pressed in more dire and clearer
and I’ll worship the river that gave me its shiver
and drew that dark sliver of sky so much nearer

now I’ll wait for the tides to suddenly rise
and I’ll wait for the storm to show me its eyes
and then I’ll quit my place and leave without trace-
ing the dubious grace of my old sickly sighs

when I reach the towers of those lovely walled buildings
that haunted my sleep with their staid ancient gilding
I’ll keep up my chant ‘cause I’ve told you I can’t
survive with that scant bit of life! it’s just killing!

Woven Curiously (acoustic demo)

(CROWDSOURCED, magical, more-in-keeping-with-the-spirit-of-the-song live version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-erqsffocZ4)

this is a quick phone recording of a song based on this New York Times article (https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/13/nyregion/nyc-power-outage.html), in response to Amanda Palmer's challenge. the ambulance went by as I was recording which is an interesting coincidence but I hope the person who needed it is okay.
in considering the connexion of technology to convenience, exploitation, policing, insurrection, & militarism (Amazon's "War Cloud"??), I'm making reference to the lamplighters who maintained, in the face of some opposition, new gas lights in the 1820s ("highly advantageous to the police": https://www.intriguing-history.com/gas-lights-lamplighters/); and the Luddite rebellions against (capitalist use of) new machinery, including this incident of "spectators putting out the lights rendering Graham forced to use a candle to read the evidence" against two accused machine-breakers: http://www.nationaljusticemuseum.org.uk/2620-2/ --thus "vandals and Visigoths wielding our candles."

plays and subway cars
lurch to a standstill
we gather our wits up
and methodize and fill

our hands with the power
they say we can’t handle
we vandals and Visigoths
wielding our candles

‘til the generators
should wake from their slumber
as Broadway casts, acrobats
all do a number

on the streets set to
crumble beneath them
with all of the weight of their
great ancient feeling

like blind tightrope walkers
who feel their way forward
their bravado follows me
up through the gutters

and I’ll trail them, listless
until the lamplighters
come by to help us trim
the wicks on the lanterns

we keep in our pockets
in case we should need them
(though just now we haven’t
provision to feed them)

we’ll sit here carousing
by the light of their oil
their conflict minerals,
immortal coils

well, I call that progress
I’ll drink if I need to
I’ll pay you back later
I promise, I’ve got you

and just for a minute
we’re all trapeze artists
affixed at the wrists
in mid-air—I won’t drop you

a line after this
train starts moving again
but let’s just imagine
that up until then

we all are one animal
trapped in the dark
lying restless in wait for that
galvanic spark

that’ll crackle like static
and lead us all forward
but (gosh, how untoward)
we’re secretly growing

ecstatic each moment that
passes without it
man, call me Romantic
but, my God, there’s something

cathartic about it
no, wait—hold that pose
and watch the lights dimming
as Times Square is shedding its

close your eyes tighter
and throw wide the apertures
keep your balance
and wait for the shutters

to pass through your frame
it’s the sign of the age
but they’ll say “move off, miss”
if this “isn’t the time,” then what is??

imagine this scene
as the end of a war
all the tech giants fallen
to nothing at all

and we’ll fizzle like fireflies
kept in a jar
until the lamplighters
show us where we are

and we’ll send with their vanguard—
the courage we’ve found—
a message to those of us
still Underground

that you can’t keep outsourcing
the cost of the industry
poverty, misery
missiles and GHGs

our creature comforts
have shirked all their leashes
things only get warmer
with our AC units

do you call that progress?
we’ll drink if we need to
then gather our wits up
and methodize and move

from 72nd
to Madison Square
tearing down all the Clouds
still alive in the air

and direct our own traffic
and man our own ambulances
screaming down side-streets
(imagine the ambiance!)

and trust in our stomachs
for each one that dies
a new hope is rising
to bolster the line

but how long can we hold this?
the grid they’re surveying
is shutting down slowly—
but the band is still playing

we’ll close the bolts
on all of our doors
when we get back home
and the city is sure

to apologise
for the inconvenience
“dear, you know I don’t sleep but I
rested my eyes for a minute”

Until the Lamplighters (Original Song)

frontwoman of The Scientific Endeavour with @divyamp. author of poetry collection Wanderers, Witch-Talkers

Najia

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