JOHN LUDI

World Without Words 2

The Thing In The Woods Adopts A Couple Kittens (Quiet Earth Orchestra)

Brontosaurus

Brontosaurus (Quiet Earth Orchestra)

Playing the part, chasing so hard, climbing so far
and sending all your ego's armies
marching off to nowhere.

Sensing no fall, wanting it all, heeding the call
of this sirens sad and sorry wailing
calling out to land you
upon her rocks false promise,
her barren land of plenty.

That shining ring, these worldly things...
you're bartering your life.

Filling the hole, feigning control, pawning your soul
to be with all the moneyed people
living out their daydreams
in television splendor
in full suburban languor.

All you can get without regret,
as you forfeit your life.

Now you're some spoiled spent thing
lying in the ashes
poisoned by the nectar
of all your earthly passions.

The darkest sleep...as angels weep
you'll fight to keep your life.
And as you pass and breathe your last
might you just grasp the true meaning of life?

Rise Above or Fall Below

Filling the Hole

Filling The Hole

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They threw accusations at the air over our heads, 
we responded with sanctions, fuel for the fire we fed.
We declared an embargo, they filled the canal with mines. 
We ignored every caution, they crossed over all lines.

Feed the beast and warm its belly, 
watch it grow and grow.
Sing its praises and trumpet its virtues 
as it drags you all down below.

We called in an air strike, 
they stopped their shipments of crude. 
So we unleashed the full fury of wars unholy brood.
With no intention of winning, 
every life lost was lost in betrayal, 
but the office fills up with contracts 
when futile rockets fail.

Feed the beast and fill its belly, 
watch it swell and bloat.
Give it blood and give it bodies, 
give it tanks, napalm, and boats.

I don't expect compassion from you... 
so you won't get any mercy from me.

Imperialism and conquest: 
history is but one endless fight 
for the fool-hearted folly, 
for the financier's delight.
For who cares for tomorrow 
when the blood of today brings you power? 
They will forfeit our future 
as the dreams of the damned fully flower.

Feed the beast and drown in its belly: 
a victim of your own designs.
Pernicious and bloated and greedy and craven, 
as the hope for the future declines.

Feed the beast and stroke its belly, 
for its comfort, profit, and delight.
Then pray to your false gods and run for cover 
as it blots out the last rays of light.

Soft War

Futile Rockets Fail

Futile Rockets Fail (by John Ludi & Greg Kutcher as Soft War).

A tired old man of kindly soul
watches the broader world lose control
Pondering needs of a future unknown:
What can be learned, what can be grown.

The toll is great and the efforts ignored
and incremental things are all he can afford.
Those seeds need saving, put those books in a crate...
protect this knowledge before it's too late.

A dark ages monk scribing history,
fading words lay on a wrinkled page
the present world becomes a future mystery
found by error in a wiser age.

He tends to the smaller things:
the green ones, four-legged ones, the ones who have wings.
His own time is short and the road harsh and long,
his pride but a memory, ambitions all gone

He does what he can do
and hopes it makes a difference when all this is through.
He fights the tide, shines his tiny light
against the spreading darkness, against the growing night

The thoughtless and cruel become conventional:
barbarians squat on squalid seats of power
the damage becomes increasingly intentional,
corrupted hands ring out the darkening hour.

The cycle repeats time and again:
tidal forces beyond the weak vision of men
Unseen patterns, the ebb and flow,
all that rose so high crash below.

He will be as a ghost in the haze:
no one will remember him,
he'll pass without praise

I hope he's still out there...we need more like him

Mistakes Have Been Made

The Caretaker

09 - The Caretaker

Is this my face? I can't remember. Identity at once dismembered.
Submit to strain, submit to fracture. Is this a blight or freedoms rapture?

I wash these hands you say hold power over the world, over the hour.
And tempted thus, to find the answer amongst the cells, amidst the cancer.

(C) I am not who I used to be.
Behold the void that once was me: A shell bereft of memory.

In some grey void without an exit a nameless ghost, blind and faceless,
contorts and claws and seeks sensation... I feel its need, determination.

(C) I can't be blamed for what I am:
a fading figure of a man subject to some buried demand.

Absent the memory...if I were a whole man...
would that I, could that I...I'd never let it happen.

Unlock the gates that bar the demon, release the thing that craves its freedom.
Some rough beast, its mere breath hateful. I fall into a place so fatal.

(C) I am not who I used to be.
Behold the void that once was me: A shell bereft of memory.
I can't be blamed for what I am:
a fading figure of a man subject to some buried demand...with the world's blood staining my hands.

Absent The Memory (with Greg Kutcher as Soft War)

MUSIC FOR THE THINKING FEW.

(NOTE for RepostEx users: I don't repost AI if I can detect it, and I only repost songs I like or show some level of competence or promise...and they usually don't involve an 808, misogyny, Autotune or singing off key over a prerecorded track...and at my age I'm FAR more interested in quality connections with listeners than going "viral". ALSO: mostly an aging rock/folk/prog/indie guy...can't really judge or really relate to Hip-Hop, Auto-Tune and other more modern styles...sorry.)

John Ludi is a musician/singer-songwriter/cultural relic with a diverse and "arty" array of influences and lyrical interests who was "Indie" before the term even existed. Working outside of the music industry by choice has given Ludi the ability to release songs of a level of lyrical depth that are anathema to the current culture.  Ludi lives off-grid in a yurt in the woods of WI and finds the materialistic priorities of our civilization incredibly wrong and destructive.