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Ulysses Dies At Dawn Trial By Song - The Mechanisms

Song 8 of 10 of The Mechanism's Tales To Be Told Volume 2 album

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08 Lost In The Cosmos - The Mechanisms

The darkness creeps in slowly,  
and seeps through the windows coldly.  
I toss another log into the fire’s call.  
The table and the dresser,  
All the things we used to treasure,  
Fade to fleeting shadows on the wall.  
 
Our dreams of yesterday  
Turn somber, slip away.  
Everything’s got its time, its rise, its fall.  
We planned to build our towers,  
But the wreckers took our hours.  
Now our dreams are just shadows on the wall.  
Now our dreams are just shadows on the wall.  
 
With organ chords now playing,  
The prelude to decaying—  
It’s fine, love’s a fire after all.  
From courtship’s sweet illusion  
To courtroom-like conclusions,  
Love becomes a shadow on the wall.  
 
Our dreams of yesterday  
Turn somber, slip away.  
Everything’s got its time, its rise, its fall.  
We planned to build our towers,  
But the wreckers took our hours.  
Now our dreams are just shadows on the wall.  
Now our dreams are just shadows on the wall.  
 
Draped in black or dressed in white,  
Through the convoy or the night,  
We wonder how much longer this will all endure.  
Living reckless, upside down,  
Till the casket comes around—  
Life itself is just a shadow on the wall.  
 
The darkness creeps in slowly,  
Seeping through the windows coldly.  
I toss another coal into the fire’s call.  
My hands and feet surrender,  
To maps they once remembered—  
Tracing fleeting shadows on the wall.  
The world itself’s a shadow on the wall,  
A flickering shadow on the wall.  
A flickering shadow on the wall.  

The Wreckers

gray after gray 
prey after prey 
morning to morning 
day after day 

let's let 
bygones be bygones 
blackening the skies 
in the bygone style 
of soon-to-be-gone monarch butterflies— 
climb up the butte 
stare at the sun-drenched river 
clench your lids 
hurry 
carry the sight 
to the boardwalk 
lift your chin up 
open your eyes 
see a shadow 
watch as it lightens and dies. 
see a shadow 
watch as it lightens and dies. 
see a shadow 
watch as it lightens and dies. 

how can I love someone I've 
only seen in a painting? 
how can I love a voice I've 
only heard described? 
how, on the other hand, can 
you kill somebody who's right in front of 
you seem to have no trouble at all doing it 
you seem to have no trouble at all 

straw after straw 
back after back 
mourning to mourning 
caulking the cracks 

let's let 
bygones be tattooed 
upon our eyes 
let's let 
the truths 
be louder than the lies 
I feel so ashamed to think 
I used to say 
it wasn't your land 
and I didn't take it away 
it wasn't your land 
and I didn't take it away 
it wasn't your land 
and I didn't take it away 

white appetites 
killed the passenger pigeon 
white fashion 
killed the Carolina parakeet 
white silence 
kills people of color 
white power 
will kill the very current it ignited 
my own white power 
will kill a current too 
if I'm not prepared to fight it 

see a pipeline 
run along the oil-drenched river 
see us promise 
changes that we don't deliver 
see a sacred place 
watch us colonize 
the boardwalk 
see a fallen cup 
someone carried that cup 
when it was full 
it must have taken every ounce of strength 
to pour the liquid 
down their gullet 
yet a cis hetero white man 
emptying his gun 
seems to have no trouble at all 
carrying it for a future bullet 
seems to have no trouble at all
credits
from Incredible Distance [EP], releases February 9, 2018 
Stephan Nance - vocals, piano 
Jon Caponetto - trombone 
Adam Caswell - programming 
Sarah Evins - viola 
Alexis Garnica - trumpet 
Dylan Myers - bassoon 
Sarah Rosier - cello 
Arrangement - Adam Caswell

White Appetites

Someday, 
Maybe ten, maybe twenty years from now, 
There will be a knock at your door. 
There will be a man standing there with a clipboard. 
And you will sign your name on the dotted line. 
The man will hand over 
A parcel bundled up in wool. 
You will look down to consider it; 
You will look up to say thanks, 
And the man will be gone... 

But a plaintive cry will draw your eyes 
To a baby pelican 
Sitting on your welcome mat, 
And the pelican’s eyes will dilate, 
And the eyes of the trees will dilate, 
And you will be a sea anemone: 
You will contract upon this contact. 

Will you feel small? 
And will you feel scared? 
And will you gasp for air 
And find there’s nothing there 
But a fatal mistake? 
Will you finally weigh what you have given 
Against what 
You take and you take and you take and you take. 

Somehow, 
You will think once again of the package in your hands 
You will begin to tug at the wool. 
It will come off easily in pieces, 
But it will cut right through the prints upon your fingers and 
It will pile up around you in a mountain of gauze 
In a car on a hospital train, 
Where the surgeons lack credentials 
And the scalpels are just saws. 

But a plaintive cry will draw your eyes 
To a baby pelican 
Sitting on your welcome mat, 
And the pelican’s eyes will dilate, 
And the eyes of the trees will dilate, 
And you will be a sea anemone: 
You will contract upon this contact. 

Will you open your arms 
To the birds? 
Will you open your arms 
To the trees? 
Will you repast them 
With your own blood? 
Will you finally give back 
The breath that you take? 
(and you take and you take and you take. 
You take and you take and you take and you take.) 

Somewhere, 
Underneath the many years of stinging fibers, 
You will find your gift. 
Will you ever understand what it means?

credits
from A Troubled Piece of Fruit, released 23 July 2012 

Stephan Nance, piano/vocals
Merlin Showalter, drums 
Tim McLaughlin, bass/guitar 
Angelica Sather Hodgetts, cello

Stephan Nance — Paid By Weight

[...] 

breaking through the ice, I 
scuttle down the riverbank till I 
espy the arboretum 
in your house… 
in your home… 

and covered in mud, I 
crawl into a carapace, 
and down the hallway 
you, the coniferous buoy 
bobbing on alpha waves, 
inspire a siren song, 
compose a nodding poem 
that will never see the light of day 
that will never see the light 

(but I) 
read in a dream 
Japanese garden 
head on the shoulder 
Japanese maple 
read in a dream 
Japanese garden 
head on the shoulder 
Japanese maple 
read in a dream… 
read in a dream… 

crossing crooked bridges, 
safe to knit you any garment now, but I 
cast off my crafty armaments, I 
cast you aside and I 
scoot away 

but didn’t we ditch those demons? 
are we not free to freeze and thaw as we please? 
to perch on branches 
whittled into benches 
built for human 
shivering 
un cœur en hiver 
un cœur qui ne verra jamais la lumière 

(mais je) 
lis dans un rêve 
jardin japonais 
tête sur épaule 
érable du Japon je 
lis dans un rêve 
jardin japonais 
tête sur épaule 
érable du Japon je 
lis dans un rêve… 
lis dans un rêve… 

everything will be 
simple someday soon 
everything will be 
simple, oh so simple 
everything will be 
simple someday soon… 

Простите мне, что я решился к вам писать. Перо в руке— 
вырезано имя на стволе. 
Меня кожа покраснела на свекольном красителе 
Вы меня поймали с поличным, читающего во сне; 
Ирландца, ходящего в шотландке, я люблю! 
Неразумно, но безмерно— я люблю! 
Относительно дополнительной сосновой шишки— 
Я не беру в голову, не беру в голову. 
Собственно я вырою уютную яму ему. 
Очевидно, язык мой — враг мой. 
А языка чужого я не опасаюсь; 
не боюсь укрепиться в густолиственном лесу! 
Тучи собираются над мной, а я пережду грозу— 
и как только вы дадите оценку 
я дам вам компенсацию, 
и секретно, в карман пальто, окаменелую незабудку... 

[...] 

I don’t want to be forgotten 
I don’t want to be forgotten 
I don’t want to be forgotten 
anymore 
anymore 

denuding adamant layers 
I peel past a period of interregnum and 
inherit the gilt cardboard crown from 
the downy-crested phoenix— 
my predecessor in this queue of 
panels in triptychs 
painted and pruned. 

the kingdom’s a sham; 
Hamlet without the Prince— 
and though a tree you may well be, 
I am not convinced. 

copper head on hickory shoulder, 
curled under covers, 
a fetal web of words… 

read in a dream 
Japanese garden 
copper head on hickory shoulder 
breaking through the ice— 
un cœur en hiver…

08 Lost In The Cosmos - The Mechanisms

Petra Orlov

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