by Antonio Carlos Jobim.

Featuring James Margolis on guitar

Waters Of March

Here's a sneak peak of my upcoming EP, "I Like You"!

Haunted (EP version!)

You thought you'd caught a bird
with feathers down her back,
with wings like pears and gossamer
of gold and blue and black.
Oh you thought you caught a bird
who you could throw into the world and would fly back.

You built her a small perch of twisted sticks and wire.
You promised you would care for her when she was weak and tired.
Oh you built her a small perch
to land on after soaring through the sky.

How could you know she was not what she seemed?
She was as flightless as the moment that you wake from a dream.
Beneath the surface she's constructed with toothpicks and glue,
just like you.

You grew used to her at home,
but wondered why she stayed,
Expecting her to spend some time with you and some away.
Oh you grew used to her at home,
just watching her feathers fray.

She sang into your ear,
every melodies she knew.
She may have shook and trembled,
but her voice was always true.
Oh she sang into your ear,
whenever you passed through.

Then you decided what you wanted was to fly 
and she could teach you how it's done.
And you were baffled when she sighed
and simply said to keep your distance from the sun.

You studied and soon learned
to navigate the air.
You found, in fact, it suited you, this skill you both could share.
Oh you studied and you learned
until the rest of the earth was right there.

You packed your bag to leave.
Looked over to your bird.
She hopped up on your shoulder but she didn't say a word.
Oh you packed your bag to leave,
to live all the tales you'd heard.

When you took to the air,
the currents pushed her down.
You watched her as she tumbled still and silent to the ground.
Oh when you took to the air,
the wind was the only sound.

You found her broken but not ruined,
so you put her shattered frame into your pack.
You thought, I'll take her on my journey
and will fix her if I can when I get back.

You saw the mountains of Peru,
the olive groves of Spain.
You saw the wall of China,
but then it began to rain.
And the water soaked your body
'til you fell through the sky of grey.

You rummaged through your bag
and found your broken friend.
She offered you her wings if they could help you fly again.
Oh she offered you her wings, 
knowing her life would end.

And when you took them you found that it wasn't hard to do,
because you'd needed her to take you to the sky.
Though as you flew, you knew that now she was a part of you,
you would think of her each time that you would fly.

You thought you'd caught a bird,
with feathers down her back.
With wings like pearls and gossamer of gold and blue and black.
Oh but my friend you got a bird
who would throw you to the world and fly you back.

Bird

I'm an ocean, always changing,
brimming and writhing and spilling.
I exist in sun and deep, 
no control over draining and filling.
I could keep you afloat if you'd just leave your desert behind.

You are a colander, a slotted spoon, a sieve, an open drain,
and I'm pouring myself into you to see what will remain.
You're a lighted match on oil spill before the fires burst,
and an ocean's not enough to quench that salted burning thirst.

Oh you won't be letting me down by living up to your name.
I have my own undertow to suffocate pride and blame,
I'll be the same but not the same.

I'm a river, always moving,
smoothing the stones in my veins.
I have pools and swells and rapids, 
molded by wind and the rains.
You could manage the tides if you'd just leave your desert behind.

You are a cake of sand, a sugar cube, the dust rise on the plain,
and I'm pouring myself over you to see what will remain.
You're a leaking dam on reservoir before the wall is drowned,
and a river's far too much to hold back without crumbling down.

Oh I won't be tearing you down by living up to my name.
I have a direction to flow, which is away from whence I came.
You'll be the same but not the same.

You are flint and I am stone.
We'll light the night then be alone.
When daybreak comes we're up in smoke.

I am ice and you are flame.
We come too close and you will change my very shape
with your embrace.

I'm a rainfall, slow and steady,
wetting the leaves of the trees
who have reached up, parched and ready
to soak me deep into their eaves.
And they could keep you dry if you'd just leave your desert behind.

You are a colander, a slotted spoon, a sieve, an open drain,
and I'm pouring myself into you to see what will remain.
You're a lightning strike on withered field, before the flames erupt,
and the rain does not contain the strength to quell the heat enough.

Oh you won't be letting me down by living up to your name.
I have my own fields to sow,
which I will never learn to tame if we're the same but not the same.
If we're the same but not the same.
If we're the same but not the same.

Leave Your Desert Behind

Cumbersome heart
far too enlarged for the cavity it's resting in
now gravity is testing it.
Strung like a harp
but always in minor keys
weaving shut its openings with melodies on rusted strings.

Falling into the belly of the feast.
Crawling through the jigsaw to extract a piece. 

Cumbersome heart
rigged like a motor to chug along with energy
from what the earth was borrowing.
Never quite sharp
bending it's weight to eternities of whetting stones
which wear it down past blood and bone.

Diving into the belly of the feast.
Driving in circles of South, West, North, East.

Bursting with blood but the arteries carry no air. 
There's a jam in the veins as they strain to replace what is there,
growing stagnant and stale. 

Cumbersome heart
painted with brushstrokes like fingerprints
and drippings down the can.
Undefined art
tripping at the borders constructed to assign to it
a label for confining it.

Melting into the belly of the feast.
Pelting effigies with hardening concrete. 

Bursting with blood but the arteries carry no air. 
There's a jam in the veins as they strain to replace what is there,
growing stagnant and stale. 

Falling into the belly of the feast.
Crawling through the jigsaw to extract a piece. 

Cumbersome Heart

If you do, in fact, decide that you would like 
to be the first and foremost in my life;
if you do, in fact, decide that what you want is sleeping at my side,
you know where to find me.

If you do, in fact, conclude that I'm the one
you'd like to greet you when your day is done;
if you do, in fact, conclude that you could care for me like I would you,
you know where to find me.

There's a reason for the season's change, I know.
And your feelings could stay much the same, or go.

If you do, in fact, deduce that it's too much
to go so long without feeling my touch;
if you do, in fact, deduce that what could be could be could be a dream come true,
you know where to find me. 

This absence has made my heart fonder,
and it grows as I miss you for longer.
Your absence has cradled me like fraying string on bending trees
in the long, silent night of the songbird.

There's a reason for the season's change, I know.
And your feelings could stay much the same, or go.

There's a reason for the season's change, I know.
Though my feelings will stay much the same, and grow,
and grow. 

You Know Where To Find Me

Sneak peak at the new album, Leave Your Desert Behind!

To Our Lives

This is the live interview I did on Oldenburg Eins in Germany on my Leave Your Desert Behind release tour 12/2015. 

Oldenburg Eins - Radiosession

Robin Irene is a Brooklyn based singer-songwriter. Her new album "Leave Your Desert Behind" and her EP "I Like You" are available for streaming, purchase, and download at her website, www.robinirenemoss.com . 

Robin Irene Moss