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Time to get up, the sun is rising over the meadow and stream. Crawling out of your tent in the morning, there is nothing there to beat that feel. Baking flapjacks on a smoking skillet, listening to the sound of the trees. Taking my rodcase out of the camp, I’m ready to put on that reel. A bottle of grasshoppers swings against my chest, I’m ready for the big exhale, there’s freedom from the struggle out here by the river, there’s trout enough for a thrill. I’m under clear blue skies.
Sitting here smoking, watching the swamp, cleaning my fish in the stream, I don’t miss the city, my wife or my kid, there’s time enough for them and me. Thinking of our room in the center of Chicago, staying in our beds for a week. If I’m out today I might be back tomorrow, don’t hold your breath for me. I’m under clear blue skies.
Yeah, thinking of our room in the center of Chicago, staying in our beds for a week. If I’m out today I might be back tomorrow, don’t hold your breath for me. I’m under clear blue skies.
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2. |
Indian Camp
03:26
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What a hell it is, this world we’re born into, let me tell you how I feel. Uncle George rowed up ahead to the Indian river bed, let me tell you how I feel. A new dawn breaks on the alabaster shore of the Indian camp.
A barking dog in the pale moon river fog and a lantern in a doorway; a bar of soap, and a scream that split the night, boiling water on the stove; a silver cord, and the alabaster smile of a ghost.
You know the world tries to break us, if we let it it may beat us. What if my innocence was left uninterrupted, without life and death impressed upon my mind? Like a sun-seeking matador I ruptured, he slit his throat, but I felt sure that I would never die.
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3. |
Mr. and Mrs. Elliot
03:06
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They have tried on a big, hard bed, they have tried in a Boston hotel, and in the big hot bedroom in Touraine, despite their mutual pain. He can call it living straight, but are you the master of your own fate if pairs of shoes in front of hotel rooms shake you straight to the bone?
Mr. and Mrs. Elliot tried so hard to have a child, but some of us will and some of us won’t, that’s just the way it goes. And you’re standing in the ticket line, you may rhyme and prophesize, drinking white wine and writing the days away.
Coming over on the boat, took their girlfriend to a French Chateau. In Paris and Dijon they were quite happy, living in a room for three.
Mr. and Mrs. Elliot tried so hard to have a child, but some of us will and some of us won’t, that’s just the way it goes. And you’re standing in the ticket line, you may rhyme and prophesize, drinking white wine and writing the days away. Drinking white wine, and writing the days away.
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4. |
The End of Something
03:39
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Horton’s Bay was a lumbering town, and much like our own lives it lies to waste and surely turns to dust. I feel we’re heading in the wrong direction, my head is spinning so slow, and I don’t like what I have become. On the lake everything is easy, but on the shore it’s so damn hard just to get my head straight. Now we’re lying here and staring at the moon, and I love you but I just can’t find the words.
Ooh, the end of something. Now let’s row the boat ashore, cause nothing here is fun for me anymore.
It’s the end of a love affair, I’ll stay here and you go, let me lie underneath the stars. I smell the sawmill a couple feet away and the sweet fern and the water of the lake.
Ooh, the end of something. Now you row the boat ashore, cause nothing here is fun for me anymore.
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P.J.M. Bond Amsterdam, Netherlands
“One true sentence”. That’s what Ernest Hemingway was aiming to write during his stay in Paris in the Roaring Twenties of the previous century. The music of singer/songwriter P.J.M. Bond is greatly inspired by Hemingway’s philosophy and artistic vision: his music reminds listeners of white crests on the waves, the smell of burnt leather, and the crushing of shoes on a mountain path. ... more
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