I am just a white boy on a brown guitar.
My mind is cold cuz someone left the door ajar.
Jesus said that god’s still good. But that’s not why he came.
The world turned round, we were bound, and the fear’s pretty much the same.
My sister’s sitting on a fence on a highway near the west.
It’s enough to make me think of regret and other idleness.
She’s poker-faced with a laptop-head. She’s an advertisement whore.
I was thinking I must be doomed for so much more.
But here we go with our color code.
Here we go with our memory of hate.
Here we go with our history of fate.
Take away the “why,” and you might have “our.”
But take away the pain, and we won’t remember
Truth died just before the dawn.
The lean lunatics and renown rats gather up their truths.
It’s still hard to name all the blessings that mistakes can prove.
But you or I cannot trivialize a teardrop.
You can’t even make it freeze in a movie or a song.
The super-conscious, super-sized poster of infinity
maps out regress and bitterness and the ambiguous serenity.
Your contradictions and your help are greatly appreciated.
But the teachers and all the secretaries should get started on the obliteration.
But here we go with our tribal code.
Here we go with our memory of shame.
Here we go with our history of blame.
Take away the “how,” and we won’t see from now.
Take away all this, and we might remember
That truth died just before the dawn.
This sweet, mournful “loose concept” album from folk artist Ian McCuen tracks a journey across the bleak landscape of American life. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 22, 2022
A collection of twinkling bedroom folk-pop demos from Fahim Rahman that arcs from hushed intimacy to sweeping cinematic emotionality. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 6, 2021