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*uncollected voices, on The orchard moan

by Old Earth




two new one


left a fire burning in the woods

I came to the shore to ride a boat!

you can't sail half a boat

I would never try to float half a boat!

But I swam back to shore with half my arms,
I swam back to shore with half my legs, don't you know?


Decorate this box in blood (wait for it to breathe)

and wait for it to breathe

Now here came the echoes- two lost souls hearing "Songs from a Haunted House!"

my feet are cold
she asked me why my hands are cold?

don't you know?

This is the kind of orchard that swung from a wire,
and this is the type of place that tells you "You can stay."

"You can go."

This is the type of place, where you can get lost.

Don't you know?

Pocket held, Pocket pulled off

one Pocket held things that were sacred and good. The other, did not.

on The rim

Sat knees back it was pink on The rim.
Were you surprised when it swore back? (ask yourself "Was it really a mystery?")

Here's what we built

wrapped it in wire

silver and white

Here's where we sat

it was, it was, it was-

this IS the orchard
THIS is the orchard

this is The orchard, where the rain won't stop
this is The orchard, it's a lake

this is The orchard, but it's not The First

this is The orchard, it's no where

my teeth are drifting off in silver sheets, my tongue is drifting off in silver sheets,
my breath is drifting off in silver sheets, my breath is drifting off in silver sheets

glass deer are grazed at the gate

this is THE ORCHARD, this IS the orchard, THIS is the orchard...

Pocket held, Pocket pulled off

given lift & old orchard

One day I became a man, I told him
"We each choose our own place to kneel," or-
or- if he had a church it was The harvest

Drag out the bones, to put to rot in The Orchard,
let it become something else on its own.
Let the seasons take it, as new clay for God to mold.

The all-spending wind and the breathing clay spoke "..."

the breeze brushes over clean, so breathing stays loose as hands and dry dirt, finger and nail skin bark and knot wet and black. late-summer thunderstorm just left, so the trees in the grove are still charged, still Charged.

Looking West, we're drenched.

ladder and bee shadows,
baskets and buckets

we're Drenched. Fuck it. It's more than I can wrap my arms around.

Pitch it in the well, I'll drink from the bottom up, and keep drinking until the lights go out... ...from the Spring
this coming Fall-

Smell the leaves now. Smell the cold on my sweater like, it could almost cry. Smell it on my hair and hands, it piles like heaven on earth, until the basket's full.
Looking West

but I keep picking,
my back creaks like my hands are rusted rake strings
I keep picking, my back creaks like my hands are rusted rake strings

Years layers of sweat on the collar, sweat my dad gifted too, and
yeah, I'm on both sides of the fence, both sides of the gate, and
I'm putting some blood in the wood.

What I could do
is pick the page until everything is all red and wet, but I pick apples instead.

I know this place, this space,
so I float and grow thin on ash and a Great Reward for, this I can't pay, for this I'm not sorry. Can't be blamed when your body falls off... Because that's how I swim! That's how I swim! in the river! There, this place doesn't even exist.

Gave no map to fold, note for voice bare bones no knife, I'm seeing stars.
Clean. I Feel. Alive. Again.

Just go home, change clothes, take at least a warm and heavy meal. Sons and daughters I won't engender, sisters and brothers past born, we all lay down for the night.

my song my song my song

there's cinders there
where I put down some prayer,
piling Stones

piling Stones because the ground's too cold for holes,
or to make one mean something good.

(But) before I got the money home, I ended up at the Baal
I'm sorry for what I've done
"Sorry, can't make right"

Why are you so hard on yourself, there's that part of you that's always been good

What to call the room? Name it after you

Anthology, body

This is the bridge that I'd jump from, if wolves were at my heel-

These are the things I'd grab first in a fire-

This is the friend that I'd take with me, one I've known for all my life, and

These are the times I'd give-

Oh this is where the river's running deep!
Oh this is where the skin sits thin!

Oh this is where the river's running deep,
what'll you do when the laws flood?

Pocket held, Pocket pulled off

Someone left the gate standing open...

"uncollected words on The Orchard moan"

April 15th, 2010



released April 15, 2010

Todd Umhoefer, Damien Strigens, Nick Berg, Elisabeth Albeck, Jeff Flashinski, and Christopher Porterfield.

Tracked and Mastered by Matt Connell at Bang Revival Studios. Produced by Christopher Porterfield. Additional tracking by Todd Umhoefer at home, and Nick Berg at Damien's house.

Artwork by Todd Umhoefer and Ryan Bieber


all rights reserved



Old Earth Portland, Oregon

"Folk rock with strong elements of avant-classical music"
- SF Deli Magazine

Included in The Journal Sentinel's "20 Best Milwaukee Songs and Albums of the 2010s"

"Tonal delight, packed with experience . . . He sounds enchanting" - NME

Songs by Todd Umhoefer

(photo by Ryan Bieber)
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