But I swam back to shore with half my arms,
I swam back to shore with half my legs, don't you know?
2.
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
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 "..."
Then,
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.
See
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
skips
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
OLD EARTH
credits
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.
supported by 7 fans who also own “*uncollected voices, on The orchard moan”
one of my favorites this year, and i'm crossing my fingers it gets a physical release. chris porterfield remains one of the best lyricists, writing songs that conjure up emotions that feel so tangible. his form of storytelling is like sitting down with someone and having a conversation; everything is laid out right in front of you, ready to be picked up. Laura B.
The long-awaited new record from Woods feels like a stereophonic dream full of whimsical instrumentation and good vibes. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 5, 2020
