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An Eighth of a Bottle of Something Sticky Green

by Cameron M. Thomson

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teatrkorzenie Generous doses of unadulterated whimsy, beauty and craft! Dappled shimmer in a world all too-often brooding in the shadows of cynicism. And one of the best damn album titles out there!
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1.
Little Wave 03:44
1. Pain is a secret mark And then it spreads out like a stain. Eyes hung like lilies on the surface of the rain. First I made a little word and it choked her like a wound. Her arms bent around me like a sky all bleak and blue. Broken-footed, empty-headed, dance my fingers outside of her hand. Fill her mouth with sorrow - that’s the kicking of my lungs. Need another voice. I’ll be silent for awhile. Didn’t want to do it. She forgives me with a smile. CHORUS I know, I know what I am: I’m a little animal, I’m dead without your love. I know it’s not enough to say it. I know, I know what you are: you’re the little wave that breaks against my mouth. I hope you know I want to drink it. 2. First, her face, like thorns, got stuck inside my heart. Hands twisting ribbons round the body-kicked-apart. Moment on the lip of joy, she trembled like a watery bruise. Arms bent around me Still that sky, same bleak, same blue. I will not speak, I’ll let you speak. I’m burning holes in everything. I want a smile, a burning line smiling back at me. Torn hand, like rag, she fluttered inside my head. Legs weak with distance as she jumps across the bed. CHORUS 3. If you ask me to explain, it is a simple, stupid wonder. At night, when you lay sleeping, I’m ashamed of all the blundering. CHORUS
2.
1. It’s cold tonight and I see it’s my fault; it’s purple and I’m sitting still It’s cold tonight and I see you’re unhappy; it’s raining and I’m heavy against my will. Could I rise, could I rise, could I take you by the hand, be a baby, be an unobtrusive child for you again? My sweetness, you’re a beauty, you’re a beauty with your fingers in his hair. CHORUS And I’m tired of pretending means I’m tired now of talking, touching, looking, thinking; I’d love silence and that sweetness at the nape of your neck and you smiling like you’re ready to explode; you were something, you were something like a tree all decked for Christmas and now here comes the New Year and we’re dry, dry and grey again. 2. It’s nine o’clock and I’m your headache and I’m booming and my voice is a-banging in your face. I’m speaking, it ’s ugly, I’m pretending I am pretty; I’m the body and the body might be a total waste. Play with me. Well we’re awkward and I bump you in the dark; then I’m speaking like a chicken, like a cow And I’m sorry about this thing here and I’m sorry that you lose me; if I could I would touch your real heart somehow. CHORUS (x 2)
3.
1. Maybe a train, maybe a ride of many days, maybe a station with dim lights and strangers on the platform… Leave the heat of the endless plains and make for the mild northern hills. Maybe a room where I’ve never been before, maybe a window opening on a city I’ve never seen before… I’d like to drink sweet tea and wait for nightfall above the street. CHORUS I want to hear your voice— until I hear your voice. I want to have you near— until you’re with me, near at hand. In silence, let us sit here and let the sun shine and get as close as I’m ever going to get to that lonely trip from love by cowardice. 2. Maybe a road, maybe a sunny, summer road, maybe stopping at some junction for something very icy-cold… Oh, I have not gone away yet; too broke to even fill the tank. Maybe a walk, maybe never turning round to look back, maybe unfailing, maybe never winding down… Oh, I have not gone that way yet. Soon I’ll be too old to even dream of it. CHORUS 3. Maybe the end.
4.
The Beating 04:06
1. Sounds like the end of the world and I’m lying down like I do, like I’ve never moved. Can’t sleep through this weather. I hear it ripping around the roof. If it’s the end of the world, I hope you’re with me here when the morning comes. When I wake up forever, don’t want to be left outside the door… …begging mercy and beauty, more time, no more bleak romance. With eyes as bright as angels’, why did I kick her to the floor? CHORUS Listen to me: do I come, do I go? I know my voice has pushed you to the end of love. I want to love you again. Will you love me again? 2. I’m ashamed to say: I had a dream (I mean, everybody has a dream). In my dream there was a woman who looked at me a funny way. If I’m unwrapped now, I think I’d be sorry, I think I’d want to hide. Let me see a few more mornings before you take me on the tide… …and down the delta, across the water; more time; I know I’m slow as stars. Her eyes as sweet as angels’, still I’m forgetting more and more. CHORUS 3. I’ve got something to say. I don’t wake you to tell you because I’m too afraid. I’m sick of wanting to be someone. Oh, when will that fade away? I’ve got something to say, but don’t wake up and listen— it will only come out wrong. Just backwards, broken nonsense; I just want to have it done… …give me beauty, please mercy, more time. It’s a dark romance. With eyes all shot from beating, still we pounded the savior more and more. CHORUS
5.
1. Night came on, November blown and the edges of the scene still dim with light. Flashing rush of flakes. A road blind with ice. Do you remember, on that one long hill we might have lost our lives? We could’ve closed our eyes. All-night drive, nowhere in mind, cross-country backway, outside of time. Down the spine of some long weekend we just slid out of sight. Was it darker then than when we left? Yeah, the glow from the radio seemed more green and sad than before. Nothing beamed in anymore. Where were you? Were you dreaming of the same far places? Come down from your high places and cross the broken border. No more freezing in the desert, no more dry snow like a dust-storm. They say that nobody dead can hear you. Still, I wish our missing friends would pray for us. CHORUS When do we get away? When do we go abroad? Could I live one foreign moment and not wreck it beside you, baby? Don’t want to slide, don’t want to die in the depths of winter, still unchanged. 2. We stopped at ten to stretch our legs and Our baby girl wanted something warm. Wind like awful knives When I open the door. Stood there breathing in an Atmosphere all reeking Fuel and ice and brine. Watched you go inside. All night stop, ice-box and coffee, Not another sound, just the hum of white lights. Breaks my heart to see you Trying to decide what to buy. Through the window I’ll be watching, You feel torn from my side – Another wound, another wound for my bride. Will God take anything we give him? Even the darkest, hopeless, hateful - If it’s all we have to offer? And when will we ever get outside of All we’re trapped inside of? Let the stones and the snow bear witness – Just tell me I have loved you. CHORUS
6.
CHORUS Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee! A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be. Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-oo! Good luck will rub off when I shakes hands with you. (Or blow me a kiss and that's lucky too.) 1. Now, as the ladder of [life] has been strung, you may think a sweep's on the bottommost rung. Though I spends me life in the ashes and smoke, in this whole wide world there's no happier bloke. CHORUS 3. I choose me bristles with pride, yes, I do: a broom for the shaft and a brush for the flue. Up where the smoke is all billered and curled, ‘tween pavement and stars is the chimney-sweep world. Where there’s hardly no day and there’s hardly no night; just things half in shadow and halfway in light. On the rooftops of London— Ah!—what a sight! CHORUS (Chim chim cher-ee Chim cher-oo!)
7.
1. Late summer night, it’s my best friend’s birthday. We’ll have a fire at the bottom of the yard. And I’ll string a line of lights along the alley-way. Can we do it at your house though?—mine’s too close to the road out of town. Late summer night, it’s my best friend’s birthday. He’ll drink too much and get all weepy and wet. And the dew on the soft, dark grass will soak the trailing hem of your autumn dress. CHORUS Half a stick, a blackened patch; dead flames of last night’s Birthday Bash. An eighth of a bottle of something sticky-green. The wind will empty everything and the morning won’t fill it up again. 2. Late summer night, it is my best friend’s birthday. We won’t invite any other girls—but you must come. He knows no one but you and me— plus it’s nice to have a girl around. Late summer night, it’s my best friend’s birthday. He’s very old and it is hard to understand him, when every word comes out inside of a bubble from in between his nose and chin. CHORUS 3. Late summer, night-time, my best friend’s birthday. If anybody sees him they might say: He’s acting like a retard. But in whose eyes does he look so bad? Not yours or mine—we don’t talk like that. Late summer night-time of my best friend’s birthday. Before he sleeps in the icy ground, he says: Today (today, today) was not my birth-day. But thank you, he says— and then he says, I’m sorry.
8.
The Lies 03:18
1. Vous avez aujourd’hui horreur de ces mains. Vous n’avez plus l’envie, comme avant, d’être touché par ces deux conspiratrices. Par celle qui a tenu le papier pour celle qui a tenu le crayon qui a écrit les mensonges qui vous ont incité (qui vous ont incité) à m’adorer vraiment... CHORUS Songe et crie; subis la mainmise; oublie la vérité. Je sais qu’il faut oublier pour écrire quelque chose de vrai. 2. Vous avez aujourd’hui horreur de cet homme. Vous n’avez plus l’envie, désormais que l’on touche à cette cicatrice terrible. Par la main qui a ouvert le cahier pour la main qui a manié le crayon, qui a écrit les mensonges qui vous ont incité, (qui vous ont incité) à m’adorer vraiment. CHORUS Verse 1 CHORUS
9.
1. First Book I Couldn’t Have, I couldn’t have because I was no good at math, though that first book was all concerned with math, I thought— or so I think I must have thought— though what my ten-year-old idea was, of math, who knows, because I couldn’t even do a sum or multiply by one. Was it images of geniuses like Gauss, Galois, and Gödel with his hair slicked back and a painting from the Renaissance showing how perspective’s drawn and Arabs staring at the sky and Newton having apple 𝜋, Klein’s bottle having no inside. CHORUS More overcome than Carroll’s funny, palid queen, who cried before the pin had even stung— though unlike her, in that nobody’s going to find it funny when one does it to one’s son 2. Second Book I Couldn’ t Have, I couldn’t have because I wasn’t brave enough, although I’d known a lot of fear, which takes a lot of courage just to bear—or so I think it must have done, though what my childish notion was, of fear, who knows. Was it awful things—like a ghost-dog watching for its Lady’s ship, long after she had sunk away and faeries in some photographs taken when Victoria was our Empress and dark fortresses of murdered kings and Norsemen stringing their horses up. CHORUS 3. Third Book I Couldn’t Have, I couldn’t have because I lacked humility: I wanted to do a History of everything I’d ever seen, or dreamed I’d seen, a catalogue of all the ways the world might be—not meaning that a world might be just any way. That book was an empty room with white walls waiting for the stain of saying all my filthy thoughts, with no one listening but God. You said: You’re no great Fabulist. Do not indulge in that, you said. Do not pretend that you are special. Mad, you laughed, and walked ahead. CHORUS (One does it to one’s, one does it to one’s, one always does it to one’s son.)
10.
Two Sisters 05:20
1. There was an old woman, lived by the seashore. Refrain A Bow and balance to me. There was an old woman, lived by the seashore— a number of daughters, one, two, three, four. Refrain B And I’ll be true to my love, if my love’ll be true to me. 2. There was a young man, come there to see them. Ref. A There was a young man, come there to see them and the oldest one got stuck on him. Ref. B 3. He got for the youngest a beaver hat. Ref. A He got for the youngest a beaver hat and the oldest one got mad at that. Ref. B 4. O sister, O sister, come walk the seashore. Ref. A O sister, O sister, come walk the seashore and see the ships as they’re sailing o’er. Ref. B 5. And as these two sisters were walking the shore. Ref. A And as these two sisters were walking the shore, the oldest pushed the youngest o’er. Ref. B 6. O sister, O sister, please lend me your hand. Ref. A O sister, O sister, please lend me your hand and you shall have Willy and all his land. Ref. B 7. I never, I never will lend you my hand. Ref. A I never, I never will lend you my hand and I shall have Willy and all of his land. Ref. B 8. Sometime she sank and sometime she swam. Ref. A Sometime she sank and sometime she swam, ’til she came to the old Mill Dam. Ref. B 9. The Miller, he go out his fishing hook. Ref. A The Miller, he go out his fishing hook and he fished the maiden out of the brook. Ref. B 10. O Miller, O Miller, here’s five gold rings. Ref. A O Miller, O Miller, here’s five gold rings to push the maiden in again. Ref. B 11. The Miller received those five gold rings. Ref. A The Miller received those five gold rings and he pushed the maiden in again. Ref. B 12. The Miller was hung in the old Mill Gate. Ref. A The Miller was hung in the old Mill Gate for drowning little sister Kate. Ref. B
11.
1. I read an old philosopher who writes about a man, who inebriated as a youth was led into a brothel. Who as a man, upon the shore, on country roads, and in the city, watches little faces looking for a sign. He’s waiting for an indication, something in the jaw or eyes, something that could settle it and put an end to his ceaseless speculation. He is afraid that having known that fatal, painted woman, unawares, he might have fathered a child. CHORUS Reality is not the terror possibility is (x 3). That’s why everything is slipping away. 2. Like a scar that comes and goes, like an echo ‘cross the water, like a ghost that’s never visible, this could be, or not be. But he seizes the impression, he sustains it through the night. Must be getting sicker— what was maybe feels like certainly. He’s thinking back and he is looking in the mirror and he makes their inky images on every surface that he can. He sees his lover’s features, he makes the choice: I am a father. I made the mother; I abandoned the child CHORUS 3. If you do not get it, then get this. Picture this: you are alone without a boat over seventy-thousand cold, cold fathoms. And if you do not like this morbid story, remember this: you are alone without a boat over seventy-thousand cold, cold fathoms of water. Unawares you might have fathered a child CHORUS
12.
The Lamb 03:21
1. Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee; gave thee life and bid thee feed, by the stream and o’er the mead; gave thee clothing of delight, softest clothing, wooly bright; gave thee such a tender voice, making all the vales rejoice? Do you know—do you? Little Lamb, who made thee? Do you know—do you? Little Lamb, who made thee? 2. Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee, Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee. He is called by thy name, for he calls himself a Lamb. He is meek and he is mild, he became a little child. I a child and thou a lamb, we are called by his name. Do you know—do you? Little Lamb, God bless thee. Do you know—do you? Little Lamb, God bless thee. (I a child and thou a lamb, we are called by his name.)
13.
1. Is there a psalm to sing when you’re lost to the blameless king, when you’re quit by the holy one, disowned by the righteous son? Is there a psalm intoned when you hear you’re to be stoned and thus banished from the city? Father, mother show no pity. Is it you? I don't know who I'm speaking to. Oh, I been dreaming of somebody who's gonna show me that we’re loved? 2. Is there a psalm you hear when all you’ve earned is drawing near, when the end goes on forever, and it’s a never-resting Never? Is there a psalm that’s rung when the wicked dead are hung exposed upon a tree? See how cursèd you can be? Were you there? Did I see you there somewhere? Have I been dreaming of somebody who's gonna show me that we’re loved? 3. Is there a psalm that cries for everyone that dies and could do nothing about sin, who had no harvest to gather in? Is there a psalm for fear no friend’s gonna persevere, to tell me it’s gonna be alright, so I can face the terror of the night? Is it you? I don’t know who I’m speaking to. Oh, I been dreaming of somebody who's gonna show me that we’re loved? 4. Sorry for this psalm so dark. I didn’t mean to touch the holy ark. And am I cast from here to hell? Did I really hear the warning bell?
14.
1. Do we ride our bikes around the circle in the cemetary, weaving? I wave up to you on the cross. Am I to come upon you suddenly like this, forever—happy, relieved you are here? And I can see you. I can feel you. I can see you. 2. You are like the ticket-half I find inside the pocket of my old leaf-raking coat. There all the time, all the while, forgotten. I so often seem to leave you in churches and other islands and on my beads. Where I can see you. I can feel you. I can see you. 3. I take the ticket-half and put it on the table saying: this is God and he’s here through my comings and my goings. But I walk past the ticket-half, I walk past the ticket-half, I walk past the ticket-half— just as I’ve walked past the cross on our wall. Our self-importance grows so dazzling, we don’t see you (dazzling, we don’t see you, dazzling we don’t see you). (But) gentle Jesus, aren’t you always, aren’t you ever hour here? (x 3)

credits

released July 11, 2018

Cameron Thomson - guitar & vocals (all tracks), melodion (track 8), keys (tracks 2, 7), banjelele (track 12)

André Orbahn - guitar (track 3), bass (track 8), e-bow (track 11)

Abigail Thomson - vocals (track 10)

Violet Thomson – vocals (track 10)

Produced by Stan Leveau-Vallier (Constructive Productions)
Recorded, mixed, and mastered by André Orbahn

All songs © 2018 Cameron Thomson except "Chim Chim Cheree" © 1964 Disney Music Publishing/BMI, "Two Sisters" (traditional), "The Lamb" (words by William Blake, public domain, music © 2018 Cameron Thomson), and "Every Hour Here" © 1991 Umbrella Day Music/Universal/BMI

Package and booklet design: Steven Nederveen
Cover image: Steven Nederveen & Violet Thomson
Photos: Stan Leveau-Vallier & André Orbahn

www.cameronmthomson.com

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Cameron M. Thomson Toronto, Ontario

Cameron Thomson is a Toronto-based moral philosopher, musician, and writer. When he’s not writing or making music, he may be found on the beach, searching for beach-glass and other treasure, or in the woods, digging for historical glass in former dumpsites. Visit him on Instagram at @cameron_m_thomson. ... more

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