1. |
Pale Blue Dot (Cyan)
01:28
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Fell asleep at the wheel
Ain't no way to get around
I'm just so exhausted
and the rain sounds so sweet
I didn't mean to stay
wrapped up in sheets so long
Everything just sounds so scary
and the rain just sounds so sweet
"From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest, but for us, it's different. Consider again that dot, that's here, that's home, that's us."
Fell asleep at the wheel
Ain't no way to get around
I didn't mean to stay wrapped up in sheets so long
"That's us"
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2. |
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You can find my body lying in the flowers
When the rest of me is lost
Shower my ashes in the pedals that unfurl with the time
Mama I'll grow in the dirt, don't you worry
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3. |
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Dirt climbing up the baseboards like vines
Just wants to grow up to be something real
Reach for the sun
Reach for the sky
The spring is here, how could I forget?
There's dirty dishes inside my head
I am a vast expanse of blanched and tarnished pirouettes
Reach for the sun
Reach for the sky
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4. |
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I thought I saw your face the other day
I couldn't tell if it was really yours
It felt like it
I felt these horrible things inside
And that's when I realized it didn't really matter if it was you or not because everything was just in my head
I got a letter from you today
After I asked you to never write to me again
What were you thinking?
Did you think by demanding my forgiveness you'd get it?
Did you think by pointing out your loneliness, you'd cease to be alone?
I don't really think that's how it works
Is it possible to ever just be happy?
To be happy with just the sun on your skin, no one at your side, nothing in your head, it's possible to just be happy?
I really pray that it is
So now we're here
All alone again with nothing but the stars above us and nothing but hell below us
And I really want to believe that everything in front of me is real
But is it?
But is it really?
Is everything that I touch, everything that I see just a figment of my imagination?
Can I trust myself?
Can I trust the world around me to be as real as I thought it was?
A minute and a half goes by and I look up to see nothing but a sliver of a moon that I thought was bigger
I thought it was bigger,
I thought it was here
I thought it was here
Am I really here?
Do I really know where I am?
I really wish that I did, I really wish that I knew where everything went
I don't know if anything even has a place here anymore
So I'll just stay here, I'll just stay here
I'll just wait
Just bide my time
Just try to make the best of this weird situation
This weird existence that nobody ever asked for
Nobody ever asked for
This weird existence that nobody ever asked for
Nobody ever asked for...
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5. |
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6. |
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XLIII
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right:
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
From "Sonnets from the Portuguese"
1856
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7. |
Colette (Yellow)
02:19
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Gettin out of the city,
Watchin street lamps pass us by
I felt the echo of a hand
laid gentle on my thigh
As my tired eyes found themselves
fixated on the drive
I found a boy who treats me
as nice as I always dreamed
And my ma says she's proud of me
but I don't know what she means
Sepia toned memories
dance in my periphery
as I make my way back home
I'm coming home
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8. |
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Woke up to find myself in the dark again,
Want nothing more than my broken head to mend
Feels like it's been whole months
Since the sun shone on my toes
I heard whole songs in my dreams,
or in some distant memory
I swear I heard whole songs in my dreams,
But it coulda been some distant memory
Hold tight, hold tight
I can feel it coming to a close
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Postscripting Denver, Colorado
Postscripting is a self-produced music project of a lady who can't tell if she's made of glitter or dust from your grandma's attic.
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