1. |
Pair Migration
04:37
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Lately I feel in flight backward.
My friends and I,
we move in the same direction like lost little birds.
Thinking if we follow the spine of an old mountain line with no name,
we're bound to arrive.
And years will go by and suddenly we'll have something we have made.
I don't want to find you in further hills,
or lose you to a frame,
'cause the only thing settling these days is the migrate.
How would you like to drive 400 pointless miles?
And tell me how all the buildings look like beehives,
and I'll smile like my teeth haven't bit light for a while.
We can bend our timeline in a bow for my hair or to fancy your clothes.
Or surprise it like a party of people we don't know;
lit up by liquor's glow, and when we're restless, we will go.
I don't want to find you in further hills,
or lose you to a frame,
'cause the only thing settling these days is the migrate.
I keep waiting on the clock to crawl right off the wall.
If those arms could talk at all, they might say,
the world is too small to have a clock on the wall.
If I put our picture in a frame,
will it hide us from change, or will it age and say,
love is too tall to put it in a cage.
You and I are two lost little birds,
parallel at best and worst.
What if it hurts, what if it doesn't hurt?
I don't want to find you in further hills,
or lose you to a frame,
'cause the only thing settling these days is the migrate.
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2. |
I Hate the States
03:23
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Late last night you looked me in the eyes and said it might be time to go back.
I knew right then that you meant, "Goodbye darlin’, I am going west."
I cried right below my skin but held my face at rest.
The room fell quiet, the city became a little less.
Now you’re going homeward,
hours far like you once were,
oh, I hate the States.
On the long walk home I swear I could hear all the night birds moan.
We sighed together, wondered who will we sing to when you’ve gone.
Sirens scream down the highway, we argue over who’ll miss you more.
Now the buildings seem so dirty, the skyline less romantic than before.
Because now you’re going homeward,
hours far like you once were,
oh, I hate the States.
Lets make a map and draw out all the points we used to know by face.
We’ll talk through cups on strings and stay tied in a strange sort of way.
Voices only elude the miles for so many days,
until you’re looking at your geography and it’s all been erased.
Because now you’re going homeward,
hours far like you once were,
oh, I hate the States.
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3. |
Housewife's Lament
03:21
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Is this something real,
or am I a fool?
Is this how you feel,
or are you plain cruel?
Are these the words that you say,
so I don't run away?
Or is there a heart,
is there a heart behind it all?
Is life as one,
only a promise of nights alone?
Craving the phone to ring,
times to sing,
sorrows of a life, of a life gone by.
In this empty house,
as empty hours build,
this room is filled with doubt.
Am I to move on without
your hand in mine,
or is it worth a lie?
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4. |
Jubilee
03:10
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My body is a finely tuned, well-oiled machine.
I'm constantly fiddling with wiring,
just trying to fix my fears up.
But when I'm out of tune
so suddenly the moon shines wrongly down on me.
And everything inside is sparking fire.
The flames, the flames are melting me down,
melting me down.
It's too hard to see the cracks in my machine
that filter in the worries of the air.
My chords are such a mess
and I can't tell why,
so i just cry oh and cry,
waiting for the moon to look right.
What a tragedy to be such a helpless machine,
but to feel so real.
To feel so out of control,
all I can do is hold right onto this skin,
that holds all of my wiring in.
All I can do is push aside these tangled chords-
'lo and behold- a heart.
A constant beat that keeps me,
that keeps me, on my feet,
under the moon.
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5. |
Ohio
03:39
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Met a boy from Ohio;
who through the cold winter burned me alive,
just like my ex-man used to.
When I’d howl through the eyes at his window;
watch his lamp flicker,
wait to see him bring a her home with him.
I’d stay through the night ’til the sun showed up.
But that’s all springs behind.
Yet there are times, there are times,
I get uneasy in the lamplight.
Before it’s even morning,
we make toward Vermont.
I’m couped in the backseat,
furthermore the northeast.
Like birds we sing of our old coats and rings,
when we were separate things.
Then to the third floor to rest our wings.
And the past dies off in the dark.
There are times, there are times,
I get uneasy in the lamplight.
I picture leavin',
but wake and haven’t yet.
Just now a song comes on I used to listen to out West.
Oh I’d play it like a candle lit,
not just to fill the air,
but to make it oh so sacred instead.
The memory is like a bulb bursting above my head.
Above my head.
There are times, these are times,
I am nearing toward the lamplight.
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6. |
Sun Hangs Low
03:45
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I speak in circles, you speak in metaphor.
It's never helped us before.
Rhyme with me, speak in time with me.
Maybe a truth will form.
Or go on and spit out a lie or two.
Wash it down with anything to keep you blue.
Don't let your sad side win so soon.
Don't let your sad said win so soon.
The sun hangs low,
leading to the darker half of day.
That means you're on your way
to make mistakes only night can forgive.
Live as you wanna live.
But don't you cry when the cold sets in.
Don't you cry when the cold sets in.
You wear the crowd as your coat to shield you from my cold,
only half the story's being told.
To friends to foes, to everyone we know,
you leave me so few spaces to go.
Where I can be and my past doesn't show.
Where I can be and my past doesn't show.
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7. |
Ballad From a Liar
03:08
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I get nervous in dreams,
men singing on window sills, cats talking to me,
I wake with strange beliefs.
Like a myth, at the bottom of the ocean,
it's a fool's swim,
I am seasick from the notion.
There's a truth in the back of my head,
I reach for it, it goes to bed.
Maybe I'm a liar trying to be righteous.
Maybe I don't believe in peace and quiet.
You are a saint, I work to make you crack,
to forgive myself for all I lack.
Like patience I bury by trees,
it's quiet and slow but it grows beside me.
When I'm done being stubborn and paranoid,
will you take me back, will you fill the void?
Maybe I'm a liar trying to be righteous.
Maybe I don't believe in peace and quiet.
What's all the fear of a good life made?
It's so easy to give, it's so hard to take.
One day I might ask you to move a thousand miles,
to face another sea, to feel the difference of a leave.
But we'll save it for one day, on a shelf of somedays,
lined with the china, we'll take it all down in time celebrate.
Maybe I'm a liar trying to be righteous.
Maybe I don't believe in peace and quiet.
Maybe you can make me start to like it.
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8. |
Before the New Year
03:19
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All my mistakes, I write and fold into paper planes.
And fly them away, 'til they land in the hands of
someone thinking they have caught a confession from an unknown name.
Isn't it the same as a letter of love written for your flame?
It's just a piece of heart from which it came,
carried on a plane.
Is it a time, where the selfish is stronger than the right?
Like a white moon shadowed by the shine of a star,
like a woman's mouth open wide, but you're eyein’ her chin's beauty mark.
Is it all that dark to believe regret can be kind?
If there were no plight, then what would be mind?
If not these scars, these beauty marks.
Here December lays as a mirror for what the year has made.
The globe's just parting with a phase,
where I lived those hundred hungry days,and those few full nights.
Is it all in spite of the starving of another man?
I'd fix it if I can, oh but these empty hands,
these hungry days.
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Robin Bacior Portland, Oregon
Robin Bacior is a multi-instrumentalist and songwriter. Her work has received praise from NPR’s All Songs Considered, Vh1,
MTV, NYLON, L Magazine, CBS, Mother Jones Magazine, among other media platforms.
She is the recipient of a Regional Arts and Culture Council Grant, a nominee for the Independent Music Awards, and a member of the Recording Academy.
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