Imagined Geography 5: Vienna Song

this is Vienna

beneath this dome

under the car park

this is my home

hopping the turnstiles

dodging the landlord

looking for something

hidden here before

under Vienna

city in ruins

city of ghosts

all up in smoke

you take the fast train

nightime from Linz

something seen once

never seen since

not since Vienna

dispossessed

[[ An ambiguous song about an ambiguous persona imagining a home he (could be she) used to know. Someone else is in the home now. A feeling of dispossession, real or imagined, some sort of revenge planned or fantasized. Fire and smoke imagery, maybe imagining the old chimney smoking, maybe imagining arson, maybe just a crazy phone call, maybe all in his head. The old phone is there for strangeness and to evoke an old time, dialing the number like a secret combination on a safe, with the phone's "cradle" doing double duty for imagery. Senses (taste and smell, fingers, warming, creaking) to introduce an uneasy nearness. And is he thinking of someone else (an invader? just a new owner) in his old home -- or is that "someone" just the persona sneaking back and creepily intruding in (calling on) his old home? It's coming from inside the house! Or not. ]]

smoke will be coiling

over our old home

sparks will be floating

floating on air

someone feels like he belongs now

in our old home

someone tastes the fruit still growing

in our garden

someone smells the flowers planted

by our mother

smoke will be coiling

over our old home

sparks will be floating

floating on air

someone opens creaking cupboards

in our kitchen

someone warms his chilly fingers

round our fire

someone feels like he belongs now

in our old home

now I am calling

dialing the rotary

my combination

into the past

lift the receiver

out of the cradle

lift the receiver

out of the past

fire will be burning

up through the blue air

sparks will be floating

floating on air

summer is the season of fire

[[ summer wildfires ]]

someone set this mountain on fire

while we were sleeping 

coming back by daylight, you feel

the flame still creeping

this is where our home used to be

now all that's standing

is you and me

you see it on the horizon

you think there's plenty of time

and then the devil comes 

walking [[ two syllables to sound like a siren ]]

up your[[ two syllables to sound like a siren ]] 

street one [[ two syllables to sound like a siren ]]

house at a time

someone burned this valley down

while we were dreaming

you hear the roofs fall in on themselves

and horses screaming

this is where our home used to be

now the smoke's rolling

down to the sea

I think I heard somebody 

praying in the smoke 

to Santa Ana.

home by night

[[ A pretty regular song about lovers, one driving home to the other because they can't wait to see each other, but maybe some minor ambiguity about lunar madness and whether the wolf is any potential unknown enemy of the two lovers, or the wolf is the lover racing to get the lover at home, or the wolf is the lover waiting at home in bed like the wolf waited for Red Riding Hood. What big ears you have! ]]

nothing more peaceful than 

home by night

sensible people are 

home by night

home before wolves 

stumble out of the wood

home before wolves 

tumble Red Riding Hood

Wait for me there

on the edge of the bed

I'm halfway there in my head

Put on some music, 

my favorite tune

I'm driving under the moon

picture you sitting there  

home by night

combing your shining hair

home by night

safe from the wolves 

roaming out of doors

safe from the wolves 

of the metaphors

Wait for me there

on the edge of the bed

I'm halfway there in my head

Put on some music, 

my favorite tune

I'm driving under the moon

the wind blowing through

The wind blowing through
this house is the same wind
east wind, east wind,
always blowing through.

The walls holding up
this house are the same
but it's been through some times
and the names have all changed

And the wind blowing through
this house is the same wind
east wind, east wind,
always blowing through.

The glass in these windows
has been in the street
shards in the garden
still under our feet

And the wind blowing through
this house is the same wind
east wind, east wind,
always blowing through.

hot war
cold war
you hear the drumming
hot war
cold war
a different war coming

the noon office

[[ how days pass ]]

It's not so awful,
this office glass,
these window shades,
each slice of light
across my face.

At noon with tea
I look across:
another building,
another looking glass
ten stories high,
half an hour long,
thirty minutes,
one thousand
eight hundred
seconds, to stand
at this window
to settle my mind.

We learn to catch
it in the glass:
A cloud, a cloud,
a cloud, a cloud,
another cloud.
A cloud, a cloud,
a cloud,
the track of sun.
And day is done.

At night I am
a tattooed cannibal.
At night I am
engraved.
At night I am
the pinpoint voice
between my ears.

And then we are
a binary star.

certain situations

you find yourself	you have yourself	you find yourself	you make yourself
some mornings	a couple	afternoons	say something
in the kitchen	eggs and bacon	elbow to elbow	promise progress
watching someone	mumble something	with working people	to a  roomful
you don't know	go to work	you don't know	of unknowns

and where do you drive to now? 

you can't go home

it is not home

the quiet crawls the length of your back

you cannot work

it is not work

the seasons roll past airtight windows

you want to fill your pockets
with the pebbles of the beach
and measure out the pier

and one step more

it's dark down there

it's deep enough
to do the job
just long enough

migrant blues

the country we grew up in

does not exist anymore

the country we grew up in

does not exist anymore

the home that we were born in - 

had strange men kicking at the door

we have seen the people vanish

we have seen the people die

we have seen the people vanish

we have seen the people die

we have nothing left to stay for

and the tide is rolling high  

one more for the boat, sir

one more for the sea,

one more for the boat, sir

one more for the sea,

one more for the wind, sir

one more 

for life 

in a new country

is there room for my child, sir?

is there room enough for me?

is there room for my child, sir?

is there room enough for me?

one more for the wind, sir

one more 

for life 

in a new country

Hold on to your children

Hold on to your skin

Hold on to your children

Hold on to your skin

For a fistful of money

Somebody will always take you in

We may die on the water

We may die in the dark

We may die on the water

We may die in the dark

Our graves may be the open sea

Or a truck in an empty car park

This highway

1st gear:
This highway snakes
through dark and day
before heading to town.

Look in its eyes,
you forget your way,
where you were going.

2nd gear:

Some towns, this highway
runs right through and cuts them in half.

Some towns, this highway
abandons and leaves them to wither.

How would you rather die?
Split down the middle?
Or missed all together?

3rd gear:
This town, the highway
just rolled over smooth.

This town isn't even
a sign in the wilderness anymore.

This town, the highway
punched a hole through and let out all the air.

4th gear:

This town, it tunnels under
This town, it wraps around
It squeezes the last living breath right out of this town

2nd gear:

Some towns...

1st gear:

This highway snakes...

[[ instrumental up to... ]]

5th gear:

Check your mirror:
the highway you follow
follows you.

[[ New highways kill a town two ways -- they run right through it and take everything away, or they go around it so no one ever bothers driving through that town anymore. Either way, the town dies. ]]