Get all 14 David P. Smith releases available on Bandcamp and save 50%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of The Piece, Revolution #2, Christmas Blues (New Blues #11), revolution #1, New Blues, Sack Flap, Grampa Big Balls - Hairy Heart, The Euphorians, and 6 more.
1. |
Daily Agenda
04:15
|
|||
The sun comes up the sun goes down
the world spins round and round and round
I get up in the morning get out of bed
rub my eyes and scratch my head
pull on my pants button up my shirt
drink a cup of coffee and go to work
I do the things that are the things that have to be done
and then I go home and down goes the sun
The sun goes down here comes the night
I go to bed and hold my darling tight
I dream I'm crowned the Fool of the Town
dogs are barking birds are flapping round
a fat black fly's lazy buzz
rattles the shutters of my unconsciousness
And I get up in the morning get out of bed
rub my eyes and scratch my head
pull on my pants button up my shirt
drink a cup of coffee and go to work
I don't get too low I don't get too high
sometimes I laugh but I almost never cry
at the end of the day I say good-bye
The sun goes down here comes the night
I go to bed and hold my darling tight
I dream the sky falls down to the ground
and it's so thick you cut it with a knife
to walk five miles takes your whole life
The sun comes up the sun goes down
the world spins round and round and round
and round and round and round
and round
|
||||
2. |
||||
My hands appear melted to the steering wheel
as morning sun angles through the windshield
driving to work down Bay Street
and the rain-soaked air smells so sweet
I feel like I might puke
Must be some kind of gag reflex
but it's no joke my friends
Events compress
days stampede by
destroying everything in their path
The question ain't is the cup half full or half empty
when rivers of blood erupt from the plasma TV
and Jesus is shivering in the icebox
he's crouching there turning blue
you don't know what to do
his robes are smelling funky
he's chattering like a rhesus monkey
who just came back on a satellite from Mars
You dug the pit you wallow in
you shit the shit you're swallowing
if your days have a hollow ring
ask yourself who constructed them
The weeping woman in the sky blue tracksuit
strides purposefully without purpose
past crappy boutiques shoppers pharmacy
circuit city the house of knives
people leave a trail of sadness
like a slug leaves its slime
Complicated people with their complicated lives
complicated people with their complicated lives
complicated people with their complicated lives
And it's kind of like a Roger Miller song
nothing wacky one of the serious ones
only much much sadder and a whole lot less beautiful
It's kind of like a Roger Miller song
nothing wacky one of the serious ones
only much much sadder and a whole lot less beautiful
yes it's much much sadder and a whole lot less beautiful
|
||||
3. |
Liquor Soaked Road
04:30
|
|||
When you're a lifeless old toad
the romance of the liquor-soaked road
will start to become quite faded
When your sick tired soul
oh so deformed and so old
has gone way past the point of being jaded
Then the half remembered nights
drunken argument and fights
maudlin sentiment
so-called friends that came and went
things you said but never meant
will come raining like hail upon your memory
CHORUS
And there ain't no lie any thicker
than the one about the romance of liquor
and there ain't no road to ruin any quicker
than one of inebriation
darkness and degradation
one paved with sorrow
one they call the liquor soaked road
There will be nobody grieving
won't matter what you do or don't believe in
at the end of your dark drunken trail
There will be no church bells ringing
won't be no angel choirs singing
when your life light flickers and fails.
And all the people you let down
with your drunken running around
every lie that you told
to weasel one more for the road
every bottle you drank
'til you were pissed and you stank
will come raining like hail upon your memory
CHORUS
|
||||
4. |
Rotten Old World
05:32
|
|||
I come from the land where the cotton wool sky
meets the bristling trees
Where the morning sun is a rising rocket
then plummets like a comet into twilight's inferno
Where our dreams swim and squirm in the night's thick ink
like blind black eels gnashing their silver teeth
The stumbling bumbling mumbling drunken cowboy
waves his willow wisp fist at the moon
His untanned arm a pale incoherent antennae
It's like waving the remote at a big round yellow TV
When this rotten old world has got you in a rage
When this rotten old world has got you in a rage
|
||||
5. |
Ghost
04:31
|
|||
I'm a ghost
I'm a ghost
I'm an old old bone
And I'm floating in the seas
of forgotten memories
Where I go down
I go down
but I never ever drown
I'm a ghost
I'm a ghost
I'm an old old bone
I'm a ghost
I'm a ghost
Nobody can see me
as I move through the room
most invisibly
And all the little boys
and all the little girls
will never walk in my world
I'm a ghost
I'm a ghost
I'm an old old bone
Instrumental
I'm a ghost
I'm a ghost
I'm an old old bone
And I'm floating in the seas
of my bloated memories
Where I go down
I go down
but I never ever drown
I'm a ghost
I'm a ghost
I'm an old old bone
|
||||
6. |
Random Rules
04:23
|
|||
7. |
Songs We Sing
06:51
|
|||
If the songs that we sing
all blow away in the wind
if our tongues lie on our teeth
heaving like great dying beasts
Drawing their last breath
while the wind smells like Death
The wind that blows from our lungs
the wind from the songs we have sung
the songs we have sung
If the songs that we sing
all blow away in the wind
If our tongues lie on our teeth
silent
like great dying beasts
Then we’ll hobble through the streets
on stumps not feet
and our poor sad ears
will no longer hear
And our eyeballs will hang
on muscular stands
from empty sockets
dangling like lockets
The blood and the bombs
must not defeat
The poems and the songs
must not defeat
Nor shatter our hearts
must not defeat
Our battered hearts
You see
Men drunk with power
find the vomit is sour
on the morning of their reckoning
when Death’s icy finger is beckoning
And so we must sing
We must let our voices ring
In this darkest hour
We will find the power
The blood and the bombs
must not defeat
The poems and the songs
must not defeat
Nor shatter our hearts
must not defeat
Our battered hearts
must not defeat
And so we must sing
must not defeat
We must let our voices ring
must not defeat
In this darkest hour
must not defeat
We will find the power
We will find the power
We will find the power
|
||||
8. |
David P. Smith Victoria, British Columbia
David P. Smith is a songwriter accordionist and multidisciplinary artist who in the past 18 years has released six full length recordings, numerous ep’s, and led a variety of musical projects that have consistently defied convenient genre classifications. ... more
Streaming and Download help
If you like David P. Smith, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp