1. |
When We Go
04:05
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No, we can’t take that old letter from our first lover.
No, we can’t take anything unto that Some Great Other.
Every lone sock and every diamond – we can’t prove it, ‘cause everybody knows:
If it’s not love we can’t take it when we go.
But we can take our ex-wives’ laughs, and our mothers’ worry lines.
We can take all that which we gave to those of whom we had to help,
And of whom that taught us most:
That if it’s not love we can’t take it when we go.
No, we can’t take it when we go, when we go, wherever we go.
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go
To that place where moth nor rust cannot touch us past this dust –
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go.
And all our prizes and impulse buys: they will be fast appraised,
And into one bargain bin they’ll be casually thrown.
Until what’s favoured and/or forgotten
Will delicately be told: “if you’re not love, kid, we can’t take ya when we go.”
No, we can’t take it when we go, when we go, wherever we go.
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go
To that place where moth nor rust cannot touch us past this dust –
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go.
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2. |
What's Within Us
06:54
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We are the artists sweeping the floors.
We are the poets sending out the spam.
We’re the prophets doing all the dishes.
We are the misemployed and we’re working for the man.
We are the bad backs doing all the heavy lifting,
The children mentoring the elders.
We’re the engineers wearing the nametags
And we are soldiers trained as welders.
We’re fishermen on the tar sands,
The night shift dragging into day.
We are the millwrights doing telemarketing
In a call centre still called Thunder Bay,
In a call centre still called Thunder Bay.
And if we keep what’s within us,
If we keep what’s within us,
What’s within us will kill us;
But if we give what’s within us,
Ah, if we give what’s within us,
What’s within us will save us.
We were nurses back home in Kingston, Jamaica –
We’re cleaning ladies in Toronto tonight.
We’re the single moms shopping at Walmart –
We can’t afford the luxury to do what’s right.
We’re pitchers at bat, goons on the power play,
We’re the fans that can’t afford a seat.
We are the dieticians serving up the all-day breakfast
And the vegans that are hanging up the near dead meat.
We’re lawyers but we are in business.
Yes, we’re corporate but we are “individuals” by law.
We’re the babysitters that are raising our kids
And we’re free to vote to be enslaved by it all,
Yes, we are free to vote to be enslaved by it all.
And if we keep what’s within us,
If we keep what’s within us,
What’s within us will kill us;
But if we give what’s within us,
Ah, if we give what’s within us,
What’s within us will save us.
And we’re the actors teaching our kids at school.
We are the dancers waiting on the tables.
We’re the new and well-lettered illiterate
And we’re looking for a parking spot for the spiritually disabled.
We’re the service charge that used to be interest;
Yes, we’re the grifters that are managing the banks.
And we’re the academics hooking up the draught tanks;
We are your hosts here: “We appreciate your business, thanks!”
We are the shamans preaching the Gospel,
We’re the Christians arming for war.
We are the men, the women, the first children
Living at the end of metaphor.
We’re administrators in the pulpits;
Decisively agnostic in the pews.
We’re the journalists working at The Second Cup.
And we’re the statisticians reading us the news.
We are the profs but the students have fled
For safer space – no conflicts –
Like Instagram where they’ll be calling us out
With all the power and prestige of identity politics.
We’re farmers building the suburbs,
Enumerators telling us the hard truths.
We’re the contractors drawing up the town plans.
We’re the shy girls tonguing in the kissing booths.
We’re the plumbers getting rid of the knob and tube.
We’re wannabe models showing us our new homes.
We’re MBA CAs, minimum wage BAs
And we’re “team building” but we’re all alone.
We are historians at the front desk.
We’re the social workers counting up the till.
And we’re the crane operator with the English degree
And we know we got a book or two in us still.
We’re the copywriters doing the curating.
We are the doctors driving the cabs.
We are the specialists and we’re trying to change a tire.
We’re your union delegates working as scabs.
We’re anaesthetists but we’re faith healing.
We’re sportscasters with political views.
We’re the snake handlers advising elites -
We do that downtown voodoo on the dollar for you.
We are retired but we are still working.
Yes, we’re linguists teaching business-speak.
We’re the bards eulogizing Tradition –
O, the time is up for you, easy irony.
Let’s bring on a brand new shared suffering!
Bring on a brand new something heavy!
“Bring on the brand new renaissance,” Gord,
‘Cause we know we’re ready.
Yeah, ‘cause we know we’re ready.
And if we keep what’s within us,
If we keep what’s within us,
What’s within us will kill us;
But if we give what’s within us,
Ah, if we give what’s within us,
What’s within us will save us.
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3. |
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How can we hear the reel and the raga?
How can we hear the dirge and lament?
And how can we hear the blue note rebelling?
And how can we hear the forced cadence?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times.
How can we hear the umlaut and the accent?
How can we hear the unstressed vowel?
And how can we hear the sibilance and plosive?
And how can we hear the voiceless howl?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times.
The crying of the times,
The crying of the times.
How can we hear the stories of people,
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times?
And how can we hear the God song of humpbacks?
How can we hear the Igloolik ping?
And how can we hear the bow shock of Jupiter?
And how can we hear Saturn’s rings?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times.
The crying of the times,
The crying of the times.
How can we hear the stories of people,
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times.
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times.
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4. |
In the Alleys
03:07
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Where she counts her tips and gets a cigarette.
Where he finds the cans and bottles the night left.
Yes, there will always be despair; there’ll always be a doubt
But in the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Yes, in the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Where he stops to bum a smoke and then a light.
Where she finds the time to hope her kid’s all right.
And there will always be a sadness; life will leave a bruise
But in the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Yes, in the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Tomorrow’s sun will light the sky
Under which this world will lie again to you,
But in the alleys and in love,
In the alleys and in love,
In the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Where the secret and the sacred still collide,
Where all stumbling and grace and trust abide.
Yes, there will always be facades down all our avenues
But in the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Yes, in the alleys and in love,
In the alleys and in love,
In the alleys and in love there is the truth.
In the alleys and in love there is the truth.
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5. |
Small
03:41
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My name’s Jamie, I’m a pretty good guy.
Y’ask me “how I’m doin’’ I’ll tell you “I’m doin’ alright.”
I got a job but I don’t like to go.
I don’t tell you nothin’ you don’t know.
And yes I wanted to be an astronaut,
I wanna do everything that I have not,
And I wish I could see how small we really are.
Yes, and I used to love her, I used to let her know
But I guess I let it slide a couple years ago.
Now it feels like we’re livin’ in a ring;
We fight about just about everything.
O, and if I was an astronaut –
Me and the problems that I got –
I could see how small we really are.
How small we are.
How small and hardly at all we are.
How small we are.
How small and not really at all we are.
And if I was an astronaut –
Me and the problems that I got –
I could see how small we really are.
How small we are.
How small we are.
We got a son in the middle and he just turned four –
He’s the only reason that we’re not divorced.
One night he asked, why a couch was a bed?
So I sat him down and I said:
I said, “kid, if you were an astronaut,
You could see what I cannot
‘Cause you could see how small we really are.”
How small we are.
How small and hardly at all we are.
How small we are.
How small and not really at all we are.
And if I was an astronaut –
Me and the problems that I got –
I could see how small we really are.
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6. |
There Is Only Love
03:41
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We are the earth and we are its oil.
We are seeds; we are gifts to the soil.
We are hope’s blood and bone that we’re never alone –
That is to say, there is only love.
We are the air that sings through the trees.
We are each other and we are on our knees.
We are the mystery and the wind in all beauty and suffering –
That is to say, there is only love,
That is to say, there is only love.
We are fire and sometimes we are light;
We are passions that sometimes are right.
We are brick, we are mortar, we’ll be ashes tomorrow –
That is to say, there is only love,
That is to say, there is only love.
We are water and we are the rain.
We can know by only what we can name.
We are salt, we are cane, and we’re never the same –
That is to say, there is only love,
That is to say, there is only love,
That is to say, that there is only love.
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7. |
War Resister
03:37
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Was born, Jeremy Hinzman, Rapid City –
South Dakota, I still miss you.
Bought war cards as a kid.
Never knew mom or why she did what she did.
I went to Fort Bragg, Benning, too –
Yeah, we don’t know why we do what we do –
It’s just: “breathe, trigger, squeeze.”
And I was trained to kill – “Kill we will,
In the 82nd Airborne we exceed the
Standard...” (of soldiering) –
And my hands they’d shake with adrenaline.
We’d shoot at circles until they grew legs,
Six weeks later we’d be shooting at men –
Just: “breathe, trigger, squeeze.”
I could shoot thirty six out of forty.
O but I’m not studying war no more,
No, I’m not going back to Rapid City.
We left Anzio base housing
With the dishes in the sink, Nga and Liam.
I’m a bike courier in Toronto now,
I got a secret that I can’t tell.
My conscience is making me a criminal.
And my hands, they shake with the Peridol.
I asked Allah and I asked God’s Son:
“What’s freedom worth if it’s bought with a gun?”
And: “breathe, trigger, squeeze,”
A voice inside of me
Said, “I’m not studying war no more
No, I’m not going back to Rapid City.”
Was born, Jeremy Hinzman, Rapid City.
South Dakota, I still miss you.
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8. |
Safer Days
04:10
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I was last seen at The Cecil dancing with an Indian girl
Down at the corner of 4th Avenue and the end of the earth.
It was built in 1911 for transients and working men
Who rode the western rail to the East Village Station.
And may we hope for better, may we always work and play.
And may we meet again in safer days.
These brick and sandstone draught rooms scar all south parts of every town;
Where Italian shoes and the Kodiac boots trip over the same ground.
And as inside all churches a moral code will rule.
He said, “I’m good with faces, kid”– and then he followed me into the men’s room.
And may we hope for better, may we always work and play.
And may we meet again in safer days.
And if we’re young in this life may we never fear a chance
And should we learn a better age may we learn vigilance.
And may we hope for better, may we always work and play.
And may we meet again in safer days.
I was last seen at The Cecil dancing with an Indian girl.
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9. |
High Five
02:59
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One morning I was out with my dog, Job, walking the Martin Goodman Trail.
The waves, the wind, the monarchs, the spandex running high;
Ah, beauty, yer eternally new every time – all else dies.
An older Mediterranean skinned man with an interesting face,
In anticipation of our approach, raised his right hand,
And intuitively we high-fived, high-fived.
High five.
High five.
We’ve been randomly high-fiving each other now for a decade.
I’ve not yet heard the tone of his voice or the accent of his speech.
Nor have I ever come up with a better justification of God.
High five.
High five.
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10. |
When We Go Reprise
02:44
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Jon Brooks Toronto, Ontario
Jon Brooks’ music is polyphonic in sound, word, and influence. His performances are emotionally intense raids on the inexplicable human heart. Brooks’ 7 albums are thematic obsessions over paradox, love, fear, religion, war, PTSD, technology, grief, animal justice, murder, ecology, esoteria, and the stars - his essential message: you are loved. ... more
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