Otherwise
by A.p. Harbor
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1. |
The Sailors (Otherwise)
03:23
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"Don't let the moon get you down."
"That peculiar moon just knows how to frown."
On their fingertips was secured a string,
so they didn't forget the fibs they'd foreseen.
The sailor was sinking, his words left unsaid.
He pleaded a promise, regrettably dead.
And yet, he had the most beautiful eyes.
We were the sailors, the sins of the sea.
By breath of the wind, we drifted away.
Hid our halos as midnight took flight,
but it fell from the sky.
My love, I believe you were a lie.
The sailors were swallowed in the maelstrom that night.
In these parts, you see, hurricanes aren't polite.
The ship then condemned, he whispered a lie,
said, "we are in love, and all will be fine."
He's too much of a coward to croon out his faith.
He's much too irate to believe in a fate.
That afterward calm harbored no hope,
for midnight was fancy that sank like a boat.
We were the sailors, the sins of the sea;
Men of shame is all we will be.
I prayed my moon would never let go,
but it fell from the sky.
My love, I believe you were a lie.
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2. |
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The foxes make coffee in the cool morning fog,
and the turtles turn their tails while you're busy sawing logs.
Say “hello!” to the green snakes when you meet them in your garden.
Sweet as peaches. They ain't too much a bother.
Time is a bumble bee. It flies and stings and it makes you sweet,
and in the hole of our guitars, we'll plant some sunflower seeds.
On Wednesdays, the fishermen will dream about the stars,
hooking bigger fish and hummingbirds with corncobs and jars.
Let's go up to the peach tree! Won't you come and meet me?
Let's go up to the peach tree tonight!
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3. |
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I can only write when it rains these days.
There are letters on the pages, but I don't know what they say.
Ballads tend to bloom in the dark of the mountains.
I can only write when it rains these days.
I can only dance by the light of the moon.
I can only sing to the weathervane on a gloomy afternoon.
I'll sprout fiction up like vines if a raincloud is my muse.
I can only write when it rains, it's true.
There's a quiet humility in confusing
my tears for the rain. It bemuses me
when a pretty script blossoms like carnations in the sky
and I look upon a dreary day with a poem in my eye.
I can only write when it rains these days.
I can only shine when the sun has gone away.
My words will bloom in time if they rest their weary eyes,
because I can only write when it rains these days.
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4. |
The Zoo (Otherwise)
03:08
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I want to go to the zoo.
That's what I've always wanted to do.
I want to go to the aquarium,
to see the fish swimming in the sun.
If I were a fish, it would go without saying,
I'd cover my bowl unless the big fish were paying.
I want to go to a greenhouse,
to see the trees and their leafy carouse.
If I were a tree, I would grow high and mighty
and tear holes in the ceiling if taken too lightly.
I want to go to the pet shop,
and buy a new friend for fifty cents off.
If I were a pet shop, I would sell all my friends,
and pay off my mortgage again and again.
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5. |
Wires Fray (Otherwise)
03:42
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Be wary of the wires, they said,
when you tiptoe on the surface.
It seemed to make them nervous
to rest their wings on an esoteric line.
A cabalistic cable,
independent of a fishing pole.
Couldn't strum it in a tune.
What the hell is the use?
I found myself where the birds were crowing.
High on the tightrope- balanced, posed in the camera flash on wires thin as eyelashes.
Don't fall. Don't fall.
Maybe someday when the wires fray, I'll have learned to fly and fly away.
Or maybe I'll get shocked,
but I won't fall. I won't fall.
Be wary of the wires, they said.
Some are inchworms, it's true.
Filaments can fill your ribs
with sustenance or bad news.
My younger years, uncharted,
chasing cables, softhearted.
Pecking crumbs like a histrionic pigeon.
Built a nest with antennae on it.
Now I’m older, none the wiser.
My wings are sewn with chicken wire.
They say power lines will start a fire.
Stop, drop, and roll.
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6. |
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To the ends of the Earth, I'll rove,
if that is where I'm meant to go,
for the tempest in ire does grow.
To the home that I will see no more,
I'll think of you through the frightening storm,
and when absence bites, will you keep me warm.
Goodbye my wild wind passing by.
In the roots, should you find
the language of time,
will you think of me for a while
when the wind blows through its branches?
Through the eyes of a mask, I see
beyond the cypress where the rivers reach,
and the old ones speak.
When I'm gone and the saplings rise,
and the figs all bloom and the branches twine,
will you dream of me sometimes?
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7. |
10 Watt Moon (Otherwise)
03:18
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When I stirred in the afterlight,
I found myself in the dusk, and I knew.
As the light ebbed out, I saw that broken bulb.
My heart did croon for the midnight moon.
The bad men had come so fast.
I should've waited up and stopped them myself.
Where a brilliant sphere once hung so high,
they replaced our muse with a 10 watt moon.
We woke up. It was very, very late.
He was gone so soon, he was gone too soon.
Had we known this would be his fate,
we wouldn’t have sold our tune to the 10 watt moon.
The weavers spin from nocturnal thread
a semblance of our familiar friend.
The astronomers have done us right,
sold us photographs of our former light.
The wisest advised us to persist.
“The 10 watt moon will help our eyes.”
But, I can’t see a damn thing in the dark.
I suppose that’s why I’m not wise.
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8. |
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credits
released March 1, 2024
Melissa Caskey - vocals
Andrew Preston - vocals, guitar, piano, ukuleles, accordion, keyboards, banjo, fiddle, harmonica, kalimba, mandolin
Photography by Cayden Fugate
Produced, mixed, and mastered by Andrew
Published Woodsheep Music (BMI)
Melissa Caskey - vocals
Andrew Preston - vocals, guitar, piano, ukuleles, accordion, keyboards, banjo, fiddle, harmonica, kalimba, mandolin
Photography by Cayden Fugate
Produced, mixed, and mastered by Andrew
Published Woodsheep Music (BMI)
license
all rights reserved
tags
discography
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Mar 2024 -
Dec 2023 -
Aug 2023 -
Jun 2023 -
Jan 2023 -
Apr 2022 -
Jul 2021 -
Jul 2021
contact / help
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