1. |
Train Dreams
05:20
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Back again in College Lane in the rain
where you would mistake honesty for truth.
And it feels like an afternoon to forget.
You can just make it out in the endless gloom,
I don't know what it is, it's got a grip on me.
Vain gestures echo in memory's grove
like a record stuck in a locked groove.
Why not spend afternoons in imaginary pubs?
What difference is eternal truth in an ocean of time?
And it feels an afternoon to regret.
You can just make it out in the endless gloom,
I don't know what it is, it's got a grip on me.
Vain gestures echo in memory's grove
like a record stuck in a locked groove.
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2. |
Pseudoreality Prevails
04:15
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The ivy overtaking walls and balconies,
a view from a moving train
and ghostly towns pass in the night a starlit blur,
untaken avenues and pathways
and there was once a time when I all I had to do
was to sit back and to watch the world
but the heart is an autumn wanderer depending who you are
or depending who you think you are.
And I am a face in the rain,
I am November Street,
I am a face in rain,
I am November Street.
And there is nothing here beyond a shop over the hill
and the sky darkens and the rain falls
and the whole afternoon is still alive somehow,
in a way I think I'm still there.
And I am a face in the rain,
I am November Street,
I am a face in rain,
I am November Street.
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3. |
Ithaca
05:09
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Well I'm only 25
(you're not fooling anyone)
but I remember it must be true
(the past is illusory)
every street had a hidden pub
(I remember it must be true)
as if desire could be fulfilled
(you're not fooling anyone)
I'm ready, now I'm so happy I've found you
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4. |
Apophenia
05:25
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In a blend of voices a stranger becomes
stranger still in a familiar town,
a forgotten memory, I'm almosting it,
a glimpsed existence, a state of grace.
And the river flows through a town we know
as if it meant something, all love, all beauty.
Past the station, lit like a dream,
the train below leads to decades ago.
Expose desire's rich radius
on a blank background. Days fall away.
And the river flows through a town we know
as if it meant something, all love, all beauty.
And it feels like a dream,
the rain became me (the wren in the rain)
and it feels like a long walk home
and it feels like a long walk home
and it feels so unending
or it feels like an ending.
Why must time expand and contract?
This photo has become five years old.
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