seed water sun - Side A

  artwork by Samantha Captain

Silence, silence, leaves drifting down to kiss the ground, branches naked now.

Silence, silence, wingbeats of chickadees , flirting through the trees.

I forgot again that this will change.

Snowflake, snowflakes, first two dancing down, they call their friends to play.

Snowflake, snowflakes, laying down a blanket, not a sound not a sound.

I forgot again that this will change. A moment now is gone.

Flowers, flowers, fragile stems of violets  sprouting from the mud.

Flowers, flowers, tiny leaves the sun she teases fleetingly.

I forgot again that this will change. A moment now is gone. Whether held too tight… 

Singing, singing, one lone bird a morning song to greet the sun.

Singing, singing, a symphony of insect song lulled to sleep.

I forgot again that this will change. A moment now is gone. Whether held too tight or too much to bear.

A moment now is gone.

About this song

The album begins in nature, from a place of solace, connection, and peacefulness. How do you give voice to the silence of the fall forest, the playfulness of the first snow storm of winter, the bold resilience of a violet opening in early spring, the community chorus of a meadow on a warm summer evening? 

  artwork by Samantha Captain

The rage it washes over me with nowhere else to go.

To right the wrongs so many wrongs a country ripped in two.

Tonight, the crazies grab for power to burn and not to build.

You rip the TV off the wall and throw it down the stairs.

Did we forget to blame the germ that took 6 million lives?

Did we forget that we’re not built to be alone inside?

I guess the gift of growing old is you start to see the patterns.

The propaganda spin machines that prop up men in power.

When they see the righteous path but turn the other way.

The mantle seize, the big trucks roll and then it’s just too late.

Did we forget to circle up, to hold a hand, to bow our heads.

To feel that loss and share a cry. To hold a friend, to mourn til morn.

We’re all standing - on our own. Don’t recognize the country - we call our home.

It’s time for work now – stone by stone. To put it back – together.

That guy downtown in a jacked-up truck with a flag and a gun.

We sent him to Afghanistan when he was much too young.

He’s just as lost as we are with trauma in his dreams.

There’s only two ways out of this. There’s only two ways out…

Did we forget to thank a Veteran, and honor those they left behind.

Did we forget who the enemy was? I’m not your enemy.

We’re all standing - on our own. Don’t recognize the country - we call our home.

It’s time for work now – stone by stone. To put it back – together.

Did we forget to circle up, to hold a hand, to bow our heads.

To feel that loss and share a cry. To hold a friend, to mourn til morn.

About this song

Is there a polar opposite to a political song? Our global community is emerging from the double blow of the pandemic and the crippling isolation that accompanied the virus. In a time when we desperately needed to come together, remember, mourn, and once again gain our footing to move forward – many of our political leaders chose the path of sweeping the deaths of 7 million people under the rug, manufacturing new divisive narratives, and polarizing our nation as well as many around the world with self-serving propaganda. The result is a third blow of trauma and deferment of desperately needed healing. This song is a plea to halt the politics that leave us raw and that threaten to rip us apart. Instead, we need the space to mourn, to reconnect with our communities, and to put our fragile society back together.

 artwork by Samantha Captain

Do you remember how you used to be?

All sunshine and light. Dreams big as can be.

That’s all still in there. Crushed down like a seed.

For you to decide, when it’s your time, when you’ve given enough, to everyone else.

Bloom now sweet flower. Face to the sun.

Roots deep in the dirt. Seeds blown to the wind.

I still remember how you came to be.

A rip in the cosmos. Love deep as the sea.

That’s all still in there. A gift that’s from me.

For you to decide, when it’s your time, when you’ve given enough, to everyone else.

Burn now sweet fire. Draw breath from the wind.

Courage won’t fail you now. You know it’s your time.

That first night of your life, you were so tiny. You held on to my hand with a grip so tight little one. Eyes wide and cheeks so big as you took in the world and the people around you.

You climbed up the couch and fell on your head. Bled on my work shirt a trip to the hospital, little one, and you stood so brave as they stitched you on up wrapped up in a sheet.

You took your first step and you never looked back. Running through the woods and jumping off everything high, little one, then you ran back to me and you asked to be held with your cheek in my eye.

Bloom now sweet flower. Face to the sun.

Roots deep in the dirt. Draw breath from the wind.

About this song  

If you have kids, you understand - If you are somebody’s kid, you remember. When we look deep down inside, past all the doubts and fears, there is a seed planted and nourished by those that loved us most. That is the source of our power, our grace, and our resilience.

artwork by Samantha Captain

You shouldn’t have done that. You were older - you were smarter .

No you shouldn’t have done that. You were trusted - you knew better.

Left screaming in the wind - for the shame you left me.

The nerve to show up at their funeral. Glass eyed boys in a casket line - clenched fists and rage.

A fumbled feeble apology - but you’re not allowed to talk to me.

Left screaming in the wind - for the shame you left me.

It’s not safe to feel this now, stuff it down, stuff it down.

Too tangled up to see it clear, stuff it down, stuff it down.

Marked at too young an age, stuff it down, stuff it down.

Nice man says it’s not your fault - eyes to the wall don’t trust you now.

It’s not safe to feel this now. We were only boys.

Today we burn in effigy. Sprinkled ashes on the sea.

For all the kids and not just me - resilient now not damaged.

Left screaming in the wind - for the shame has left us. It’s left us.

About this song

This is a hard song. It gives voice to my own sexual abuse as a child and feelings that are all to common - deeply buried in many of us. Sadly, we share this burden with millions of others. 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 13 boys in the US experience sexual abuse. Beyond the dark chords and rage, this is a song of hope. Though it may be the hardest thing we ever do, we can bravely face our pasts, we can heal, we can survive. And with some help, we can travel back and pick up the pieces, and re-forge our trauma into resilience.

photo by Markus Belanger

A whisper a caress and a kiss on the wind.

She wants you to be brave now but if not, that’s ok.

Remembering the mornings in the desert with the flowers,

When you painted lines between the night time and the light.

And she was always with you, joyful noise to match your silence.

Only memories are left now, tended like a garden.

The movie people called  they said they want to buy your story. 

And you told them all to f*** off as you donned that old brown sweater,

threadbare wool the one she gave ya, on the night you came home from the war.

She thinks about you now from her apartment above Ru Saint Rustique.

Cafés know her when they see her. They always know her orders.

But its only you who remember how she sings in the morning,

as she dries her hair her eyes alive and she tells you that old story.

The one where the dragon is understood by no man.

He didn’t mean to do it and he didn’t mean to run.

The high-pitched noise the crushing down, tunnel vision and then nothing

Trying hard to hold together as you donned that old brown sweater,

threadbare wool the one she gave ya, on the night you came home from the war.

And this is your home now, you’re the hermit in the maples.

You hold your hard earned habits, hauling wood in for the winter.

Dog eared transcendentalists keep good company in the evenings.

There’s a hard earned peace about you stitched together from old fabric,

from the dresses that she wore thin, her hopeful endless chatter,

of how we’re going to change the world and make the system better.

Red winged blackbirds coming north singing warmer days ahead.

Sunrise drifting left as you donned that old brown sweater,

threadbare wool the one she gave ya, on the day she came home from the war.

About this song

Sometimes stories just arrive and want to be told. This hermit is looking back at a life well spent, at a love well loved, and a war left behind. There is no loneliness here, just abundance of well-earned experience mixed together with the transcendent consolation of nature.