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Songs for the Forgotten Future Vol. 2

by Piñataland

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1.
Ashland 04:41
I'm following the river Over dark and bloody ground Past the white-haired colonels And ancient Indian mounds I have no traveling companion Just the voice of Charles Manson Singing "forever" on the radio and I do believe I'll make it to Ashland Naomi Judd is on the phone She's askin' what I'll want to eat And if I'll find those bones That sleep beneath her quiet streets My traveling companions Are whistling through the canyons And Henry Clay on the radio Sings "no North, no South, no East, no West In Ashland In Ashland In this chosen land In this promised land Our traveling companions Are the ghosts we've abandoned We listen for their secrets on the radio And I do believe we'll find them In Ashland
2.
It’s a beautiful world outside the factory doors Over by the falls there are rough spots that we love But in the forest garden by the cedars of Lebanon You comb this wilderness for the tools of the entrepreneur For the man of leisure For the poet and the painter Smooth out the edges with the civilizing hand of art But I’ve got a plan to make my art here Watch me fall into the water I want to jump from the cliffs of Jersey Some things can be done as well as others It’s a beautiful world full of roots and tangles We could all get drunk on the overgrown scenery You’ve made your point with your taste and progress But the scene of science don’t mean nothing to me But I’ve got a plan to make my art here Watch me fall into the water I want to jump from the cliffs of Jersey Some things can be done as well as others But I’ve got a plan to make my art here Watch me fall just like an arrow I want to jump into the chasms of Jersey Some things can be done as well as others
3.
We’re selling off Glen Ada by the pound Moving west to Watertown to die in South Dakota Fleeing from the Barnum side I watch the Mississippi flow. That river that I know so well I thought it saved me ‘cause it carried me so far Through my designs the river unwinds The crank turns as lines form outside There’s no time to lose so the show moves to Boston And then New York is mine And you wouldn’t think to stop here You’d probably be inclined to carry on with so many miles to cover So many miles to cover When just a three mile painting can show 3000 of the mighty Mississip Pay no attention to the others. You pay no attention to the others But that is not enough for me My river flows across the sea I meet with Queen Victoria. London and Paris adore me And still the audience wants more. There’s imitations by the score But none of them can touch my paintings of these shores Through my designs the river unwinds The crank turns as I play the guide And now I’ve toured the world Sketched the Nile and Palestine And the ol’ Mississp’s brung a million to me And you wouldn’t think to stop here You’d probably be inclined to carry on with so many miles to cover So many miles to cover When just a three mile painting can show 3000 of the mighty Mississip Pay no attention to the others. You pay no attention to the others But my museum can’t survive a war that’s waged with ads that lie That bastard Barnum touts his fakes as artifacts And all of the sudden I am poor. Investors pounding at my door The Broadway drags me down and then it’s time to pack And you wouldn’t think to stop here You’d probably be inclined to carry on with so many miles to cover So many miles to cover When just a three mile painting can show 3000 of the mighty Mississip Pay no attention to the others. You pay no attention to the others
4.
She does not know the life she made She did not see it when it moved She lies there spent and disarrayed And the New Mary falls asleep And dreams the world has been remade She dreams that all around us Heaven’s last great gift to mankind It has a soul that you can see It brings us peace when things are wrong It gives us suffrage, grace and rights It grinds its gears and war is gone It shows us there’s a world beyond The air is filled with voices We can prove it with heaven’s last great gift to mankind We walk along We never know they’re trying to tell us something Though we think that we are all along They’re trying to tell us something now But the New Mary cannot stay She feels her body start to wake And the voices filled with love Fade away and get replaced She tries to hold on to the dream But she hears shouting, breaking A soul escaping As we smash heaven’s last great gift to mankind We’ll never know We’ll never see They’re trying to tell us something Every second, every minute, every hour, every day They’re trying to tell us something Though we think that we are all alone They’re trying to tell us something Bring us to a world we’ve never known They’re trying to tell us something Heaven’s last great gift to mankind Circuitry of God to help us all connect the spirit world Goodbye to all the lives we lost, the votes, we want the world to hear us Now we’ll never know, we’ll never know They’re trying to tell us something now
5.
Earlier that morning I had a fever dream Ronnie was just standin’ there sayin’ things aren’t what they seem Not what they seem, boy Not what they seem So Ronnie grabbed the steering wheel and pointed us due West We left that motel far behind, hearts beatin’ in our chests We were blessed We are blessed The tears from days ago, just a memory to me now The sky is blue the highway wide And God above he moves in such mysterious ways I know that now Yeah I know that now Playin’ cards in Vegas, the dealer knows my hand Those hearts are gonna take me All the way to the promised land The promised land, boys The promised land And when a woman’s lies betray you And darkness fills your life I saw the light of the Lord on the edge of a knife And the angel Maroni Has shown himself to me In that hour of desperation The truth did set me free Set me free, boy Set me free Set me free The tears from days ago, just a memory to me now The sky is blue the highway wide And Ronnie says that God moves in such mysterious ways I know that now Yeah I know that now
6.
Centralia 05:42
I do not blame the match that lit it 40 years on now it’s hard to even take a look around But I’m sitting down There’s hardly anyone remaining Each one has taken that cracked and smoking road away from town So I’m sitting down And I’m asking you to stay Though the fear of disappearing grows a little every day The hollowed earth, the acrid clouds, the future burned away Mistakes that smoulder underground But I’m sitting down I had a dream that I’d been walking It looked like Northern California The sky a brilliant blue. And everything so green I finally felt free. When I looked down my hands were smokin’ I threw hot stones into the ocean I’d carried them for miles Through mountains and ‘cross plains Kept hot all the while By fire in my veins So post a sign for kids six feet and under You cannot ride here. You are not tall enough to reach the ground So I’m sitting down And I will cough each time the smoke surrounds me But I will not choke here. I’ll wait the thousand years ‘til it burns out I’m sitting down So don’t tell me that you care When you’ve spent your life on nothing ‘cept pretending you’ve been spared The horrible indignity of thinking life is fair You’ll disappear without a sound I’m sitting down
7.
The evening rays cross the sloping ridges of the Bronx Down to the sound I make my way o’er the moss and slippery rocks The northwest winds behind me The stars overhead will guide me across the water of the Harlem River My compass spins towards the magnet of your smile As I wade and slog through the marshes of our silent isle The beavers may regard me suspiciously The puma may eye me deliciously But he won’t keep me from my intended course to you So meet me by the tallest tree where 34th and 5th will be I’ll take you on a quiet spree in old New York Lightning strikes as the Hudson rises into view Take my hand don’t let this thunder bother you The rain may pour down all around us The tide may rise up to greet us But we’ll just sink out baskets in and pull up our meals So meet me where the bloodroots grow Where Washington Square Park will go There’s time enough for you to know ‘bout old New York We’ll dream upon the sandy shores In the shadow of the sycamores One day we will be no more in old New York
8.
Collectibles in boxes in basements where no one ever goes Or skeletons in glass display cases with endless daily shows If lies were miles I’d travel far but they would travel farther And all the ice and the snow would never feel like home Millionaires, explorers and scientists plunder what they see They take the tent, the dog, the woman. Then they take you and me And if I’d been older I’d be dead and take my place beside you Inside the warmth, inside the crowds, inside the city lights If ice were warm and soft like silk I’d wrap myself inside it But I’d miss the warmth, I’d miss the crowds, I’d miss the city lights An artifact, a fish out of water, a sad pathetic case A handicap, a hunter an outlaw that no one wants to chase And lies have helped me travel far but they have traveled farther From New York City, ‘round the world and back again Their bags all full They come back bags all full
9.
The Settlers 05:18
I know you feel it too This little buzzing in the air There’s nothing left to do But head straight up into the glare And all the old guys gather ‘round To watch us lift off from the ground The curvature so wide The borealis shimmers sweetly The great wall that divides So far below I see it faintly And all the old guys send their love As we shine down from up above Memphis, Paris, Timbuktu We won’t see anymore of you I’m gonna write a song About the space between two places On red dirt we belong So uncover all those dusty faces And see the young girls swim canals As ice floes melt into water clouds I’m forgetting all I’ve seen As the land turns from red to green In time we won’t even know the names Of those towns spread out across the plains Let’s climb that mountain to the western zone As the sky opens up and soaks our bones
10.
El Niño 05:39
I can hear African drums, Hawaiian guitars, Balinese gongs But I will not listen When you tell me that this was once all water here I don’t remember We grew up to live on the land I love the Midwest The wide open spaces But I never believed in the weather until I saw glaciers Grabbed through a cable that lays in the sea I reach round the world at incredible speeds And sometimes I pretend I’m in Iceland But it’s just Coney Island on a grey winter morning I just stand with my back to the Cyclone and look out at the ocean Northern lights, well I’ve never seen them But I’d swear on my life that they could transform me There’s just sea and sky when our songlines run free in the wild And it moves through the internet like a great white whale Too big for the land and so small in the sea That I’ll never find it, unless it finds me And I’ve got a Balkan band waiting on the ocean floor They got routed through Thailand They can’t wait anymore So there’s a small temperature change in the eastern Pacific That seeds the sky And through there’s a hurricane watch ‘cross the whole Eastern seaboard I feel alright ‘Cause I don’t understand why there aren’t more accidents Why there aren’t more heartattacks Why everything’s working When nothing is waterproof and everywhere leaks are appearing We grew up to live on the land Polynesias and Yukons, Persias and Tuscanys Manchurias, Saharas, Amazons and Outbacks as well And I’ll be in New York At least I think it’s New York It’s getting so hard to tell

about

In the press

“Instrumentation that is old-time Nashville by way of gypsy caravan, and songs that celebrate both the heroes and misfits of American history (mostly the misfits), and point toward visions of our country that are best described as collapsed potentialities rather than where it actually went. Basically, the sound of what America might have been if it had zigged instead of zagged at some indefinite point in the past.” —The Whatever

“Epic swatches of spaghetti-western, Appalachia, and folk sounds revive obscure tidbits of history with an enthusiasm that speaks more to deep-seated fascination than gimmickry…. Piñataland takes its time to craft evocative tracks, rather than just playing up their inherent quirkiness.” —The Onion

“Piñataland’s stylishly anachronistic sound draws as much inspiration from books and newspaper accounts of past disasters as it does from equally antiquated strains of folk music. The title of the group’s upcoming release, Songs for the Forgotten Future Vol. 2, perfectly captures the Brooklyn outfit’s quirky, occasionally ominous, out-of-time portent.” —TimeOut Chicago

“If the idea of “historical rock” scares you, don’t let it. These songs have a casual thoughtfulness and in many cases a sense of humor that matches their utterly unique subject matter. This cd takes awhile to get to know, but stick with it: the payoff at the end is worth your time.” —Lucid Culture

“In these troubled times, do we need a band that puts the chaos of history in perspective, one that finds the silver lining in the dark stories of the past? Perhaps,but Piñataland is not that band, choosing instead to plunge the listener into a strange, bygone world of failed utopias, crackpot dreamers and bizarre observations.” —Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn

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released August 8, 2008

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Piñataland Brooklyn, New York

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