1. |
When The City Is Home
06:52
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This is the landscape of the Anthropocene
These mongrel days, turned mad and mean
Now there are cities rising up from the sand
Making fresh claims to this no-man’s land
How do we naturalise these man-made towers?
How do we claim this kingdom, how do we make it ours?
We find new patterns, in the day and the dusk
New water sources, for us to trust
You might more fiercely, fly more swiftly, this is the way when the city is home
We sleep in haste, feast without taste, this is the way when the city is home
On exhaust pipe eddies, the swallows tip-toe
Making queues on the wires, in their neat little rows
To the virgin south, the thermals turn
And then they rise through the haze, until they’re hard to discern
We find new patterns, in the day and the dusk
New water sources, for us to trust
You might more fiercely, fly more swiftly, this is the way when the city is home
We sleep in haste, feast without taste, this is the way when the city is home
And through these manmade canyons I hear
The falcon’s ringing call
It’s a reassuring sound that says
Man has not won at all
Not sentenced to prison, no tethers, nor bells
The wild finds its way within and sees fit to dwell
Nor the world has known ages, billions of years
Remade and remade, evolved, engineered
We find new patterns, in the day and the dusk
New water sources, for us to trust
You might more fiercely, fly more swiftly, this is the way when the city is home
We sleep in haste, feast without taste, this is the way when the city is home
And through these manmade canyons I hear
The falcon’s ringing call
It’s a reassuring sound that says
Man has not won at all
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2. |
Bold Little Weasel
03:36
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Bold little weasel, agile and sleek, flourishing in these hard times
Gleam growing in his eye, no longer meek, as our fickle fortunes decline
If you imitate his way, you’d leap and tumble, skip and veer
Shadowing his steps to be bold and brave and without fear
This bold little weasel
The cripple on the corner has staked his spot, he’s doubled on his third-hand crutch
Of your wicked ways and your sneaky wiles, he’s seen and heard so much
You’re just a pair of pirates, nothing more than a couple of crooks
Though of course this creature is more acrobatic in thought and foot
This bold little weasel
The alley cats have seven lives, or nine
Yet yours hangs on a slender line
And nothing happens by accident in your fragile world
Yet I feel the connection between us
As our fates unfurl
Good fortune runs at my side, a familiar all day long
The sight of you, that fleeting view, the architect of luck
And it’s an exercise of fantasy to imagine that scoundrel dancing for me
Backflips and somersaults and Egyptian dervish spins
At the furthest arc of our activities we stop just to regard
That bouncing ball of duplicity as he slips beneath our guard
Swashbuckling his way in and out of the halls of men
Watch the shadows closely, then come and tell me when
You see this bold little weasel
This bold little weasel
This bold little weasel
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3. |
A Tree of Heathens
04:15
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Leaving the shoppers and the hawkers, tied in neon-lighted knots
Leaving the TV demagogues, for the smell of leaves and honest rot
Amongst the manmade canyons, a tree without companion
On a plot the developers forgot
A tree older than even, all the ancient buildings
It’s a tree of heathens, with no coin to lay at the root, to lay at the root
Give me your silence, give me leaves to baffle the sound
Give the world where you were the tallest thing around
A tree older than even, all the ancient buildings
It’s a tree of heathens, with no coin to lay at the root, to lay at the root
Give me your silence, give me leaves to baffle the sound
Give the world where you were the tallest thing around
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4. |
Pass Without Trace
04:51
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These shackles hamper our every move, and they rattle with each twitch
No doubt that the turnkey would start awake should even scratch an itch
So break the system, dupe the world, and leave the currency in flames
Usurp the tyrant on his throne though you would end up just the same
Though you have been fucking with the fates
You’d better move from here and simply pass without trace
Though you think you can leap clear over the buffalo’s horns
Go ahead and vault this thicket of thorns and pass without trace
There’s no move that could salvage the game, you’ve not even a pawn to play
The only recourse that you have left is to simply turn away
To the swamps above the high dam, where the vapours take the scent
The primieval ooze it fills back in and your footprints leave no dent
Though you have been fucking with the fates
You’d better move from here and simply pass without trace
Though you think you can leap clear over the buffaloes horns
Go ahead and vault this thicket of thorns and pass without trace
The crocodiles still linger here to devour the tracking dogs
The spy drones can’t probe the undergrowth, the murk through which you slog
Sleep in all your clothes tonight, they’ll slowly tear away
And there’s be no trace of this modern world whose presence could betray
Though you have been fucking with the fates
You’d better move from here and simply pass without trace
Though you think you can leap clear over the buffaloes horns
Go ahead and vault this thicket of thorns and pass without
Pass without, pass without, pass without trace
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5. |
Anthill
03:58
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The anthill keeps growing, more teetering, hopeless homes
While teeming in their multitudes, twelve million worker drones
All of these paralysed souls, indistinguishable, all smeared in soot
The mark of the muted, well it paints us the same, from our head to our foot
So extend our limbs, stretch out our hands to touch
Just anything, that is not weighted in dust
Reaching out for an empty space or the contours of a friendly face
In the chaos
The anthill collapses, yet constructed again
Building on the bones of its fallible men
Construction it never does stop, and if a body drops we’ll brick it back in
Exoskeletons formed this city’s skin
While we, while we, while we, while we
While we extend our limbs, stretch out our hands to touch
Just anything, that is not weighted in dust
Reaching out for an empty space or the contours of a friendly face
In the chaos
Now I’m carried on the back of billions, though I do not know their names
Something fossilised within us that could still be reclaimed
They thought us worker drones did not have much to say
But they kept us busy anyway
Now the water cannons will not hold us back
They will simple wash the filth away
And if every one of us could carry six times our own weight
They’d be really no limits to the utopia we might make
Oh we gotta wake up, howl some questions to the hive
If we were conscious of our direction
We would do more than just survive
So extend our limbs, stretch out our hands to touch
Just anything, that is not weighted in dust
Open our minds, spit the silt from our voice
Claim everything, a separate and collective choice
Reaching out for an empty space or the contours of a friendly face
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6. |
A City Awakes
04:26
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Trembling, pre-dawn light
And a city as at rest as it ever can be
But not me, no, not me
It’s the thinnest film of dust
It’s love revealed as just
Quicksand beneath the crust
It’s the thinnest film of dust
Battered and bleeding, let the sun soon arise
And the minarets give voice, the first prayer of five
To the comfort of millions, but my doubts still erode
That the chance of salvation, you were all that I knowed
A city awakes without us, these memories buried in alleys and cafés
And I wonder where it was that your faith began to stray
It’s the thinnest film of dust
It’s love revealed as just
Quicksand beneath the crust
It’s the thinnest film of dust
We would wake up together with flies on our faces and laugh
Close all the windows turn on the AC and start
To tease one another under the streets
Call each other names both sordid and sweet
Make each other promises, swear unto death
But those words just don’t crumbled when put to the test
It’s the thinnest film of dust
It’s love revealed as just
Quicksand beneath the crust
It’s the thinnest film of dust
The street cats will still remember you, long after you are gone
But perhaps we’ve all been wronged? Yes, I think we’ve all been wronged
Fed well and then abandoned, cooed over then ignored
A pretence at some compassion for the gallery to applaud
But we’re not charming balls of fluff
No we’re broken hearted tomcats, living tough and rough
And as the smog settles down I will break free
Oh Cairo, will you miss me?
And I’ll seek a cleaner start, and cleaner air, and you can keep those memories that we’ve shared.
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Far Flown Falcon Cairo, Egypt
Far Flown Falcon is the musical identity of James Conder, a songwriter and fingerstyle guitarist.
For videos and reflections on the craft of songwriting, visit farflownfalcon.wordpress.com
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