Color is Work

by Wooden Indian

supported by
/
  • Immediate download of 8-track album in the high-quality format of your choice (MP3, FLAC, and more), plus unlimited mobile access using the free Bandcamp listening app.

     $8 USD  or more

     

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
02:52
6.
7.
8.

credits

released 04 July 2012

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: gas station glow
Your skin is pale in the gas station glow.
The eyes of your girl
are full of animals
that you'll never know,
even if you grow and get real big,
little boy.

There's a ghost in your joy,
and a caged bass shakes the car
while the paychecks come later
than light from a star
that you'll never know
even you grow and get real big,
little boy.

Jonathan!
you're still dreaming.

And the mountains at night,
beyond the gas station's light,
are piles of darkness
that you''ll never know,
even if you grow and get real big,
little boy.

And the mountains at night,
beyond the gas station's light,
are piles of darkness with curious shapes
served on fluorescent plates,
and you want more out of the corner of your eye, little boy.

Jonathan!
you're still dreaming.
Track Name: color is work
When you are speaking in
the tongues of television,
it's hard to stay real young,
even when you awake
your body moves as calm as money

and you feel funny,
and you feel funny.

For what it's worth,
color is work.
Track Name: harem in my pocket
I'm looking for dinner in the gas station
with a harem in my pocket
and a head full of wind.

I was dreamt in the dream of a profit machine.
I'm a moveable feast.
I'm the last,
I'm the least... and

I'm giving their bodies a shadow,
And they're giving my shadow a body.

And the things I've seen will remember me,
from time,
from time to time.

And the things I've seen will remember me.
Track Name: expensive fur
And the ego,
it follows us where we go.
It is a monster
dressed in its own expensive fur.

On Friday nights,
it gets itself into prize fights,
lathered by the nightlife
that's in between two gorgeous eyes.

You can change yourself again.
You can eliminate the old friends,
but if you think that it will ever end,
you've never been around the bend.

You can write letters you'll never send
and then you can pretend:
when you do right you're in the movies
and when you do wrong nobody sees.

You say you're happy that you were born,
but if you hadn't been you wouldn't be unhappy.
Track Name: st. jeffrey
You always laugh
like a leper touches strangers.

In a tank-top in the rain,
on the way to some friend's house to fix a bicycle
for a little cocaine and a cigarette.

And as the headlights
slingshot your silhouette
across the wall,
it all makes sense:
you're just the keeper of some strange,
some strange new innocence,
my little deadhead,
my St. Jeffrey.

You know that nothing is got for free.
If you wanna stay young you've got to weather the fun.
You look thirty-five in your twenties,
but you never needed a job to have money.

My little deadhead, my St. Jeffrey.
Track Name: fingers in the palms
And all last week,
we let the TV sing,
sing us to sleep,
sing us our lullabies.

We closed our eyes.
We closed our eyes.

And dreams begun.
Catastrophe was fun
under the sun,
under the morning sun.

We moved our lungs.
We moved our lungs.

Our friends were there,
all tangles in the knots of each other's hair.

Our friends were there.
Our friends were there.

But when we woke,
the words we spoke
denied all of the lives,
all of the lives we've lived

with closed eyelids,
with closed eyelids.

And though we're wake,
these pixilated days
they stream,
they drift away.

It's all the same.
It's all the same.

How is it all the same?

And the wind was making
fingers in the palms.
And the thunder was setting off
car alarms.

And the dogs were in the yard
having fun getting wet.
Just another moment I've gonna forget.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
oh, oh, no.