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a couple of hundred years ago i was born and i roamed around, i saw various countries achieve independence, and i walked the earth happily. then about 100 years ago i tripped on a river and fell face first into a bed of mountains, and the mountains were like an old familiar bosom and i fell asleep till a few years ago then i woke up and everything was different so i decided to write some songs about what i could remember.

now i live in austin. i put this album out in november then i went on tour with white denim in the winter, but does any of that really matter to you? i included the lyrics below because i want you to be able to read them.

listen, if you want a real physical thing in your house that you can touch and hold, you can order this record, phosphorescent blues:

ORDER PHOSPHORESCENT BLUES

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Phosphorescent Blues Lyrics

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My Buddy

my buddy, out on the train tracks

he is a friend somehow

I don't know how

we used to spend

(we used to spend) our time together

that is a reason to be friends

we used to spend our time together

the women of the street bring their carts to the center of town

the clatter, the mouth

the bark of an old market

bare fruit

my friend he strolls about for the ripest one

the taste on his tongue

all the pleasures of the earth

stop and ask him what he wants

he can't tell you, but

he can hold you like a scale

the station is an empty hall is an empty ride

I call it mine

the nose remembers

the smell of old graffiti

the end of conversations

the waiting in silence

and my buddy, out on the train tracks

he is smiling back

through the window of an old passing subway car

I beckon him and he tips his brow

as if to say somehow he remembers too

stop and ask him what he wants

he can't tell you, but

he can hold you like a scale

we are laughing upset

moving the halls with colorful figures

and stray dogs

and movie light flickers

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Kid

look at us in the morning too tired to get a shirt on too tired to get a raise

listen up car, start, get ready to go

put me on your shoulder take me where you want

like "oh my god i'm here, i'm not"

we used to build cities out of old plastic blocks

and at the end of the day

we'd tear them down for fun

now we've got to build a solid structure to stand on

now we've got a second set of teeth to take care of

and i am your second skin

i'm here to take from you your thoughts

i am the strapping young son in the second grade

my teachers think i'm quiet cause i do everything they say

they talk; i play with puppets by myself in my back yard

while the other kids tramp through the woods,

toy guns around their arms

ask yourself, ask yourself and i know you'll come up dry

when i still wake you up at three AM for no reason

i am your second skin

i'm here to take from you your thoughts

look, stop, take a breath

my mother says

don't forget to turn the light off when you leave a room, son

no, I'm not done yet, there's wet paint upon my hands

and I shall never finish up

i'll make myself no man

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The Observer (by Adrienne Rich)

Completely protected on all sides by volcanoes

a woman, darkhaired, in stained jeans

sleeps in central Africa.

In her dreams, her notebooks, still

private as maiden diaries,

the mountain gorillas move through their life term;

their gentleness survives

observation. Six bands of them

inhabit, with her, the wooded highland.

When I lay me down to sleep

unsheltered by any natural guardians

from the panicky life-cycle of my tribe

I wake in the old cellblock

observing the daily executions,

rehearsing the laws

I cannot subscribe to,

envying the pale gorilla-scented dawn

she wakes into, the stream where she washes her hair,

the camera-flash of her quiet

eye

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Avignon

oh, it was a distance

from my house to your front door

but i walked every evening

and i met you where you were

and now we take a tally

of everything we see

i add it up for you

and you add it up for me

there is a room, a new seat at the table

it's ours to fill it up to fill it up

i wish that they were here to see us now

this weight is round

and loaded with hard thought

this weight is on my chest

and i know just what i've got

there is a room, a new seat at the table

it's ours to fill it up to fill it up

i wish that they were here to see us now

they would barely recognize us

on the front porch of avignon

and if this bed should be unmade

and the dishes off the shelf

there have been many others much older than ourselves

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Day Glo

day glo, chrome windows

shapes in the clouds

the hungry fish for miles around

upstream jumping out of the water

gills in the air

i've got many people to thank

but i can't write letters

i can't write letters

my friends on the edge of the old grave yard

they sit on the old grey porch

and watch foxes play

a jug of wine

the kind of wine that you don't mind spilling

that you don't mind spilling

well, i fill out the forms and i make my death come slowly

one at a time, some kind of record unrolling

best begin sometime, she said

but can't start until you're ready

yet

i seem to be controlled,

somehow pulled

by fingernails and eyelashes

and other insentient parts

we talk about dreams a lot

she reads her fortunes out loud

i think it's funny and i go stay with her

i go stay with her

and i don't mind dying

when i make love to her

under a wall of sound

a riverbed of clay

the distance between us stays

close but not close

far but not too far away

close but not close

far but not too far away

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Tell

there is no word yet

just dogs barking at the sirens

cold nose and the spring vine

growing green, distant in the sunlight

passing mistakes and neighbors' yards

i drop a lit cigarette on the ground

backtracking, curious

down the old road

tell me that you wanna go

there is no word yet

just a pause in the center target

eating pizza on the city street

keeping up with the high risers

the wind blows up a spray

dead grass and trash moves underneath our knees

we get lost, we have to stay

on the old road

tell me that you wanna go

there is this pot on the top shelf

the little flowers in the basket, they all fall down

they seep onto the bedroom floor

green vines start creeping up your bedroom door

i bring chocolates and iced tea

a radio, blankets for sleeping

we trim them and

we watch them grow

down the old road

tell me that you wanna go

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The Downtown Boys

this is some kind of a vacation

we behave nicely

and sit together like alligators on the beach

like alligators lay on each other

but it means nothing. like that

and there's a commotion in our lungs

arriving sometime

but we don't have the schedule

i guess it arrives when it does

the downtown boys have gone

the streets are quiet, at night

no more yelling in the parking garages

or revving up old classics

no no no more of that

i ate my first meal this morning

it woke me up

i had been sleeping for days

carried away under the canopy shade

i grabbed my sunglasses and my felt hat

and rose seven stories

and rolled my cufflinks back

the downtown boys have gone

the streets are quiet, at night

no more yelling in the parking garages

or revving up old classics

no no no more of that

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We Understand Each Other

all the plants are growing in much faster than last year

with our windblown faces

tan cow hides

discarded laws by our side

we wander on the river

the seeds stick to our jeans

we point to objects

we give them names

we understand each other

we understand each other

we understand

our brains are small and brittle

like wild animals

we save each other food

today we will see god

standing at a booth

leaving money for a tip

our eyes have adjusted

we're just as careless now

we notice what we can

we understand each other

we understand each other

we understand

this is our test;

the palm trees,

the white cement,

the traffic at the school.

airliners fly over

we are at a meeting

dressed in pink t-shirts

i ask you why we came here

you look at me, quiet

and run a finger on my forehead

we understand each other

we understand each other

we understand

and so i sing that sound again

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For So Long Now

for so long now i've been eating from your mouth that my insides are sore and stuffed

for so long now god i know i don't know

i listen, i leave, i break like the twigs on a tree

i know but i don't know

you make me so sure like nothing matters

you make me so sure

we're dwarfs, tables crush us under this blanket in the storm

it's warm and the tin roof above us fills with summer hail

the jungle, all covered in melting ice, our words are there too

they dangle above us like dusty chandeliers in a colonial house

there must not be too many hours left here for us now

midnight arrives and we remember the day we met

riding the steamer away from port

passing mines and bear back workers on the shore

every night we return to walk the black tunnel

and pick diamonds from the wall

sabotage! and since then every moment with you i claw

this world has been a dream

like gently running fingernails along our front porch screen

oh, what have we done but live here naturally

our fortunes are made

tomorrow we carry them home

across that great blue body with fingers tied

in knots and bows and little monsters in our throats

we take them home

for so long now, for so long now,

god i know i don't know

for so long now i've been eating from your mouth

that my insides are sore and stuffed