1. |
Dreams Of Light
03:46
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Come to my dreams and I'll show you beams of light that will stretch from hearts to streams. The land where your feet sink in so deep into mud like the sheep who's heard lost their keep. And you move in so slow, and you bend with the glow.
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2. |
The Cottage
03:46
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I remember it so clear, standing on the pier. My Granddad bought me lunch and we took the bus home. One crinkled dollar bill. How the time stood still. A friend had sat me down and said "Where are you?"
Said if I ever come back to Earth, I'll give it what I'm worth. But how the hell am I supposed to do so? I remember it so bad, the time she was so mad. Brush it off, we'll talk on the tomorrow. Maple pancakes and beer. That ringing in my ears. They say an idle mind is the devil's workshop. Said if I ever come back to Earth, I'll give it what I'm worth. But how the hell am I supposed to do so?
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3. |
Hold The Quiet Close
02:49
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With endless caffeine high, we drive the open road. Endless sticks to smoke and songs of new and old. The mountains wave us by the towns blink of an eye. Well, do not sleep my dear, the oils pain the sky. My stomach twists and turns with each and every curve. The tall trees canopy and shade us for some time. As the wind blows hard across the olden graves, I feel there is something more. I feel it's raging waves. So hear the thunder roar and smell them sizzling eggs. This land is a dinosaur and we're just babies, babe. So hold me close. It's dark in here. You hold the quiet close and I find that home is here. Ghost gardens and wild flowers grow across sidewalks. We have these days to hold and bend like the corn stalks. So while we root ourselves and love, bleed, and cry. These are just stepping stones of what is so called life. So hold me close. It's dark in here. You hold the quiet close and find home is here.
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4. |
Blood and Stone
02:29
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If I was a new man, awake and well spoken. The yard began to flood, but the sky was still open. I would write down a song, a song of sorrow or of passion. The barn owl's watching. The neighbors were praying. So we took to the road with a trunk full of bones. My gun was not lowered. Blood was painted on stone. My mouth had a sweet tooth. The seagull stayed grounded in the garden by the ruins. Let the current sweep us home.
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5. |
A River That's Mine
03:38
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There's a river I walk to where my head clears just fine. There's a river I walk to and that river is mine. Is your brother still roaming in the places so bright? Is your brother still roaming? Does he sleep safe at night? Well there lays one thousand miles that I can see from my porch. There lays one thousand miles, I'll keep it lit with my torch. Has that book gotten to ya? Are the characters real? Has that book gotten to ya? Keep your mind free and clean. Oh Oh Oh. There's a river I walk to where my head clears just fine. There's a river I walk to. A river that's mine.
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6. |
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Pointe Aux Barques is instrumental.
Dead Man's Walkin'
Dead man's walkin' down the side of the road and his face is hanging low. I'm not gonna read the news today because we're probably going to war. There's a monster underneath my bed, I can feel him touch my toes. The sun is rising far too fast. Oh, what great lengths we'll go. My baby's sound asleep in my bed and I kiss her on the head. The winds whistling through the car window and I though of what I said. Dead man's walkin' down the side of the road and his face is hanging low. I'm not gonna read the news today because we're probably going to war. The leaves are falling to the ground, a short and silent drop. Smell the burning of the wood and hear them crackles pop. As i ascend up over you, the cold cuts through the room. A calm and cleansing continuation with reasons to bloom. My baby's sound asleep in my bed and I kiss her on the head. The winds whistling through the car window and I thought of what I said. Dead man's walkin' down the side of the road and his face is hanging low. I'm not gonna read the news today because we're probably going to war. Do do do do do do.
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7. |
You & Me
03:45
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Seasons come like a shock to the people, though they're in repeat and sharp as a needle. But the cold gets left behind. In my pockets is a lonesome dime, though I have my music, my books and my wine. Dust collects on the dash. You have a soul that's hard to catch and you told me your dreams of the west. Now look me in the eyes and tell me if I should even try. I kissed your lips though cracked and dry. The cigarettes were stale. I hopped on the bus to Kalamazoo and took the train back to the Blue Water fools where we got a motel room. We drank our whiskey and wrote our rhymes. We rested our bodies and lost some time. I awoke cold on the floor. The morning sun bends through the glass in the door. That's the closest thing that I have to the Lord. There was dew in the grass. The stars in the sky never looked so bright. And I remember. Well, there's so many other fish in the sea, but tonight, tonight it's only you and me.
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8. |
Sweet Spirit
03:53
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Bury me in Grindstone. Now that's a quiet place. My mind has witnessed magic in an unconscious place. What big eyes you have, I'd hate to see them cry. Hear the morning waves, a sound that crawls inside. Oh. Bury me in Grindstone. Now that's a quiet place. The ground will shake and tremble in forgotten ways. I am the land and I am the sky. I am the blood, the blood that flows inside. Oh I know that you are calling out to the sky. Oh Sweet Spirit, I know you're calling out to the skies.
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Mountain Babies Port Huron, Michigan
"There's something elemental about it all, like the first deep breath after an inclined climb, when the trees come to a clearing and you see a river, pure, untouched, secret almost... There's also something escapist about it; these tunes are elixirs, daydreams, salves and sweet rejuvenation's." - Jeff Milo ... more
Mountain Babies recommends:
Heavy, ambient and healing.
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Honest, poetic and heartfelt.
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Emotional, authentic instrumentation with brilliant melodies.
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Hauntingly beautiful “ambient-folk mini-epics” from Portland singer-songwriter/multimedia artist Dao Strom reflect on memory and identity.
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