All Too Mid-January
written by: Jak Locke
written by: Jak Locke
version 1:
from All Our Sunlight Scattered (December 16th 2002) (as "Mid-January") (9:00)
You can feel the moans from all the pitied wastelands
You can lean your head and taste the bitter wind
You can substitute your fields of gold for plywood
You can fool yourself into believing you're there again
Believe 'em that your words'll make a difference
Wonder if the last word gives you power
Let me tell you, if you think that it's really gospel
There's sixty just like you born every hour
The supposed independents march their cadence
And, flinging all their sense out to the air
They ask me if it even makes a difference
And me, I don't even care to care
Yes Eve, she touched me deeply with her smile
Caressed me like no other had before
And Solomon, divisive now as ever
Ensures that me she won't be back no more
And I alone, you can call me Teresius
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothing's all I could hold in my hand
There's another derelict along the highway
Whispering gently into Van Gogh's ear
Anti-fashion scars on the cadaver
That occupies the space my soul has cleared
Some orchestra of sea sick demon railmen
Scores the setting close behind the gates
In midst of all the statuesque regalia
To drown would be a pleasure far too great
Now dreams are but a playground for the foolish
Who still believe hope's not a passing fad
Some outlaw marionette behind the alleys
Rusted cords, no mind left to go mad
Now Kerouac is plucking the piano strings
As Judas puts his arm around my back
Majestic in the graveyard at my doorstep
My ever-ceasing rest between the cracks
And I alone, you can call me Teresius
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothing's all I could hold in my hand
You can lean your head and taste the bitter wind
You can substitute your fields of gold for plywood
You can fool yourself into believing you're there again
Believe 'em that your words'll make a difference
Wonder if the last word gives you power
Let me tell you, if you think that it's really gospel
There's sixty just like you born every hour
The supposed independents march their cadence
And, flinging all their sense out to the air
They ask me if it even makes a difference
And me, I don't even care to care
Yes Eve, she touched me deeply with her smile
Caressed me like no other had before
And Solomon, divisive now as ever
Ensures that me she won't be back no more
And I alone, you can call me Teresius
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothing's all I could hold in my hand
There's another derelict along the highway
Whispering gently into Van Gogh's ear
Anti-fashion scars on the cadaver
That occupies the space my soul has cleared
Some orchestra of sea sick demon railmen
Scores the setting close behind the gates
In midst of all the statuesque regalia
To drown would be a pleasure far too great
Now dreams are but a playground for the foolish
Who still believe hope's not a passing fad
Some outlaw marionette behind the alleys
Rusted cords, no mind left to go mad
Now Kerouac is plucking the piano strings
As Judas puts his arm around my back
Majestic in the graveyard at my doorstep
My ever-ceasing rest between the cracks
And I alone, you can call me Teresius
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothing's all I could hold in my hand
version 2:
from Already Fading On Some Horizon (February 5th 2003) (5:10)
You can feel the moans from all the pitied wastelands
You can lean your head and taste the bitter wind
You can substitute your fields of gold for plywood
You can fool yourself into believin you're there again
Now there's another derelict along the highway
Whispering gently into Van Gogh's ear
Anti-fashion scars on the cadaver
That occupies the space my soul has cleared
The supposed independents march their cadence
And flingin all their sense out to the air
They ask me if it even makes a difference
And me I don't even care to care
Believe them that your words'll make a difference
Wonder if the last word gives you power
Let me tell you if you think that it's really gospel
There's sixty just like you born every hour
Yes Eve, she touched me deeply with her smile
Caressed me like no other had before
And Solomon, divisive now as ever
Ensures me that she won't be back no more
Now some orchestra of sea-sick demon railmen
Scores the setting close behind the gate
In the midst of all the statuesque regalia
To drown would be a pleasure far too great
Now dreams are but a playground for the foolish
Who still believe hope's not a passing fad
Some outlaw marionette behind the alley
Rusted cords, no mind left to go mad
Now Kerouac is plucking the piano strings
As Judas puts his arm around my back
Majestic in the graveyard at my doorstep
My ever-ceasing rest between the cracks
And I alone you can call me Tiresias
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothin's all I could hold in my hand
You can lean your head and taste the bitter wind
You can substitute your fields of gold for plywood
You can fool yourself into believin you're there again
Now there's another derelict along the highway
Whispering gently into Van Gogh's ear
Anti-fashion scars on the cadaver
That occupies the space my soul has cleared
The supposed independents march their cadence
And flingin all their sense out to the air
They ask me if it even makes a difference
And me I don't even care to care
Believe them that your words'll make a difference
Wonder if the last word gives you power
Let me tell you if you think that it's really gospel
There's sixty just like you born every hour
Yes Eve, she touched me deeply with her smile
Caressed me like no other had before
And Solomon, divisive now as ever
Ensures me that she won't be back no more
Now some orchestra of sea-sick demon railmen
Scores the setting close behind the gate
In the midst of all the statuesque regalia
To drown would be a pleasure far too great
Now dreams are but a playground for the foolish
Who still believe hope's not a passing fad
Some outlaw marionette behind the alley
Rusted cords, no mind left to go mad
Now Kerouac is plucking the piano strings
As Judas puts his arm around my back
Majestic in the graveyard at my doorstep
My ever-ceasing rest between the cracks
And I alone you can call me Tiresias
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothin's all I could hold in my hand
version 3:
from Broken Crescent (September 22nd 2005) (4:52)
There's another derelict along the highway
Whispering gently into Van Gogh's ear
Anti-fashion scars on the cadaver
That occupies the space my soul has cleared
Now you can feel the moans from all the pitied wastelands
You can lean your head and taste the bitter wind
You can substitute your fields of gold for plywood
You can fool yourself into believing you're there again
Some orchestra of sea-sick demon railmen
Scores the setting close behind the gate
In the midst of all the statuesque regalia
To drown would be a pleasure far too great
Believe them that your words'll make a difference
Wonder if the last word gives you power
Let me tell you if you think that it's really gospel
There's sixty just like you born every hour
The supposed independents march their cadence
And flinging all their sense out to the air
They ask me if it even makes a difference
And me I don't even care to care
Now dreams are but a playground for the foolish
Who still believe hope's not a passing fad
Some outlaw marionette behind the alleys
Rusted cords no mind left to go mad
Now Kerouac is plucking the piano strings
As Judas puts his arm around my back
Majestic in the graveyard at my doorstep
My ever-ceasing rest between the cracks
And I alone you can call me Tiresias
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothing's all I could hold in my hand
Whispering gently into Van Gogh's ear
Anti-fashion scars on the cadaver
That occupies the space my soul has cleared
Now you can feel the moans from all the pitied wastelands
You can lean your head and taste the bitter wind
You can substitute your fields of gold for plywood
You can fool yourself into believing you're there again
Some orchestra of sea-sick demon railmen
Scores the setting close behind the gate
In the midst of all the statuesque regalia
To drown would be a pleasure far too great
Believe them that your words'll make a difference
Wonder if the last word gives you power
Let me tell you if you think that it's really gospel
There's sixty just like you born every hour
The supposed independents march their cadence
And flinging all their sense out to the air
They ask me if it even makes a difference
And me I don't even care to care
Now dreams are but a playground for the foolish
Who still believe hope's not a passing fad
Some outlaw marionette behind the alleys
Rusted cords no mind left to go mad
Now Kerouac is plucking the piano strings
As Judas puts his arm around my back
Majestic in the graveyard at my doorstep
My ever-ceasing rest between the cracks
And I alone you can call me Tiresias
Because seeing's more right now than I can stand
And I never knew the true meaning of empty
Until nothing's all I could hold in my hand
earliest live performance: February 20th 2002