1. |
...
02:27
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2. |
depleted fields
02:18
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where will you go when the animals run scared?
the soil is dust—the water is death. the seeds have no vigor!
you can't plant them here! we wait until the morning—wilt and disappear.
the ground is infertile—it reaks of oil.
with all the nutrients gone, i'll be gone too.
can't plant here any longer...
reaching towards the sky...
looking only to find—they have blocked out the sun.
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3. |
to wither
03:20
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withering chard and seeding greens, o! how the bitterness yearns for aiding hands!
but only work into our raised beds will leave more than just dirt on our hands.
the perfect garden—the anti-eden—the beauty's in the process, not just the ideal.
rotting roots in the valley, the theft of land—starvation.
we exploit the land and eachother, too. buried deep in the earth, we all have roots.
and when we think about how we need to grow, remember that all things wither without:
love is the matter in which we relate; care is the action that love should always take; attention means weeding and planting, too—to harvest is to gratify.
but pleasure only in power is to wither from the start.
but pleasure only in power is to wither from the start.
but pleasure only in power is to wither from the start.
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4. |
ivy
02:07
|
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breaking ground—is this even a home?
the mold takes out my lungs, and the vines constrict the structure
how do we create anything when they are always taking?
and we're trapped, he has the power: our money, our comfort.
remove the slumlord, rip out the vines,
and plant something new in their graves?
it's no surprise to me, you are my own worst enemy.
'cause every now and then, you kick the living shit out of me.
please! please tell me why!
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5. |
sow
01:40
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my hand are the only thing i need to pull these weeds!
fuck yr shovels, fuck yr trowels! ...stealing gardening books from powell's.
smudging dirt on the pages, 'cause i got dirt on my hands.
taste ground in everything i eat! don't you dare rinse that beet!
no scrubbing, we are just grubbing on these spuds!
dirt on my hands—never wash it off.
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6. |
nurture
02:25
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wipe dirt and sweat from my brow, I surveyed the work and made my vow to stay with you through this season,
but i never listened to reason.
i'm gone forever—left you to grow.
now it's rotting vegetables—a fatal blow
the garden swept out in the undertow!
abandonment! and now i know:
I won't ever leave you again! you were my only friend!
now it is over and i count my regrets...
i look at myself and have nothing left...
i take to the shadows and forget what's been...
closing my eyes as the winter sets in...
i won't ever leave you again! you were my only friend!
i've done this so many times (shut out that impulse that binds)
i'll stay with you all next year—i promise—i promise to you!
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7. |
breathe
01:51
|
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i won't stop planting, i won't stop growing!
surrounded by torment.
broken skies tend broken pastures, where gardens have been, passing with a friend.
"it's raining, it's raining" but it feels like a desert.
lay the bed—the coming stillness.
we're not dead—it's only just the beginning.
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8. |
decomposition/growth
02:36
|
|||
the roots run deep
—the beds are raised
on the bodies of
—our decomposing
lives that feed
—the complex systems
our only dream
—is our escape
growing all together, we grow taller with the weeds
—the boundaries scatter with the breeze
|
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9. |
harvest
02:18
|
|||
left you for dead, buried in the compost bed.
worms eating the brains from your head.
you've been misled. you've been misled.
you turned up in my garden, on a darkening day...
all the squash was squashed, and the seeds where they lay.
you thought it would be funny, like a broken friend.
this time i've caught you, and it will be your end.
darkening skies turning red...
turn my sickle on your head, drop to the ground, bleeding dry.
you knew it all along, you deserve to die.
turning the body into the pile, you could never reconcile.
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10. |
sustenance
03:27
|
|||
our hearts are malnourished, but we are fighting—fighting to grow
but what we have left is what we can offer to survive this winter.
just because we're insecure, doesn't mean you're not a stupid fucking asshole.
stormclouds hold in the warmth, bring in the
rain, the lethargy, our
willingness to
wake
years back, we witnessed
sun, but, feeling frost,
we fell apart.
when we needed it most, you died.
i never made plans to be cut off.
every bit of rhetoric: forced.
but now we matter, because we all matter
what is a life if you spend your life inconsiderate of their lives?
why not live life helping others?
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11. |
winnow
02:45
|
|||
not going to work today, and i never will.
I'll spend it in the garden—won't pay that bill.
sleep amongst the swiss chard, dirt under my head.
when i'm with you, i've never been misled.
there's nothing else i'd rather do—social life swept under the rug.
there's another bed to be dug.
fuck the club, the local hub—i'll stay outside—in the raspberries I'll confide.
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12. |
death of
04:24
|
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the trucks stopped running, the shelves went empty.
a life of dependency. now we have nothing (but each other)
forgotten self-reliance, the hunger took our breath.
our fire went out, long ago. our fire went out.
the hand that fed us is gone: our hands never learned.
dependency will be our death.
the industry is trying to poison us, but it will die with or without us.
our consumption of this agriculture is the exploitation of one another. the goods they seed, they grow, they harvest are so much more than our alimentation.
|
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