Lingua Franca EP

by sleepwalk

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released June 1, 2007

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sleepwalk Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK

Sleepwalk is Jack Fallows and whoever else they can convince to sing, play, record or perform with them.

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Track Name: Lingua Franca
Orange lamps hung in a midday room,
Smoke it waltzes, cigarettes they bloom,
And their grey petals remind me that soon,
We both must leave home.

As we flew through veins of lost concrete,
We saw the cobbled streets of Jordaan weep,
And as these prisoners accept defeat,
You stand with a spade in your hand.

The sun has spilled marbles all over our room,
In two nights our excuse to get lost will play through,
But don't worry your head my love, don't fret,
Those nights are still ours and they'll bleed us yet.

And the boy with the autumn leaves, he'll be there too,
While the girl will gold rivers counts studio rooms,
Where her heart could paint images of cat paws on lids,
As this marvelous red is spread onto the bed,
Where my head is laid down with yours,
And the need to get lost once more takes hold of us.
Track Name: Ballad of BB
This morning I read on the brightest green post-it,
A wonderful note only you could have wrote,
It spoke up past the novelist, play-write and activist,
Above existentialist and hopeless dead pacifists,
It just said 'guitar' to cure me of forgetfulness,
And for that I sit and I strum and I sing you this song,
To kill off all my pride and my prejudice,
So that I might tell you the absolute truth here is I need you more,
With every score of music that's written,
And leaves me smitten on the floor.

In Autumn it looks like the trees are on fire,
And down in the cottage we don't have the wires,
That keep you plugged in to the sins that deny us,
The human compulsion to sell and to buy is no more,
We've closed the door on every score,
Of musical vomit that hurls like a comet once more.

The money came and went,
With our bottom dollar spent,
Sold all our shit to pay the rent,
We starve no more.
So sing along, so sick and wrong.
Track Name: Sequence of Events (Jan 13)
If I was Clark Kent I think that you'd be Lois Lane,
If I was Peter Parker I think that you would be Mary Jane,
But we could not be both, at least not simultaneously,
Because one's the Marvel universe, the other is DC,
Besides I'm using superheroes for this analogy,
When it's clear that I read Fantagraphics, D&Q, and all of those indies,
So I'd be David Boring, you could be Ramona Flowers,
'Cause their worlds are allowed to collide just like ours did.

When you first came in the shop I wondered what you'd read,
I mean, are you devout on F.C.Ware or on John Constantine?
'Cause I don't have an alias and I don't have a cape,
I don't fight crime but I thought that you just might love me all the same,
But if you like I could dress up in a spandex leotard,
I'd wear my underpants on the outside if you would wear my heart.

The first try was a train wreck, no civilians were hurt,
But I'd think twice about another confrontational outburst,
With anti-hero efforts strewn all about the place,
A not-so-super sweating, shaking, mumbling, clumsy red face,
And too many thought bubbles for the panel I was in,
I needed one hell of a plot twist 'cause my chest was caving in.

And then like Pheobe does for Drinky Crow you broke me out the box,
You are my penciller, my inker and my colours when I'm lost,
I'm animated, moved along with grace and eloquence,
You write my character so clearly in the past and future tense.

Some day everyone will know your name,
And they'll ask 'is it a bird, is it a plane?'
Are you a bird? Are you a plane?
More to the point, I am insane?
And when this sequence of events is done, will we remain?
To be continued...
Track Name: The Giant Octopus/Squid Song
There's kids with strings and sticks they're singing,
Waiting to be paid back,
The brand new shiny record plays,
But the needle's in a haystack,
One of a million pins that meets the plastic as it spins,
One of a million songs three minutes long waits to begin,
And I am listening.

I dove into a bar last night, it was only 9 o'clock,
The inebriated FCUK crowd were downing Aftershock,
While the gelled-up weekend mohawks all descended on a hen night,
And just outside the bouncer got the number of the bride.
One of a million pricks whose brain resides inside his dick,
One of a million heads held back by hair while someone's sick,
And I just don't belong.

Are we the only losers here tonight?
The only lost ones left with something still to find?
Did I forget who I am or forget who I'm not?
I can't remember now exactly who I forgot.

I was talking to a friend last week about this dream I'd had,
I was in a submarine down two miles deep and everything was black,
The headlights shone in front of us, the planes of some abyss,
All we saw were single-cell organisms in the mist,
Suddenly the dashboard lit up, everything turned red,
My co-pilot was screaming, sweat was streaming from his head,
In an act of desperation, he saw me kneeling down to pray,
To pledge my final hours to some God I had betrayed,
He was more of an agnostic man, he just said 'Jesus Christ',
Then a giant shadow grew and rose, and glowed in our headlights,
It was this fucking giant octopus/squid thing opening its mouth,
The submarine was swallowed whole and all the lights went out,
I woke up vastly terrified of ambiguity,
But no matter how much I explained it, nobody could see,
But you understand.
Track Name: One of the Many Few
I once knew a time when all time would just stop,
With two hands steady spinning,
Never willing to admit I was lost,
And flung wide with a trace at my side,
In a screening, eyes bleeding,
As one of the many few died,
And his ghost fell perplexed into mine,
And all life was lived living a lie,
And I lied waiting for you.

This turn of events was wed in future tense,
The verb carried me inwards until I got lost in yourself,
And we stood in the ruins of now,
Drifted over the wires,
Atop spires where truth breathes somehow,
And our ghost fell pronounced back inside,
Seat belts on, steamed up windows to write,
Traces of places we'll go,
As the man they knew died,
One of the many few lied through his teeth all his life,
Dreamt of colours to taste with some fictional wife,
He neither knew nor believed to be true,
Enter you.

And the attic gets louder at night,
The ceiling concealing ambiguous fright,
Turn the light on it stops,
The moon manically orbits the place where it was,
But I beg her to come back inside,
The sheets a cocoon in her brilliant light,
And we hide,
Hands grasping we hide,
Our lips' meeting decides,
We had never need go back outside.