Can't Rightly Say

by Smokey Brights

Can't Rightly Say cover art
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1.
03:12
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2.
04:55
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3.
03:05
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4.
03:57
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5.
03:19
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6.
04:27
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7.
04:12
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8.
03:45
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credits

released 24 May 2011
Written, recorded, and produced by Smokey Brights-2011.

Ryan Devlin-Vocals, guitar
Jim Vermillion-Bass, vocals
Nick Krivchenia-Percusion
Mike Kalnoky-Guitar, vocal
(Kim West sings on tracks six and eight)

Mixed by Johnny Sangster at Crackle and Pop Studios.
Mastered by Mark Gunther at Seattle Disk Mastering.

tags

tags: americana folk soul Seattle

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Track Name: Wild Flowers
Wildflowers

Flowers, wildflowers in the garden we planted.
Though nobody planned them, they’re there none the less.

Bright buttercups and those delicate foxgloves;
bright faces competing to know the sun best.

Though I love you more
than that which came before…
Seeds, they were cast with the wind.
There’s no need to explain,
true hearts say it plain:

I will try to forget these wildflowers.

Cut yourself free from this tangle of weeds
that threatens, and creeps, and curls around our feet.

Flowers, wildflowers ,will blossom, then die.
But our garden will grow, and stay green all the while.

Though I love you more
than that which came before…
Seeds, they were cast with the wind.
There’s no need to explain,
true hearts say it plain:

I will try to forget these wildflowers.
Track Name: Wine From a Jug
Wine From a Jug

We built this city on rock and roll
and the kinda luck you can’t keep down or control.
Now were older, a little wiser,
and a little wider for the wear of it all.

We charmed these streets with talismans,
like how Patrick charmed the snakes out of Ireland.
Now we’re (w)holy
certain this is where we belong.

Love! Oh love!
You’ve got a sudden way of filling me,
you’ve got a certain way of spilling me-
like wine from a jug.

We spent most mornings like holidays
in the den playing the games that we liked to play.
When the coffee pot was empty
we’d go to our little jobs for the day.

Then in the busses, in the cars, on our bicycles,
we’d sing the words along to the stereo.
It’s so normal,
that it almost becomes cool again.

Sunlight in the morning, such a bittersweet embrace;
the blinds are casting slats about your face.
It’s got you looking like some prisoner fresh escaped.

Moonlight in the evening, lends us sinners a brief grace.
The moon is casting halos about your head.
It’s got you looking like some saint risen from the dead.

We built this city on rock and roll
and the kinda luck you can’t keep down or control.
Now were older than we were.

Love! Oh love!
You’ve got a sudden way of filling me,
you’ve got a certain way of spilling me-
like wine from a jug.
Track Name: Everyday
Everyday

Everyday takes a little bit of learning how to live all over again.
As the coffee in the porcelain spins,
the paper’s crinkling, confessing our sins.

Every night takes a little bit of learning how to sleep all over again.
Between the crinkle of the sheets, and the wake up beeps,
you serve a sentence there in your head.

Every lover takes a little bit of learning how to love all over again.
But the same could be said of a friend,
or your job, after a long weekend.

Every question, like an apple, has a center that I’m not to keen to choke down.
You know, a seed is a pretty poisonous pill.
Just ‘cause I eat, doesn’t mean I’m fulfilled.

And the moon took months to close her eyes.
And you know she was watching,
you were kissing that girl while loving another.

Oh brother I tell you-

Every step takes a mile’s worth of walking, (if that step is worth walking a mile.)
You might stumble at first like a child,
but you’ll regain you legs after a while.

Every slip is a slide when you’re counting on your slyness just to sully you through.
And though you heart might know what to do,
it has trouble talking to those shoes.

The moon took months to close her eyes.
And you know she was watching,
you were kissing that boy while loving the other.

Oh sister I tell you-

Solitude is servitude to the cruelest master you’ll ever meet.
The most selfish bastard, his whip is replete with the guilty prongs,
and this is his song.

(I know sadness is not en vogue,
so I apologize for these poems.)
Track Name: Let an Angel In
Let an Angel In

There’s a king building a castle
out of scraps of tin and wood;
and he labors through the night
because he knows that it is good.
It is good, and he is better
for all his labor and his pride.
And the children swell with mystery
at the thought of what’s inside.

There’s a man in a museum
filled with papers that he loves;
and he thumbs through the ink gently
with his white and well worn gloves.
Though his treasures are all copies,
and it’s obvious to me-
The worth’s not in the actual
but the value that he sees.

And he reads-

“Give love a dumb chance for Christ’s sake.
Misshapen hearts aren’t all mistakes.
Unhinge the hatches to your place
and let an angel in!”

There’s a vigil on the rocks
of the windy, salty sea.
And the widows dressed in black
and the kids heartily weep.
Though no one really died,
they can’t remember why they cry.
They’ll pray and mourn forever
just to keep the hope alive.

There’s this priest upon the alter
of the lost temple of love.
He spends his evenings penning sermons
in his careful scripted hand.
Though his congregation left
seeking progress , seeking gold,
he’ll shake the pews with his psalms
to the ghosts and Saints of old.

And he cries-
“Give love a dumb chance for Christ’s sake.
Misshapen hearts aren’t all mistakes.
Unhinge the hatches to your place
and let an angel in!”

There’s a heart I left at home
in a town I don’t recall.
In a room I don’t remember,
down a bright and sunlit hall.
And there’s a woman there I loved,
or love, or am destined to love,
and she sings a saintly melody
to the heavens up above.

And it goes-

“Give love a dumb chance for Christ’s sake.
Misshapen hearts aren’t all mistakes.
Unhinge the hatches to your place
and let an angel in!”
Track Name: Patron Saint
Patron Saint

Down from the Rockies,
through Wyoming,
across that Big Sky Country
I'm rolling on home;
but it's gonna take a real long time.

So I thought of all those laughing loving people
living in the cities
that we rolled through.
Such poetry could not impress
my brothers Zeque or Elias.
Green exit signs were melting past
as each one did Zeque would ask-

Are we there yet?
I want you to promise me
that we'll be home soon.

Real far from home
lord wire me some money
I'll drive this Chevy in your name.

Real far from home
lord wire it to Wyoming
exit 108.

Real far from home
lord bless this Chevy
with its own patron saint.

Real far from home
lord bless Zeque with patience
because mines about to break.

The open road is not a home,
it's a means to get there, a place to roam,
but I was with the ones I love
my younger brothers, my only mom.
We had a roof over our heads,
food to eat and seats for beds.
By the ever loving hand above
we made it back to Washington.
And Zeque asks-

Are we there yet?
Oh Zeque I promise you
we'll be home soon.
Track Name: Waiting on a Light
Waiting on Light

We expected a disaster.
So certain it would come,
that when it finally happened-
we already were numb.

Glory tongue to cheek,
too tangled now to speak.-

No paddle for this creek.

We made our God a monster.
(So in his image made.)
We cast the rest as martyrs,
seeking only blame.

Glory each to each.
We know the spirits weak.-

But our bodies are so strong.

Well if you’re looking for camera,
if you’re looking for a catch-
Try looking in the mirror.

Waiting on a light to come.
Waiting on a light to come.
Waiting on the end.
Track Name: Silhouettes
Silhouettes

The arbitrary names in the rose garden-
like paint chips in a blooming sample fan,
there’s “Mr Lincoln,” then a “Brass Band,”
and a shock of “French Perfume.”
I stop to remove a thorn from my shoe.

The children rove in packs through the zoo-forest park.
They speak of bravery and names that they’ve given to their pets.
They place bets on the virtues of their now-flawless knowledge.
While the elders lumber slowly
weighed down by burden, joy, and love.

So dim the lights and draw the blinds,
let those streetlamps cast silhouettes divine!
Like moons upon the bodies
inside this home.

The party colored lights of the street at night,
and the garbled-nothing speech of the people that I meet;
some sound like shadows, or the radio, and they burn the eyes like onion,
and their voices when they laugh
are like a dry and crackling wood.

The things I love, and see, and hold, and touch, and taste
blur my judgment of the banal and where art is finely placed.
When a lover spoke of her grandmother, it was speech
and it was song- “She wore a dress every day of her life,
and handmade most of them.”

So dim the lights and draw the blinds,
let those streetlamps cast silhouettes divine!
Like moons upon the bodies
inside this home.


Silhouettes

The arbitrary names in the rose garden-
like paint chips in a blooming sample fan,
there’s “Mr Lincoln,” then a “Brass Band,”
and a shock of “French Perfume.”
I stop to remove a thorn from my shoe.

The children rove in packs through the zoo-forest park.
They speak of bravery and names that they’ve given to their pets.
They place bets on the virtues of their now-flawless knowledge.
While the elders lumber slowly
weighed down by burden, joy, and love.

So dim the lights and draw the blinds,
let those streetlamps cast silhouettes divine!
Like moons upon the bodies
inside this home.

The party colored lights of the street at night,
and the garbled-nothing speech of the people that I meet;
some sound like shadows, or the radio, and they burn the eyes like onion,
and their voices when they laugh
are like a dry and crackling wood.

The things I love, and see, and hold, and touch, and taste
blur my judgment of the banal and where art is finely placed.
When a lover spoke of her grandmother, it was speech
and it was song- “She wore a dress every day of her life,
and handmade most of them.”

So dim the lights and draw the blinds,
let those streetlamps cast silhouettes divine!
Like moons upon the bodies
inside this home.
Track Name: Lion's Share
Lion’s Share

There are still merchants in the temple,
I smell plastic in the air.
There’s a great black geyser in the deep blue sea,
and it’s all a sad affair.

We can’t stand it but to stare,
waiting until we get our lion’s share.

These sons sin just like their fathers,
without a pot in which to piss.
This thing opened with a handshake-
I’d watch out for that kiss.

A lion’s pride to feed the fall,
we just wanted what is ours and that is all.

What higher grace to thank for all these trials?
These feats of strength, these tests of faith, these miles,
of roads to ho and hike and now reach home?

By the time the meek inherit
there’ll be more mess than not to bare.
Not to say the sky is falling,
but would it kill your ass to care?

Take the bends and make them square,
thems the breaks when you want that lion’s share.

It’s not our place to kill their profits,
or keep those serpents off the mount.
So put it down on credit baby,
and transfer those accounts.

Check for studs, bridal the mares.
Place your bets on that horse named Lion’s Share.

Oh excess.
Would we be quite satisfied
with much less?
Too much
is the hallmark
of your success
when you’re free.
When you’re free!