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Live in Studio

by Don Ryan

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1.
Now they paint the town in smoke, The calling of our bluff Will of stone -- the will that broke, Now an industry of dust Boneyard cries, the sleeping eyes, Now we look so tired Gather, flies. See big smoke rise, Melting men of iron. (Chorus) The top of the world's on fire The top of the world we knew Gutting the old empire, A fall for the few The top of the world's on fire Worm out the womb And roll off the mire, A call into a new Rats, we ran. We, ark of ants. In tear-flooded streets we pray Karma noose, hanging loose And this is just the first day (Chorus) The top of the world's on fire The top of the world we knew Gutting the old empire, A fall for the few The top of the world's on fire Worm out the womb And roll off the mire, A call into a new
2.
Search went on for days For a place for a night to die. Finally it came to be As the seas waved us goodbye. Faked all our debts, Faked death and woke up dreaming. But we know that on the breeze we blow Are the hands of their dealing. Wither with her. The over-known have overflown, They're all so high and useless now And so their blood is felt by stone. Chorus Oh how obscene, This nostalgia machine ain't got the time For us now, Though somehow we all realized That some more black eyes and white lies Are the gifts that they bring, Who stole our brightest idea And made it dim Not that man yet, Too young to regret it now. Dominoes are on a way, They've found them Fall with every step out Chorus Oh how obscene, This nostalgia machine ain't got the time For us now, Though somehow we all realized That some more black eyes and white lies Are the gifts that they bring, Who stole our brightest idea And made it dim
3.
An angel came down To tell me of self-doubt, She was filled with insects' poison Till her innards fell out Kill the slaves that ran away And let the rats free now, The fleeting man with the sheet in hand Calls the master out Chorus The consequence you can't conceive For everything that you believe Haste the day, Mother's away, Mechanical profundities So holy roll and stone the crow And everything between, Rest your head upon my bed, The mattress so unclean Chorus The consequence you can't conceive For everything that you believe Haste the day, Mother's away, Mechanical profundities The artists heart is in your cart, A natural tendency To kill the man with the brush in hand And consume him for a fee His last collage, such a mirage, Before he set himself free, So take down his heart and tear it apart Or just let him be.
4.
The butchers, they come in zeros and ones Behind digital smiles, under store-bought sun Themselves the youth have fooled it seems, This generation of words on a screen Chorus So, here's to a murder industry Some bridges ain't worth the kerosene The professional smiles of whores and liars Are raking them in and breaking them buyers I'm dropping the dime 'cause I know what I've seen, So stick another quarter in the funeral machine Chorus And here's to a murder industry Some bridges ain't worth the kerosene Frozen, paralyzed in time Sing a lullaby for the parts that died Wake me when they're ready to buy Obscene mob scene, Reckoning day, Cry me a river and wash us away. Throw in the towel 'Cause you know what I mean, Well, it ain't worth the fight, No, it ain't worth the scene Chorus So, here's to the murder industry Some bridges ain't worth the kerosene

about

Live in Studio at the Meatlocker in Montclair, NJ.

credits

released July 17, 2013

Don Ryan & The Blank Canvas Movement

Don Ryan - Vocals, Guitar
Paul Vanderwal - Cello
Rich Haddad - Bass
Joe Vernazza - Drums

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Don Ryan New York, New York

Don Ryan is a singer/songwriter whose compositions are delectable cocktails of ageless beauty and gritty discord — a hypnotizing blend of classic Americana and gypsy jazz with a more modern, psychedelic-folk sound. This is a brand new spin on old music. ... more

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