A may afternoon. There are things I know and I should have never have learnt. And things I have learnt and I should have never have known. Things I have kept hidden to my eyes and my thoughts, because sometimes is simple to be a liar. But then all the hypocrisy has been blown away by an afternoon. In an afternoon of May, when the telephone rang and answers where there then. And the curtains were burning, and the walls getting ticker. The curtains were burning and the answer grew deeper. Deeper and deeper. Clinical Shyness. There are so many ways and there are so many days, and there are so many rimes that describes our crimes, and there are so many ships you can take for your journey and there so many shapes that can turn into grace. But there’s not matter to see why you couldn’t have chosen me. And there’s no matter to know, why you couldn’t have chosen so. There are so many tools but there are too many rules. There are so many walls which are built by our words. There are so many nights that will end in a fight, and there’s a light from outside that is shining too bright. And there’s not matter for me, why I couldn’t have love thee. And there’s no matter to see, why you shouldn’t have chosen me. But you didn’t chose me. There are so many ways and there are so many days, and there are things you will blame and one more thing of which being ashamed of. And there are so many crimes to describe with a few rimes. And not enough shadows and shades that will bloom into your grace. Wish talker. Please don’t hide, now you know that you’ve tried and I’ve always liked you even more when you cried. Take your time and skate through the other side when you’ll hear the ice crack through the voice of the night. You’ll be fine because when you’ll ask for me, sure I will let you in, once you’ve knocked at the door. And there’s room right up here now that you’ve tasted the fear of being dragged by the storm like the leaves in the fall. Don’t be afraid because this breeze will quit one day. See, I’m the wish talker that you wanted me to be, you don’t think is too late. Do you?
Phone calls. There are words that can’t be understood, and there are sentences that are too easy to be misunderstood, and will bring fire to endless arguments and fights, and after all, won’t we feel dried? But I was crystal clear and you could watch across if you would, I was like a crystal cleat that easy was the break when you’ll decide you would. And when I need the help of my friends, all my friends were busy on the phone. (I Fear) Time. When I was just a little boy I dreamt of being the sail man who travelled the ocean to find an unknown see. And the summer’s storm wind which blew through the green curtains was pushing me down there in fantasy. Can you remember now, what were your dreams about? When I was just a high-school guy I think I watched too much TV. I dreamt of being the character of a Russian novel of the nineteen century. Can you remember now, what were your dreams about? Now I fear time. Now I’ve time to lose while I’ll need time to buy. I fear time, now I’ve time to waste while I’ll time to buy. I fear time, now I’ve time to kill that I will never know how to buy. Words. It could have been right here, I could have left a seal. I could have left a trace I could have won the race. But words are said to be forgotten. Words are written on the water. Words are traced on the sand shore. Words, once said, don’t stand anymore. Nothing’s left anymore
Under My Bed Recordings Vergiate, Italy
Under My Bed Recordings, is a No-Profit label based in Milan (Italy), founded in 2001, dedicated to home-recording productions. For us, do-it-yourself is a choice and an attitude, not a budget limitation. Hence, we preferentially produce minimalist folk, pop and, more rarely, electronic acts. We prefer to listen to Fe-magnetic supports, but anything else would be simply fine. We love tapes indeed
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