Get all 17 Yellow Jacket Avenger releases available on Bandcamp and save 60%.
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1. |
Wet Hair in the Jungle
02:45
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I walk tiredly in my sleep
when the snow melts they'll find a body
It's not me because i'm in the Jungleon a chain gang of skinless ankles
carrying candles to light the way
casting shadows on the leather faced herd
Who I am. or who I was
doesn't matter now that part of me is a drift in the foam
but I am firewood that will not burn
when I leave this body I don't want another home
I'm rising from the fire, it was cold in the mud
from the floor of the jungle the cattle is getting weary
from dragging the ones who have died
shackles heavy, links are strong, no strength to sever
but we'll leave them back in my sleep.
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2. |
Flying Mice
02:07
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In my Cabin the clock is tickling my ear
stormy weather on the port side
we bury waves and wedding bands
just like heart burns and
heart attacks
grey fog from the chimney is swept into the air
along with my wishful thinking
Cob webs and dusty eyes
flying mice under the moon
The morning is cold and quickly discovered
as we raise and iron mass
mangled limbs and webbed feet
remove the Pilot piece by piece
though their pistons chug
soon their careless blood will cover the mast
throw the criminals over the side
throw the criminals over the side
What will happen when the beauty is gone and there's nothing but Iron shapes hovering above the Ocean ?
Through my porthole
the Moon is a milky white dot
I dreamt I was sleeping on it
and my parts that moved and spoke stuttered in the vapour.
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3. |
Ruth
03:07
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A pitchfork is driven through the dirt
dangling a printed flower skirt
the colony scurries off in tangents
the red one says
'theres a library of columns over here'
Ruth from Belmont street East
dug the hole for the Goldfish that year
her nimble digits formed the collar around the pools
This was back in the middle of the April
When they deice the train tracks and cultivate their hair to suit the season that is next
Ruth was lying still between a furnace and and an engine when the Soldiers galloped into town
Her Mother was kneading dough with vigour, stringing slow words out of the paper
when the Colonel shot her through the window
shattered glass lodged in pastries and butter
"we're chewing at the hearts of these crystallized homes"
a Private muttered under his snowy breath
Her nimble digits coaxed her into a hole
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4. |
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The night my life ended
there were stars and aircraft
light took the ground crew by surprise
a thick yellow fog that was born in rainbow gas
covered tin foil engines and wings
the runway caught fire and ground crew ran yelling
'the white planes are on the horizon'
The pilots assembled in a triangle and bowed there heads for a moment
then woke up their planes
the eye of engines were startled but prepared
for a fire fight with the Spirits.
for a fire fight
I was last in the air
there were twelve green silhouettes
the commander crackled on the radio
the formation came together
and picture frames rattle on the dash
as we approach the six white planes
four of our planes went down
green and red fiery noises echo
watching them fall into the Ocean
the garbled dialect came through the radio
as the Commander fell with them
I landed in a field
my lower body seemed frozen
drank some water from a canteen
lying at the trunk of a Willow
the Sun was rising in the west
a farmer with his horse and plough
approached from a rose light
A rose light.
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5. |
Radisson, Wisconsin
03:07
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6. |
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All the women in this town
they are hiding in closets
with crochet needles and designs
doormats to bedspreads
Whimpering and crying
from bedrooms across the town
are harmonizing in the sewers and bounce across the waters
A foghorn misplaces the birds and the dogs yank at their chains
work shirts are worn with warm lipstick on the collars
but the men have lost their compasses on the way to work
follow the line of cars to the showbar
driftwood and dirt
Throwing money at the girls from the Reserve
and drinks are spilt as a bedsheet curls around the stage
The envy lives in their pillows and grows and bickers in the light
and the bannisters that once shaped them
they have fallen ill
Well they decorated their bodies with a still life of parents
Its a spell to ward off the cysts and complications from the strike
Meteors raining
caught in a blanket of pulp and smoke
this town is getting smaller as the houses begin to breathe harder
Fumes coat the signs and the awnings
black icicles in the winter
green sparrows in the summer
I am in the corner of the plant
quivering under moths
I sifted into a factory shirt
and cut through the air
Heaving and sighing
from bedrooms across the town
and the windows take them out
to be folded into the lawn
And the morning has peeled the horoscope
from the belly of the town
and the things that I once memorized
are now wearing a frown.
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7. |
A Farmhouse
03:48
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8. |
The Unsung Shapes
03:31
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There's a bird lying in a bath tub in a cabin on the lake
his hoarse valves are whining above the green and white mountains
a rope caught in a loop
on the shelf are horns and talons with numbered tags
And mildew photos of a baby in blue
blubbering initials on scribbles, finger paintings, potato skins
ear marked fable with an eyelash from when he was sick
plucking feathers from pores as the Amonea curdles in the sink
Electrical storm
lighting at the bottom of the lake
in the backseat a hose drawn from the muffler
claiming to be ambitious as the car rolled down the hill
but right now he'd much rather
sleep
He walks back up the Hill awaiting the fans pretty voice
and Mosquitoes in their parachutes fly by ears like cars on a highway
Turning to the left, there's a sound from the tree line
its a man snoring beer in his throat
and beside him a bandana
in the mouth of some unsung shape
I'll wait to see if they are there in the morning
The friendly ghost have told me they are scared
they say this is called a revolving nightmare
I toss and turn, they never give me
they never give me bread and water in my sleep.
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9. |
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Food on the table for fingers and mouths
and a cake with the figure standing on the top
and photo albums on the table
the people between the covers
move around in their scenery but cannot touch
their relatives on the next page
And meanwhile people stare at their feet
and wonder if they'll move
to a spot in the room
where there's less light
And all across the town there is a collection of items
they're wrapped in newspaper and shelved in basements
and many years from now they'll be shown to children
who won't know what they're for
a compass, a medal and a trumpet
In the street a storm is moving
and we watch the people grasp
their umbrellas as they are lifted
up over the buildings
and this reminds them of something
it's the closest they'll get to a memory
and our friends in the photos
dry their hair by the window.
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Yellow Jacket Avenger Montreal, Québec
Yellow Jacket Avenger is the working name for all musical projects conceived by Geoffrey Pye since 1992. Born in Ottawa and continuing to work at it in Montreal today.
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