waterworks (demo)

by Silvervest

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05:09
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05:26
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about

demo recorded at Chromatic Audio, August 1, 2018

credits

released August 23, 2018

Kim Zombik, lyrics and music
Nic Caloia, music

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Silvervest Montreal, Québec

Silvervest is the duo project of Kim Zombik and Nicolas Caloia. With just voice and bass, their aim is fresh music that plays between swagger and sweetness, caressing and careening, amusing and amazing. Vibrant, the music is unset and generous.

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Track Name: Common Man
7 minutes in god’s time,
When Buddy Holly pushed his glasses back up his nose.
Maybe baby, I’d know him at some point in heaven time.
Although I am not sure what’s on the other side of those clouds,
and I have anxieties about expanding.
Maybe baby, I’d know him at some point. Heaven time.
The Holly Buddy pushed his glasses back up on his nose…

It’s about staying in some sort of box. (Maybe baby)
It’s about staying in some sort of box:
that’s the common man, tight, compact, and orderly for the most part.

But bigger glasses could lead to a bigger vision.
It’s about staying in some kind of box. That’s the common man.
That’s the common man: tight, compact, orderly for the most part.

Bigger vision that extends off the page, off the screen, 360 sensorial degrees of perspective!
Although I am not sure what’s on the outside of that arena and I have anxieties….

7 minutes in god’s time. the Buddy, the holly, pushed those glasses back up his nose.
Maybe, baby, I’d know him, in heaven time.

Green, brown and twitching like a grass hoppers legs but with no sound. No sound. No sound.
It’s only a screen for other things to take place behind.
Arrgh! Tension in the arms, tension in the legs, tension in the jaw….the empty maw jawwww. There is a lot of that! Tension.


BR:
How do we take down these piles? How we do pop the silent screens?
Make statements, that’s how!
Say it, that’s how!
Stop speculating, that’s how!
Drop that pussy footing/that rabbit foot, and just say it!
Sound it out like a phonograph, like a foreigner, if you need to,
and say it!
Bigger is what , bigger is what, bigger is what? Like a planet that spirals in it’s orbit and even that may be too orderly for what we need. I heard even Pluto got the boot.


That’s the common man. That’s the common man: timed nature, timid nature, timed nature, timid:
All this freedom chained to a post. And a tiny one at that!
Where are we? What are we? Where are we? What are we being told? What are we being sold and why do I continue to buy it?


BR
How do we break down the divider? Say it, that’s how! Boom pow, that’s how!
Stop rubbing that rabbit foot and say it, that’s how!
Sound-it-out-like-a foreigner-if-you-need-to.
Timed nature, timid nature. All that freedom chained to a post. That’s the common man.

Sound-it-out-like-a foreigner-if-you-need-to.
Track Name: The Weight
There are bags that need unpacking
There are things I need to let go
It is quite time to lighten the load
Lighten the load

Yes, there are bags that need unpacking
Lines to be un-blurred
Because heavier than any galaxy
Is the weight of stories heard


CHORUS 1
And it’s not even that,
That’s not fully true.
It’s the weight of believing them
That cripples and burdens you.
And it’s not even that,
That’s not fully true.
It’s the weight of believing them
That cripples and burdens you.


The stories I refer to are the
Mortar between the bricks
The facts are facts
But what makes them stick?

A child’s mind reasons life’s whys and how’s alone
Blaming herself, shaming herself become
Pockets full of stones.

CHORUS 2:
And it’s just that.
That is more true:
The weight of believing them
Burdens and cripples you.
And it’s just that.
It’s what more true:
The weight of believing them
Burdens and cripples you.




She gets older, yet it may take years and decades to see
She can empty her pockets and
Choose to be free.

No, it’s not that easy, because
shame burns so deep
The fire of that scarlet letter won’t
Let you sleep, won’t let you sleep!

CHORUS 1
And it’s not even that,
That’s not fully true.
It’s the weight of believing them
That cripples and burdens you.
And it’s not even that,
That’s not fully true.
It’s the weight of believing them
That cripples and burdens you.


There are bags that need unpacking
Things I need to let go of
Now is the time to lighten the load.
Lighten the load.

If letting go means simply letting it be,
Then I put down any burden and feel myself free.
Sleepless eyes wide open to all I have been
Soft palms wide open, I inhabit my own skin.


CHORUS 3
I am older now, a new young crone.
I unblur the lines and choose
What is my own.
I am older now, a new young crone.
I unblur the lines and choose
What is my own.
Track Name: Washington Street
Washington Street

Cars. Cars. Cars pass us on Washington Street.
We ride in silence.

Mom. Mom. Mom is taking me out to lunch.
Pu-pu platters. Mom is taking me out to lunch.
Polynesian Pu-pu platters, pineapples with paper umbrellas.

Sitting at the table, she is suddenly nervous. Tense.
She’s nervous and tense, tense and nervous.
And I do my routine of
talking too much to fill empty spaces.
I do my routine to cushion pointy places.

Mom is taking me out to lunch.
Cars pass on Washington street.

“I have something to tell you.”

Mom is taking me out to lunch.
This never happens, just me and her! Pu-pu platters with pineapples.
And I do my routine to cushion emptiness.
Cars pass on Washington Street.

“I have something to tell you.
I have something you need to know. “

Mom. Is she even looking at me?
I don’t remember.
With her blond hair and blue-grey eyes we didn’t really look related until we smiled, frowned or laughed.
I am in high school, and I have been bigger than her since I was 12, yet a glance from her could cripple me.

Mom, has taken me out to lunch.
Mom. Pupu platters and cocktails. Mom is nervous.
Cars pass on Washington street.

“I have something to tell you:

Your dad.
Is not.
Your dad.”

Yvette is not my sister.
Dee is not my sister.
Jordan is not my brother.
Cheryl is not my sister.

“Your dad
is not
your real dad.
He’s not your real father.”


We ride in silence.
Cars pass on Washington street.
Track Name: The Grove and the Lake
The Grove and the Lake


Tall trees surround the rows of benches in the grove
Our tender eyes gaze beyond the good reverend.
A soft breeze moves through, rustling pages
My eyes gaze at the sunlight on the lake.

Sunday afternoon and
We are dressed in skirts with flowers and shirts with collars.
The Reverend winds up to do his rooster imitation.
His 85 year old neck craning and
the skin on his skinny arms flapping back!
He was crowing to us, calling to us, calling.
He’d been a chaplain on the ships during World War 2,
And now he was here with us softer lambs.
The softer lambs of summer camp,
making sure his daughters,
Faith and Hope
kept our feet walking the Lords narrow road.

The Sunday grove of trees hugged the benches in close,
All of us, dressed in our summer (seventies) best,
Had walked, run, had tumbled lazily to
Come sit in the July heat,
to lift every voice and sing.
Tell about how Jesus could save us.
Really, we’d lift every voice
at chapel every morning, God Bless America,
bible study every afternoon,
And devotion every night. Devotion every night.


My heart was as wide as a silver river
and spilled towards what promised bigger.
Flowed to seas, each drop in me, me wanting to fall, fall into vast.
I simply wanted Jesus to be my friend, to be my friend.
And inwardly, I held his hand his so tight.
I was 5 and held his hand.
I was 6, 7, 8 and 9 and held his hand so tight.
10, 11, 12, 13, God protect me.
chapel every morning, bible study every afternoon,
devotions, devotion…Jesus be my friend.
14, 15 and 16 and inwardly I held his hand so tight.
And my eyes, gazed past the Reverend to the waves on the lake.

I was 16 when the reverend lowered me
Into the tender waters to baptize me.
Kissed by sunlight that summer morning.
I lift every voice in me.

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