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Dry Leaves EP

by owlfeathers

supported by
Adam Ive
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Adam Ive Like an acoustic Sufjan Stevens album. Beautiful acoustic guiatrs, beautiful singing. And some dope album art. Favorite track: O, Dandelion.
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1.
O, Dandelion 03:46
april dawn the cold dew on the rabbits’ woolen ears hopping on the railway track (our clumsy white-tipped feet) whereupon we fell between the wooden railroad beams, as the april dawn above us broke. one rabbit spoke, he said, “like a dandelion in the cherry grove, i feel unmarried, overgrown. just a yellow speck in the scarlet sea; no roots, nor fruit bearing from me. this riddle’s always haunted me like a civil war ghost on cemetery ridge, not to abridge my thoughts (though still unsure) i feel i ought to say, ‘don’t worry your life away,’ though never would i ever dream with such certainty to say anything.” april skies the rabbits fled, and in their stead, the steam engine cried, “get off the track! ought to be smacked!” but while he decried his rabbit friends he couldn’t make amends, while the april skies (now black with smoke) the boxcar spoke, he said, “you know, these internal inconsistencies give me goosebumps like a winter breeze. even those gorgeous yellow weeds make for a bitter salad, not like the sweet charcoal heart inside of us.” the caboose and coal-hopper made a fuss. “how did we even trek this far with both a cow-catcher and a cattle car?” to pluck our couplers undone, amuck and never will i ever see where the line’s dividing you from me o, dandelion april dusk the foggy moon like ghostly air-balloons up high glorious! the angel’s words, like flocks to shepherd's herds, like twine glorious! spun ‘round on spinning wheels, sun-bound with grinning peels of rind april dusk the rabbits slept. you know, i still never wept, nor howled o, dandelion
2.
Innocence 03:02
how you cried when i kept all my whispers and dreams locked in christmastime trunks wrapped in newspaper twine now your hair knotted in mine with a stone in your heart and our hearts filled with dirt (i’m sorry i’m difficult, sorry i cried)
3.
i’ll take your words, i’ll tie them tight with yarn and toss like seeds those letters sent from afar, i held your arms and i still hold true a winter’s worth of wind and of silver snow could not cool our red iron furnace glow, where did it go? and i still hold true and i still know you • if you take all of your brambling words if you tie them ‘round ankles of birds or, if my letterbox stays undisturbed i still hold true if i crown myself king of the moss if you find all the lichens you lost or, if our foxtail is killed by the frost i still know you if between us a lifetime has passed if the garden’s o’ertaken with grass or if, by some trivial chance i still know you if we had just a thimbleful more if our kindness was carried ashore if you only could mend what you wore i’d still hold true and i still hold true and i still know you
4.
ivan asked me, “are you feeling well? any thoughts here ring a bell? is that guilt in your eyes? we built from paper our morality, in shadow of mortality. we covered up the skies.” in front of his eyes white clover grew while hydrangea died. (but whose to say a flower’s scent is sweet?) pulled the bindweed, we planted rhododendron seed, (you know, the two look awfully similar anymore.) i’m still waiting here in the place, tucked in woolen socks with frothy milk beside my bed. my words were sincere but lacking grace. quilts patched with goldenrod, and pillows made from straw. ideas I revere, free from soot, i scribbled them all down. in fields of clover and of pumpkin flower, sifting through the soil, she scoured, she opened up our eyes. said, “you know, i stole prometheus’s fire, then set adrift a funeral pyre, i opened up the skies.” in the barnyard grass, to words audacious and crass, i hummed a little verse, “neither snow nor rain nor doubt nor fear nor gloom of night stays these god-seekers from wandering lost.” i’m still waiting here in the place, tucked in woolen socks with frothy milk beside my bed. my words were sincere but lacking grace. quilts patched with goldenrod, and pillows made from straw. ideas I revere, free from soot, i scribbled them all down. i’m still waiting here in the place tucked in fleabane blankets, specked with wild violet seed these words are sincere, but lacking grace we sang lamb’s quarter melody and cocklebur refrain ideas i revere, with elegance, nightshade’s fallen and the dayflowers are singing all alone i’m still waiting here with disgrace wood sorrel wonderings and musings in the dark. these words are sincere both brash and base (the magnolia doesn’t matter anymore.)
5.
Chandeliers 05:07
i dreamt about the fox’s den of snowy fields, of you again and when you came all dressed in red, with ribbons torn & nothing said but now there’s fire in your heart (atop the hills we watched the stars) the fireplace & chandeliers don’t mean a thing to us this year (you came to stay) why heat the stove? why split the wood? its wintertime and nothing’s new the wherewithal to get it right was lost within the fire’s light • and i can still remember when (like chirping chick to mother hen who, worm in mouth and wings outstretched she held me near her feather’d breast) i’ve counted daytimes quietly by drying barrels of mustard seed i’ve measured all the moonlit trails by plucking barley from the bails with sain’ nectaire & clementine we sat amidst the applerinds the river banks, the snow at night your feather’d arm wrapped ‘round my side with just a paltry piece of rye & pocketfuls of wooden dimes, we haunted churchyards tenderly so stricken i could hardly speak • (though is there now the thunder left to frighten crows out from their nest of woven twigs of paper birch? your feather’d heart; your feather’d ghost)

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released February 8, 2014

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owlfeathers New York, New York

owlfeathers is an indie-folk duet based at Sarah Lawrence College as well as in Philadelphia.

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