Lyrics
1. Childhood
Sunny morning, clear and bright,
book beside the little light.
On the glass a strip of sun,
wall to floor it runs for fun.
Crayon moving, never still,
and the line goes where it will.
Cats and houses, flowers, trees,
birds and faces, dreams like these.
Turning pages, one more look,
in the small and gentle book.
Ribbon, leaf, and crayon end —
each of them a little friend.
Shadows of the branches lean,
sunbeams resting in between.
All her world is plain, no rush:
summer, gladness, and the hush.
Softest glow and soundest sleep,
tender tones the stories keep.
Here is joy in every room:
book, a crayon, lilac bloom.
2. Austen
Austen…
Austen…
You’re up again — “one chapter more” —
the same slow rain, the same grey shore.
You know the end before it lands:
the letter comes, he takes her hands.
I’ve read it through a hundred nights,
my eyes give out, I dim the lights.
But you don’t blink — I’ve lost the thread:
you’re living where I’ve only read.
At school — her portrait on the wall,
the bonnet, ribbon — that was all.
An A, a paper due today,
and “what the author meant to say.”
She lay in marble, out of reach,
a name they made the classroom teach,
until, alone, you turned a page
and saw yourself — a girl your age.
Austen — rain, ball, laughter,
Austen — and your smile right after.
Austen — on the wall, half-drawn,
Austen — and in you, a dawn.
Austen — mud, hem, pride and pen!
Austen — and you’re awake again.
Austen…
and you’re awake again.
3. Ice
There was ice. It was thin. Not a clue.
And I moved, and it seemed that I flew.
I was light. I was quick. I could run,
and the evenings went out, one by one.
And the water is all that is here.
I can’t break through. Can’t rise. And it’s fear.
And the wave shuts above me. Around.
And it’s black, and it’s silent. No ground.
What was light is too heavy for me.
I can’t swim. I can’t reach. I can’t see.
It is freezing. It darkens. No hum.
Just my heart, in the dark, and its drum.
And I lie like a stone. And I stare.
I don’t move. And the world’s over there.
I keep reaching. But nothing to hold,
and the darkness gets thicker. And cold.
What held me was not the floor.
What held me: something more,
it wanted no part of leaving:
all that was, and all long before,
all that was dragging me down to the floor.
But one day it let go. It was leaving.
And I pushed up to silver. At last.
through the cold of the water. And fast.
And the water is warmer somehow.
And the ice has no hold on me now.
And the water gives way. And I rise,
and there’s nothing above me. Just skies.
I don’t know who I was. Who I’ve been.
But I breathe. And the dark has gone thin.
4. Ticket
I was not waiting for light to come through.
I just went on living, the days all the same.
I was not waiting for answers to show.
The clock going round, and there’s nothing to change.
And you, on some Tuesday, just walked down the hall,
and said something easy, and simple, and warm,
and it isn’t heavy, that evening, at all,
and something I held in my chest was just gone.
With you, no more acting — no need to pretend.
With you, saying nothing is not being scared.
As though we had learned it all over again —
the thing we forgot in the chores and the yard.
And I, who was scared to believe in a plan,
I bought my own ticket to somewhere from here.
And something unlocked, and the countdown began,
and time took a step for the first time in years.
My life now is hard, and it counts, and it’s whole:
with joy in it, weight in it — so it was spun,
but I’m not asleep in it — living in full.
And crying, and laughter, and love, all as one.
5. Matrescence
Coffee’s cold — reheat it, beep
Pour it in — I’m still asleep
Walked in here — but what? but why?
I forgot — no need to cry
It’s the… um… the thing… you know?
Need the word — my brain is slow
On the stove — forgotten meals
In my eyes — the ceiling reels
And they say — it’s carelessness
And they say — she took a dive
But inside — it’s sleeplessness
Here I am — I’m still alive
Once I ran it all — before
In their eyes — the closing door
“Hormones, honey. It will pass.”
Like I’m fading into glass
“You have changed” — they all agree
I’d just like to feel like me
All around: “You’ve got this, girl”
As if I were no one’s world
And they say — it’s carelessness
And they say — she took a dive
But inside — it’s sleeplessness
Here I am — I’m still alive
I’m not broken — just not all there
Let me breathe, a voice of my own
Not “what happened” — say that you care
Not “you’ve got this” — “you’re not alone”
And they say — it’s carelessness
And they say — she took a dive
But inside — it’s sleeplessness
Here I am — I’m still alive
…Still alive
6. Daughter
You’re watching the light as it lands on the ceiling,
You’re closing your fingers to capture the ray.
And all of it seemed to have faded from feeling;
With you, I’m relearning to notice the day.
And time, for a beat,
goes still as the water,
when out of a thousand
you’d know me, my daughter.
You’re smiling at me — and it’s good, and it’s true,
You’re smiling at me — and it’s easy, it’s new.
You settle your cheek where my heartbeat is heard,
and softly I whisper you something — a word.
You’re smiling at me — and I ask for no thunder,
just stay by my side — you’re the whole of my wonder.
You’re reaching your hands up to me, and we sing,
it’s good, and it’s true,
and I’m light as a wing.
You’re born with each morning, and new to your mother,
your gestures, your smile and the way that you look.
I’m gathering all of it, one, then another,
to tell you the shape of it, hand you the book.
The way you’d be startled
by rain, how it lingers,
how all of forever
would fit in your fingers.
You’re smiling at me — and it’s good, and it’s true,
You’re smiling at me — and it’s easy, it’s new.
You settle your cheek where my heartbeat is heard,
and softly I whisper you something — a word.
You’re smiling at me — and I ask for no thunder,
just stay by my side — you’re the whole of my wonder.
You’re reaching your hands up to me, and we sing,
it’s good, and it’s true,
and I’m light as a wing.
When sleep has arrived and the kitchen is dimmer,
I sit by the crib with a stillness to keep.
There seems to be nothing on earth but this glimmer:
and nowhere is warmer, no minute as deep.
You’re smiling at me — and it’s good, and it’s true,
You’re smiling at me — and it’s easy, it’s new.
You settle your cheek where my heartbeat is heard,
and softly I whisper you something — a word.
You’re smiling at me — and I ask for no thunder,
just stay by my side — you’re the whole of my wonder.
You’re reaching your hands up to me, and we sing,
it’s good, and it’s true,
and I’m light as a wing.
You’re smiling, you’re smiling…
it’s good, and it’s true.
You’re smiling, you’re smiling…
it’s easy, it’s new.
7. No Advice
Grandma in the doorway is already chattering:
“Milk that thin is not a meal — some cereal, quick!”
Auntie texts in caps, all bitter and unflattering:
“Breasts like that will never feed her — she’ll be starved and sick.”
My husband’s mother issues me a warning:
“You feed by schedule only, sleep at night!”
My mom is on a loop until the morning,
and frays my nerves without a bit of spite.
I nod at all of them, and I have played the part —
but how to mother you, I’ll learn without a chart…
Wash your nipples clean, wash them clean.
Nothing in it lifts you out of the in-between.
But wash your nipples clean, wash them clean.
Forums run on terror: “Colic! Reflux! Calories!”
Eat the wrong thing: rashes, crying to the dawn.
And the feed is glowing: moms are dolls in galleries,
at the gym by six with makeup, never yawn.
“After one it’s only water — what a pity,
spoil her now, she’ll never learn to sleep alone!”
Doctor, grandma, forum, sister — a committee,
and each of them is sure they know it, on the phone.
I nod at all of them, and I have let it slide —
but then I’ll do my thing, and let them buzz outside…
Wash your nipples clean, wash them clean.
Nothing in it lifts you out of the in-between.
But wash your nipples clean, wash them clean.
Count the experts, count the stars,
each one pulls another way.
But you just breathe against my chest,
and all at once they lose their say.
In the evening only we are free to linger,
sleep, my little one, and let the silence fall.
You have wrapped your tiny hand around my finger,
and the noise of talk is hushed behind the wall.
Sleep, my good one, let them mutter, let them raise alarm,
let them scold and teach us — nothing does us harm.
And for us the hour is ours alone to keep,
and there’s no advice that ever breaks our sleep.
sleep, my little love… I’m here with you.
8. The Walk
I’ll head out to paths that are bright in the sun,
where wind has its play in the tree,
as if there were something the leaves had begun
and murmured it only to me.
My hand on the maple, the cool of the shade,
I count all the grooves that are old.
The plainest of days, the unnoticed, unmade,
is suddenly nothing but gold.
The branches whisper,
the air is crisper,
the world is slow and so am I.
There’s no rush.
Simply to walk, breathing the day,
hearing the leaves as they go.
Simply to look, nothing to say,
and I have nowhere to be, just slow.
Simply to walk, simply be,
out where the water can talk.
Love is what earth is to me,
if I just walk,
simply to walk.
I’ll follow the trail with no end I can trace,
where sunlight is up to my knee.
Where puddles are holding a half of a face
and somewhere a cloud is in me.
The branches are beckoning, starting to sway,
as though I could trust in my dreams.
And birds in the sky are still swimming away,
like signs of how high up it seems.
All is familiar,
but all beginning,
as if the world itself had taught
me again.
Simply to walk, breathing the day,
hearing the leaves as they go.
Simply to look, nothing to say,
and I have nowhere to be, just slow.
Simply to walk, simply be,
out where the water can talk.
Love is what earth is to me,
if I just walk,
simply to walk.
And the trail that I’m on,
through the sun and the shadow.
Then a leaf in my palm,
like a handful of day.
I am under no clock,
and it seems like the dawning.
Now the ground has a breath,
and I can’t help but sing.
Simply to walk, breathing the day,
hearing the leaves as they go.
Simply to look, nothing to say,
and I have nowhere to be, just slow.
Simply to walk, simply be,
out where the water can talk.
Love is what earth is to me,
if I just walk,
simply to walk.
Ah-ah-ah, leaves as they go…
Ah-ah-ah, nothing to say…
Ah-ah-ah, simply to walk…
Simply to love.
9. 3-4
The war breaks out at seven-ten;
you spill the juice, the socks are wrong;
the tears are yesterday’s again,
you cry as if you don’t belong.
The cracker broke - and then the crash,
as if the sky began to fall;
I hold my tongue, and in that flash
I don’t know which of us is small.
I love you, I do, but you drive me crazy.
“But why?” “How come?” “What’s that?” “But why?” -
the questions roll like water through;
one answer down. Before I sigh,
you drag another into view.
“Shoes on!” I call. You’re miles away;
stuck at the window, staring still;
a minute stretches out all day,
and I must run - against my will.
I love you, I do, but you drive me crazy.
“I do it!” - buttons, latches, clothes;
and who goes first, and when it’s mine;
you’d sooner face a hundred no’s
than yield an inch. You guard the line.
You always choose. You take command:
the cup, the sock, the route, the meal;
you rule this house with either hand -
a tiny tyrant. No appeal.
I love you, I do, but you drive me crazy.
You snap at nothing, without fail:
a tag, a seam, a touch by chance;
you scowl and hide your shovel, pail,
though no one’s given them a glance.
You push, you bite, you grab - no “please”;
you scream - it carries half a mile;
and then you buckle at the knees,
and in my arms you rest a while.
I love you, I do, but you drive me crazy.
You rip, you crumple, and you spill;
you turn each object all around;
you’re not destroying - it’s a skill,
and that is how your answer’s found.
“Look!” “What about me?” “Stay with me!” -
and next to you it’s warm and right,
and in the thick of this debris
with you it’s clear. With you it’s light.
You drive me crazy, but I love you, I do.
10. A Sip of Stillness
Once I wanted louder laughter,
Crowded rooms and new hellos;
now the only thing I’m after
is to keep my stillness close.
Third time now, the coffee’s cold,
and the phone begins to glow.
Someone’s waiting to be told,
and the world will never slow.
And the guilt can go, and that’s fine,
for a sip of stillness is mine.
Nothing here I have to say,
and I don’t get lost today.
Set it down and let it fall,
not my job to save it all.
And the stillness draws me home,
where I’m mine, and mine alone.
11. The Warmth I Share
Shining, shining — never waning,
more I share it, more remaining.
I kept my warmth as if from theft,
afraid that nothing would be left.
But once I found the nerve to share,
my warmth began to grow right there.
The more I give away, the more
I feel a lightness lift and soar.
The warmth I share and never count
is never any dimmer,
and only brighter, warmer light,
it blooms in me, a shimmer.
I leave the porch light burning gold,
so no one comes back home to cold.
The secret is a simple one:
just share it once, and see the sun.
The more I give away, the more
I feel a lightness lift and soar.
The warmth I share and never count
is never any dimmer,
and only brighter, warmer light,
it blooms in me, a shimmer.
The heart is not a bank to fill:
so give the warmth — you have it still.
I neither hoard it nor divide:
I love you. Nothing set aside.
The warmth we burn against the dark
is never any dimmer,
and only brighter, warmer light,
it fills the world with shimmer.
Shining, shining — never waning,
more I share it, more remaining.
More light shining, more light shining.
12. Austen (Breakbeat Mix)
Same lyrics as Austen.
13. Matrescence (Ibiza Mix)
Still alive…
Still alive…
Coffee’s cold — reheat it, beep
Pour it in — I’m still asleep
Need the word — my brain is slow
It’s the… um… the thing… you know?
And they say — it’s carelessness
But inside — it’s sleeplessness
Here I am — I’m still alive
I’m still alive
Still alive
Still alive
I’m still alive
Alive, alive
I’m still alive
Alive, alive
I’m still alive
I’d just like to feel like me
Let me breathe, a voice of my own
Not “you’ve got this” —
“You’re not alone”
Here I am
Here I am
I’m still alive
Alive, alive
I’m still alive
14. 3-4 (Crazy Mix)
I love you, I do…
But you drive me crazy.
The war breaks out at seven-ten;
you spill the juice, the socks are wrong.
The cracker broke — and then the crash,
as if the sky began to fall.
I love you, I do,
but you drive me crazy.
I love you, I do,
but you drive me—
Crazy.
Crazy.
Crazy.
I do.
I do.
The cup, the sock, the route, the meal;
you rule this house with either hand.
A tiny tyrant. No appeal.
“But why?” “But why?” “But why?”
I love you, I do,
but you drive me crazy.
And in the thick of this debris,
with you it’s clear.
With you it’s light.
You drive me crazy…
But I love you, I do.
Crazy.
I do.
Crazy.
I love you, I do.
You drive me crazy.
15. The Warmth I Share (Chamber Version)
Same lyrics as The Warmth I Share.
