Everything Is Fireworks

by Simon Weber

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Nathan Weber
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Nathan Weber Album as narrative. Wonderfully balanced progression of songs. Take 40 minutes, sit down, listen to this and go on a journey. You won't remember where you started and want to listen again. DISCLAIMER: Family relation with the artist, but that gives me more right than most to tell him if it is rubbish. It is not rubbish, listen and find out for yourself. Favorite track: Avalanche Sun.
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(This is free, but you can still throw money at me if you want to...)

credits

released July 28, 2015

All songs written, recorded and performed by Simon Weber with many thanks to Mellany Jones who performed the female vocals.

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Simon Weber Hobart, Australia

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Track Name: Coastline
We reach the cliff face and climb down to the coastline
and we set down all out clothes, but the winter air has beaten us here.
I dive into ice water, just to proove my own free-will,
but still can't escape the cause I cannot see.

And I feel the grip around my wrist,
hesitation, falter and release,
it would not be wise;
you waste your time when you wait to decide.

Now I am lying on the asphalt and it smells of cigarettes
as I imagine cars but am too scared to leave,
and the lights play out in my eyes.
And as I dive through the slip-stream I feel the moment
bend and disperse like planets as they burst apart.

And I feel the grip around my wrist,
hesitation, falter and release,
it would not be wise;
you waste your time when you wait to decide.

and you guide a line right through your life, but you've got to take some blame from the world, sometimes.
Track Name: Meteor Dream
When you get home you'll dream of meteors,
the end of the world as we know.
Try not to be scared, hold tight to the thought that life
is able to exist, as it already has.
And if burning forests won't grow back again,
and the oceans roll covers everything

Then sometimes you'll hear them talking,
the fallen trees have spoken word,
they're dead and gone, but they know how to get home.

And when you get home, you'll dream of a tidal wave
over family, friends and foe.
As sky rises fall the ash and dust will bury us in the places where we stand with our cell phones in our hands,
and the TV's dead, but we're still broadcasting,
as not our bodies, but as everything.

Then sometimes you'll hear them talking,
the fallen trees have spoken word,
they're dead and gone, but they know how to get home...
Track Name: Avalanche Sun
We walk into an avalanche of sunlight with
the world in our pockets on a screen sized globe and the
new tragic narrative of some shipwrecked souls
they were under the water now they're more than themselves.
so we can fold their clothes,
we can borrow their blood flow.

Like someone of a distant shore
our saprogenic empathy; we'll just read about it all at home.

Call up the clairvoyants I think there's someone there inside
satellites and all our social spheres they've got one hundred thousand ears
and all connections coalesce, extracting order from the message,
it was someone else's news, it's just another part of you,
in your home.
You breathe it in and make it your own.
An old expression that you've rearranged.
An old expression.

A clone of a clone.
They'll keep you coming back for more.
Our sycophantic sympathy; we'll just read about it all at home.
Track Name: Keycode
I fell asleep playing chess with a pigeon
but heard he had won by the time I came too.
Or so said the saints, speaking sandstorms of ash,
inarticulate answers to questions which seemed never stupid,
but holy.
And I'm sorry still I'm not saying anything that means everything
to any one of you or me.
Not solemnly swearing on gods, graves or grandmothers,
gold bullions, ming vases, valiant heroes from our histories.

These people speak like saints
with all the advice they could give.
"I know what is better, I know what is better
I know what is better for you"

This greenhouse feels fuller, and faster than before,
but I've found a nice rock-pool, a gene-pool, a history.
A cul-de-sac, cave painting, car crashing keycode.
A keep-safe to hold in your head until you've found reason.
I'll say sorry if I sound sad in sentiment, or immmature,
giant disclaimers I'll have if when I speak I'm uncertain,
as though silence was making us all uneasy.

But I'll hear you speak like saints,
with all the advice you could give,
if you know what is better, you know what it better.
You know what is better
for me.
Track Name: Candle Indoors
The hour-hand holds up the air.
It counts down like a candle indoors.
As autumn street sweeps up its sleeves
of burnt paper and lingering leaves.

Winter walks in on the wind
wearing its fetid fur coat.
We shiver and turn it our backs.
It whispers and howls and gloats.

And the sun looks down,
watching as the earth turns around.
Slipping in and out of sight,
constantly changing its mind.

And it hears, as it turns back,
the howling of one thousand hours.

And the trees, they remember her.
She's talking to them like she's known them before.
But they are forgetting what they're meant to say
because losing your confidence robs you of grace
and as the cloud-bank falls back again
then the sunlight will shine down again,
onto autumn street, coming through the leaves.

And the sun will look down,
still watching as the earth turns around,
slipping in and out of sight
and constantly changing its mind.
It's reflection, off a pocket watch,
kept counting once the clock had stopped,
so it hears, as it turns around,
the howling of one thousand hours.
Track Name: People and Their Dogs
When I get afraid I start moving in lines,
Cycling all day down the side of the highway,
My knuckles turn red as I pass the industry,
The great plumes of smoke, they mean everything to me.

I crested the hill and my legs went to sleep,
but downhill is easy you just need to keep
your head and your arms in a tight ball around
the body your parents said you should take more care for.

But you gave up waiting on the weather;
you know there's no better way to catch yourself a cold,
and with one word pending on disaster,
see it written on the faces of the people walking dogs.

Now it gets cold, and we're all autumn leaves and frozen bones,
we'll be hiding watching like we're pick-pocket thieves of character.
And when you look back,
you'll see a burning mass of syntax stacks,
and you'll say ten billion things that won't cohere,
or make sense to you or me.

You'll say we've given up waiting on the weather,
we know there's no better way to catch ourselves a cold,
and with one word pending on disaster,
see it written on the faces of the people walking dogs.

In the park, by the steelworks, in the evening
there is a cold taste in the air.
It's metallic, it's panicked, and it's hanging on the tongues
of the people and their dogs.
Track Name: Figurant Song
There's a murder of crows in a row along dead tree street.
They'll tell you you're weak, they'll tell you you can't compete.
They've left me tying myself in knots again,
try to count down the hour of sleep,
when whispering words that I've overheard works better than counting sheep.

We never change,
but we never stay the same,
and everything that we say,
we say with such certainty.

Everyone at some stage in their life,
sees themselves and they think they've got it right,
but they tell me I don't want to walk down that road,
when they say they know exactly where it goes.

We never change,
but we never stay the same,
and everything that we say
is about how different we are from the rest of the world.

They say it must mean more than this,
they say their life it must mean more than this.
And they say it's hard to resist.
To hold out open palms, and not to make a fist.

When there's a murder of crows in a row
along this dead end street,
and everything that they tell me,
is about how different they are

From the rest of the world.

(they take themselves so seriously)
Track Name: Live Behind Cellophane
After I say anything
I sense there is something else in the room
that is not what I said.
For honesty is a vulnerable thing,
like I'm leading white rabbits to the lion's den,
but it was safer not to say,
and to have nothing to defend.

Now I live behind cellophane,
Not so easily conditioned,
less reactions and less repercussions.
I get lost inside a telephone or a door,
Everything is fireworks,
It's just that time plays it back too slow.