The Settled Dust That Rose

by Sandusky

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about

With her pointed finger she pulled my eyes way past the sunrise and told me tales of no good horse thieves and cowboys who rode off into moonlight and not soundstage sunsets. Yeah, it might’ve been me. But for now bury me in a mountain plot please void of flowers, but full of leaves (at least one leaf) to cover the shaking knees of those no good horse thieves who might’ve been me. Running away from you, instead of to you, I saddled up and giddy-uped. Clouds met the stirring dust of no good horse thieves.
I loved you like a sharpshooter loved his rifle. Bullet, sight, sigh I closed one eye and I killed you. I guess you know you’re the settled dust that rose. Sleeping sound below on old sheets and pillows I buried you.
Unlock all your doors for the wolves are out tonight, but two days of fresh snow has fallen, and each flap of the snow angel’s wings have been covered with paw prints that echoed in the light beyond your window pane. So I would lock all my doors and whisper towards the winter’s moon, "let the wolves out tonight."
The moonlight tonight was a backyard streetlight and O! how I thought the clear dark night would be bright enough to draw pictures of a porch swing supporting us.
I seem to have left a drink of mine on a table of yours and maybe tomorrow you’ll find solace in snow paved roads. It’s the ice I’m most sad about, like the season out east that won’t melt and maybe you’ll find solace on a snow paved road. It’s you who I’ll forget about on a walk outside around the house and maybe you’ll find solace on some neighborhood road. We seem to leave drinks of ours on tables at bars because we hope tomorrow we’ll be alone inside our house. It’s the thought of us that we think about a year from now curled up on the couch or maybe tomorrow we’ll just wake up and walk away.
With my chin resting atop of your head the thought of my leaving, until another season passed, was dust settling on us. With some dust resting atop of my head covered at last until the bath water, once warm, flowed underneath our feet. With my chin resting atop of your head we held each other and waited until the other (she finally went under) drifted slowly towards sleep.
The sights and sounds of your waterways set me to mend my steam engine ways. Like the way your lampshades bade me to bend my broken eyes and see through a see-through you. The touch and taste of all you saved told me to sell my lonely days for a chance to steal away and let me commence my steam engine ways and be through with you.
I caught swimmer’s ear swimming backstrokes through the candlelight deep in the living room floor, but I swam my little heart out. I got shin splints walking on water through the candlelight deep in the living room floor but I swam my little heart out.

credits

released March 30, 2010

Sylas Cooley sang on tracks 2, 3, 5, 8 & 9
Chella Negro sang on tracks 2, 3, 5, 8, 12
Nate Butler played bass on tracks 2, 3, 6, 8, 9 & 10
Max Panten played lead guitar on track 10
Jason Iselin played the guitar lead on track 5
Jeffrey Wentworth Stevens erased a bridge on 3 and gave tons of mixing advice
Corey Ryan sang all other vocals, played acoustic guitars, electric guitars, keyboards, drums, samples, noises and made and kept many mistakes, sorry.
Everything recorded and mixed at Wild Wild Wyandot by Corey Ryan
Mastering completed by Brian Gerhard at AudioLoom
All songs, all lyrics written by Corey Richard Ryan

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Track Name: A Prayer For The Unification Of Bootgazers
Bootgazing Vaquero Manifesto

I. All actions must produce the tendency to ponder one’s boots thoughtfully.
II. No reins before any reins. Genre limitations are creative limitations.
III. Consider the space it represents, tumbleweeds of any kind should be free within it.
IV. Aspire to encompass the ideals of one or more of the following.
a. Nudie Suits
b. Space Suits
c. Adobe Coats
d. Road Trips
e. Android Federales
f. The American West
g. Cowboy Boots

V. Process before product but not before road trips. Highways are a vaquero’s driveway.
VI. Presets are stagnant urban products; manipulation is a rural survival process.

VII. Keyboards are kin to banjos, and slide guitars are genetically the same as samplers.
VIII. Less vaqueros are often more vaqueros.
IX. Mistakes are cosmic fortunes.
X. All creations would be at home on an AM radio in a pick-up truck driven by Brian Eno on the way to an open ranch or at a rodeo held by Gram Parsons.
XI. No good horse thieves stare and share.
XII. High noon duels are best won by refurbishing culture, recognizing the advantages of working within a limited range of possibilities, and reconciling with repetition.
XIII. “Anything that doesn’t take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.” Cormac McCarthy
Track Name: No Good Horse Thieves
With her pointed finger she pulled my eyes way past the sunrise. Told me tales of no good horse thieves and cowboys who rode off into moonlight and not soundstage sunsets. Yeah, it might’ve been me.
But for now bury me in a mountain plot please. Void of flowers but full of leaves (at least one leaf) to cover the shaking knees of those no good horse thieves who might’ve been me.
Running away from you instead of to you I saddled up and giddy-uped, clouds met the stirring dust of no good horse thieves.
Track Name: The Settled Dust That Rose
I loved you like a sharpshooter loved his rifle bullet sight sigh I closed one eye and I killed you. I guess you know you’re the settled dust that rose sleeping sound below on old sheets and pillows and I buried you.
Track Name: Artsy Wolves
Unlock all your doors for the wolves are out tonight but two days of fresh snow has fallen and each flap of the snow angel’s wings have been covered with paw prints that echoed in the light beyond your window pane so I would lock all my doors and whisper towards the winter’s moon let the wolves out tonight
Track Name: Backyard Streetlight
The moonlight tonight was a backyard streetlight and O! how I thought the clear dark night would be bright enough to draw pictures of a porch swing supporting us.
Track Name: A Drink Of Mine
I seem to have left a drink of mine on a table of yours and maybe tomorrow you’ll find solace in snow paved roads. It’s the ice I’m most sad about like the season out east that won’t melt and maybe you’ll find solace on a snow paved road.
It’s you who I’ll forget about on a walk outside around the house and maybe you’ll find solace on some neighborhood road.
We seem to leave drinks of ours on tables at bars because we hope tomorrow we’ll be alone inside our house.
It’s the thought of us that we think about a year from now curled up on the couch or maybe tomorrow we’ll just wake up and walk away.
Track Name: This One Time, I Was Lonesome
With my chin resting atop of your head the thought of my leaving until another season passed was dust settling on us With some dust resting atop of my head covered at last until the bath water once warm flowed underneath our feet With my chin resting atop of your head we held each other and waited until the other she finally went under and drifted slowly towards sleep...
Track Name: Steam Engine Ways
The sights and sounds of your waterways set me to mend my steam engine ways like the way your lampshades bade me to bend my broken eyes and see through a see-through you
The touch and taste of all you saved told me to sell my lonely days for a chance to steal away and let me commence my steam engine ways and be through with you
Track Name: Back From Chicago
I caught swimmer’s ear swimming backstrokes through the candlelight deep in the living room floor, but I swam my little heart out.
I got shin splints walking on water through the candlelight deep in the living room floor, but I swam my little heart out.