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lyrics

Every summer we could go, we'd drive eleven hours up to Colorado to stay in my aunts mountain home. A cabin covered by the trees that seemed towering away from all the happenings, abandoned workweeks for traveling.

And much like the thick mountain mist, memories are obscured and I'm learning how much I can forget of the people I used to be and vacations we would take to escape the summer heat
But to my parents these are family highlights
and to me they only seem like distant past lives
ohh

Just a few steps from the back porch, a river raging beside us with a calming white noise, as my brother and I battle with wooden swords, with the altitude air thinner than my asthma could afford

And the smallest smells still trigger it, in the spring the pines connect me to that distant ancestor, who explored nearby caves and climbed up mountains of sand and that soft kid would sleep in heated blankets in bed.

But family photos can't capture who we were in one shot, I need a place to preserve my past lives who they were and were not
and stop all this obstruction by my newest thoughts
so I'll detail each memory until nothing's forgot.

Like when a moped came in a red wrapped bow on my brothers birthday and I nagged him all day to ride it until he finally caved
and on my first trip around the block I was run down by an elderly woman and totaled the only present that he had got. She hardly stepped out to see I was alive and just drove off

Or when the metal goal post fell on my nine year old head and I was bleeding so bad and my dad on the phone with 911
drove me to the hospital
and I got 18 staples to cover up the crack in my skull

But family photos cant capture who we were in one shot, I need a place to preserve my past lives who they were and were not
and stop all this obstruction by my newest thoughts
so I'll detail each memory until nothing's forgot

Digging

I need to stop treating life like it lives in a frame for me to critique
and rip out the borders
its not flat, there's no set path so stop self imposing corners
And I used to dream of turning into some ideal person
but the years keep adding these new layers of perversion
but I still look up and stick my arms out to reach
but they're getting tired of the miles in between
with this pursuit of perfection creating a hole in myself
why am I set on digging my own way to hell?

credits

from Archaic Memories And Past Lives, released May 3, 2016

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Randall Kirk Jones Denton, Texas

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