Tiny Pastures

by Boston Cream Party

supported by
/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.

      name your price

     

1.
03:02
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
05:26
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.

about

If a pasture is left fallow for too long, it becomes a desert, a prairie, a forest. If it grows too large, it becomes a range and many people contend the right to pass through. Pastures, like time, are meant to be used.

This album celebrates the seventh reincarnation of Ryan Sarno, in a tiny pasture, out of a guitar hole. Upon exit, I shook hands with Robert Schumann like nestling swans after unbinding my fingers of copper bonsai wire, and left pains widowed as April is in August. I am grateful to the people who permitted me to steal their instruments and record their elastic walls.

credits

released September 9, 2011

Instruments, voice: Ryan Sarno
Voices: Megan Conlon, Samuel Diaz-Littauer
Art: Melissa Kelly (mkmakesthings.tumblr.com)

tags

license

all rights reserved
Track Name: Tiger City
I threw my head between my knees,
mortified by the tiger city roar,
only to find its kittens dead
asleep in a box by my back door.
Track Name: No Home, No Library Card
Versions of this song have lyrics, but not this version.
Track Name: Unneeded Flowers (II)
To grow as unneeded flowers,
left to thrive by the side of the road,
bright and unseen in nobody's row,
remaining untrampled for hours.
Track Name: No Home, No Library Card (reprise)
Got no home, got no library card.
Haven't got a dollar, but I'm free of sin.
If you get a chance to shake my hand,
better shake it well,
because you wont get a second chance
unless we meet in hell.
No home, no library card.
Track Name: Rotten Windows
The kitchen sink is literally the only friend I've got back home.
I sit and think slowly about it but the distance in me grows.

I know I've got to get back to the state where I was born,
got to get back before the frail earth perishes in a storm.

She's waiting for me, the patchwork, scarecrow girl.
I doubt she keeps me in her diary, but she says I figure brightly in her world.

The fear of being run off the road by a rhino city bus
keeps me from hustling the streets, sticking my neck out on the cusp

of a safe future, and paying everywhere we go.
There's no time out from the bus lanes amongst there and to and fro.

I'm most afraid of dying on the days when I am frail,
and I've been afraid most everyday since my legs began to fail.

My teeth are broken down from chewing shame,
my neck is stiff from staring out that rotten window frame.

I've been pawing from recognition now for almost seven years,
questions and effort fall short of finding me peers.

I'm set now on living and adopting a shelter dog,
settling with guts and bronze and pinching my nose up in the fog.