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Diggin' Toward the Sea

by The Dandelion Few

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unattendedadult What an absolutely beautiful album of some of the most sweet and somber soothing songs.
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1.
if you were born a miner’s son, your hands were black as pitch you disregard your mother’s cry and catch the miner’s itch dandelions and lupins come blossom in the soil while deep down in the earth there you will toil sunlight’s just a dream when you’re stuck down in the hole diggin’ toward the sea there you will go when you were a miner’s boy your bread was often stale hard-tack and baloney in your father’s dinner pail tea so strong to trot mice on, but rats were all that rose a company of sorts there, I suppose. sunlight’s just a beam from the headlight of your lamp blasting through the shale and through the damp now you are a mining man, you’re given to the land a rusty tin upon your head, a pickaxe in your hand lanterns high above you to guide you through the dark like the flame that burst inside your mother’s heart sunlight’s rarely seen when the ore cars are in tow chuggin’ through the rocks there brave and slow you became a miner’s ghost in 1942 when u-boats struck Bell Island, 59 brave men and you Hayward George, your name it is impressed upon the stone The earth has claimed one more now for it’s own A knock upon the front door when they only use the back The door’s been jammed for years and the frame’s began to crack Another knock once more and the hinges they do sway With just one black handprint to mark your dying day Sunlight’s scarce and lean ‘round wabana town these days When you’re buried beneath the earth inside the maze  
2.
This whole damn world is tailor-made for you it has purples and deep reds and wild shades of blue but you’re pinned by complaints and the smiles that you fake to the people you claimed you once knew tired and frayed by the years sun-washed and yellowed and dampened with tears burned by the fuse, hey but that’s no excuse to play the wild one on everyone else what’s it to you if I fall? You’re where winter collides and drifts up the door What’s it to you if I stand? Well I’ll fall and I’ll fall and I’ll fall back again These stop signs are making you crawl The cross that ya bear, it makes you feel small Won’t ya cut off the weight of the steps you didn’t take And accept that it’s nobody’s fault This whole road it’s still and it’s clear From amber to green, but red before too long the radio’s jammed on the same worn out pop song That drives you to streets of despair What’s it to you if I fall? You’re where winter collides and drifts up the door What’s it you to if I stand Well I’ll fall and I’ll fall and I’ll fall back again
3.
in the long run, we haven’t said much and I can feel my limbs start to ache in the fast course, I’m unraveling backwards to all the certain places we’ll remain oh, it’s desperate to cling to future views to avoid the shovel and the rake Well, we’re married to the time, like turpentine seaming the old evergreens the trees are a blur and faces scatter Well, I can’t fit them all in to frames If I wait till I’m wiser These gems that they’re hiding Will be shared amongst the broken and re-arranged Oh it’s desperate to… Slowed to an amble at the risk of fading And now we’re walking amongst rows of brave Filtered by sunlight, these days splay outright Freedom reigned before the digital age Oh it’s desperate to… In the long run, we haven’t said much And I can feel my limbs start to ache  
4.
when you come in from the cold bring the secrets of the world inside For there’s gold in them hills and I want to survive past the autocorrect and the sins of the wise I’ve rolled cigarettes for the day With strawberries in helpful supply That’s to fool us of the role of our healthy pursuits And to trick us to believin’ we’re just born to get by Wanna believe it’s true The moon dies at the dawn and is reborn in the night And if I put my hands on my eyes, I’ll vanish from sight from you Will not entertain such a falsehood of sayin’ The world’s a better place when you’re not around Watched you breeze in from the rain I thought you were are crimson as a tulip bouquet Soaked to the skin and your petals of red Were married with the floor and the songs of the dead I gave you chords, notes and words, And strings and a heart made of flame All extinguished by a world of convenient things Burned out and smoldered by the weight of your pain Just wanna know the truth Of what happened to your heart, let me figure it out Was it battered and bruised in a war you know nothing about? Or was it overcome by a falsehood of saying The world’s a better place when you’re not around take the mountaintops, take the coast, take the rivers, the streets and the cities but leave me the flower of the valley that grows through the thorns, the concrete and the wildness of those please won’t you share the truth as if the gospel depended on the words from your mouth lest it shatters on the wisp of a tyrant so brazen and scattered with a fistful of doubt I will not entertain such a falsehood of sayin’ Or pay no heed to a lie Because the world’s a better place when you are alive
5.
pylon cones and hazard tape, fur-trim hood, but it’s a fake these four walls are the colour of slate and I am safe inside like a baby in a bassinet who’s milky breath holds no regret like a coyote kitted out in his den with no territory to defend hush, sweet darlin’ dish and spoon, calamity jane’s snug in her big cocoon the whole world’s one big grin suspended in a sea of tobacco and gin to ramble so far and fall so fast into comfortable shoes and familiar paths I asked the cartographer to draw me my map And he did it right there on the back of my hand It had tepid smiles and charming sighs, Had pools of content and brick-red lines, Had guard-rails for guidance, sandpaper for pride And an alcove of rose tint to rest my mind Hush sweet darlin’… If you are the blanket, then I am the sheep, Who’s shorn and shivering and lacking heat You rise high above and spread yourself thin As comfort is a treacherous thing So write some directions to suit my spine My route 66, highway 99, I’ll crisscross the rivers and lakes full of damage Take root in the ash and make love in the carnage Hush…
6.
7 Men 03:42
I killed seven men Best not go ahead and fuck with me again Lilies are expensive this time of year And I made seven widows all unhappy with the circumstances I did impose and I couldn’t blame them if I tried Oo-ee, you may find me near the beaches Sitting silent on the benches Waiting for someone to take me in And I guess you don’t know, And I guess you don’t see how I feel right now Have I made the greatest mistake, And ignored every chance that has come by my way? Sitting on chairs in dusty rooms With glasses of old, sour wine Fermented with friendship and sorrow in kind Forget what’s gone, just go home Someday you will find me in the trenches, rushing head-long through the breeches past all common sense that I could take in and I guess you don’t know and I guess you can’t see how I feel right now At least I can wash off the rain though it clings to my hair, still I will remain Storms will roll into clearer days and what of the widows before? They’re caught in the wind, like the leaves ‘round my door But rest in the sunshine of the day Oh man, won’t you sing to me again In that old-time song refrain Before my flesh gives way to much too silent stones And I guess you might know And I guess you might see how I feel right now
7.
Raulin's 04:15
be not so silent when you’re down, we’re all bleeding on the inside after all. And when I wake up, when I wake up I can’t bear to see you frown when the day is new My friends say that the hair upon my head seems cold and gray Do not run from me, do not run from me if my heart seems the same way too It’s just not worth, it’s just not worth the getting blue Holy Moses, it gets cold on mid-November afternoons. When the winter fades, through the everglades I’ll cancel all the cold and close the bill. Guess I’ll see you when the tulips break the soil to find the sun Towards the light the bend, and when the day is done They’ll close up shop and wait for morn to come They just can’t help, just can’t help to soldier on All ya can do is stand and bake your bread Grow your greens, brush your teeth and make your bed Keep rancho clean, don’t get lonesome, just stay glad Keep hope runnin’, keep your company, but don’t waste time Help win the war, wake up and fight Love ‘em all, wake up and fight Make up your mind, wake up and fight
8.
won’t be comin’ home in the spring, you will not see my face when the summer birds do sing when the autumn comes around, no where will I be found when the frostbite greets the shoals upon your shore in the afternoon, don’t expect to hear my voice, don’t make my pot of coffee in the morning, there’s no point, when the moon grows and shakes, no silence will I break with my footsteps across your bedroom floor you’ll wait too long for my letters to arrive I’m not concerned if you wonder if I’ve failed or if I’ve strived The inbox of your email will be vacant of my name Like your gaze will be vacant of my frame no more will I be seen on the streets where I once walked on the corner now at 3 a.m. you will not hear me talk if a shadow were to venture ‘cross your doorway strong and brave, it will not be the shadow that I made but ask my friends for just one kindness in my name nail ‘for sale’ signs on the door, the locks I’ll ask to change my boots are leather-strong so I will not fear the snow ask no questions if you see my garden grow I won’t be coming home in the spring…
9.
he’ll watch the world from the corner of a white-washed room and count the stars, measure the moon and be sure we’re not lost down here sure that our roads are clear oh my love, how I missed your kisses… from ballinteer to Moscow, like andy dufregne through the walls of these cities, I’ll be crawling for your name and once again, when the arrows hit the perfect spot, he’ll fall away, to a kingdom that is not his own, or by any means his home, near the beechwood trees oh my god, how the birds keep singing… and from cricklewood to st. john’s, we crossed the ocean wide like the old man and the sea, there was no place left to hide till he’s turned home with the tide, for a home he longs to be from here on in, there’ll be no more chills from western winds or hard times that could’ve been he’s found his hiding place there’s warmth near the fireplace and from ballinteer to Moscow, like andy dufregne through the walls of these cities, I’ll be crawling for your name and from cricklewood to St. john’s, we crossed the ocean wide like the old man in the sea, he had no place left to hide…
10.
tongue-tied, wide eyed, looking at the mercy seat, when the sun falls quiet, we’ll be laid down at your feet white rose, bloody nose, strewn across the ground when the sun goes down, we’ll be laid without a sound vultures from the coast, nature comes to wait when the dogs come to bark, I’ll be waiting for my brother’s fate when jackals come to call, and the dogs come to roam and vultures come along I’ll be looking for my brother’s home Softly spoke upon my ears when I came to wake Linen sheets around me, there’s a needle in my veins “lucky are you for tonight, but when this war is won you’ll be cast out to the shadows where the devil calls it home vultures from the coast… dear sir or madam, you’ll regret to be informed of how your brother’s blood was spilt upon his uniform hearts that rang and bells that tolled, mistakes they often made confused with the dying but he never seen the grave flew with vultures to the coast, swam with fishes in the sea scavenged with the dogs for my brother’s home to be and when I come to call and when I come to roam and when I come along I’ll be looking for my brother’s home

credits

released December 22, 2017

Words & melodies by Seán Bradley & Tiffanie "God Damn" George

Acoustic Gitbox and man voice: Seán Bradley
Uke device, Glockenspiel, rhodes piano & lady voice: Tiffanie G.D. George
Wee fiddle: Tadhg Mulligan
Big fiddle: Conal Duffy
Electrified gitbox: Joey Edwards
Battered goatskin set: Paul Carolan, Peter Baldwin, Joey Edwards
Produced by Joey Edwards
Engineered by Peter Baldwin

Recorded at Black Mountain Studios, Jenkinstown, Co. Louth, Ireland

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The Dandelion Few St. John'S, Newfoundland and Labrador

The Dandelion Few is the collaborative work of artists Tiffanie George & Seán Bradley. Poetic, pensive and intimate, their take on modern folk music has been described as both beautiful and dark with touches of the recent past. Often working in conjunction with other musicians and artists of various mediums, they have become well known for their harmony- rich vocals and intimate performances. ... more

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