1. |
Why Do You Cry?
04:18
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The sun burns brightly outside the wall. In whitewashed shade, contemplation. The music spins. Your wisened eyes filled with knowledge and kindness, love of life. Your sweet voice glides over the sound of music through ages. Tamboura drones, you tightly close your eyes. You knit your brow, tears roll from your eyes. Is it for sadness or love for sound so beautiful? Is it for joy that life surrounds and is you? Why do you cry, guruji?
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2. |
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Stories of ghosts, of babies being saved from the river and martyred saints. These are the stories that we want to hear, these are the stories that matter to us: of life and death. Stories of gods who kill and forgive, stories of children who love and create new life. Stories of souls wandering into a valley of fear of death and fear of life. These are the stories that matter to us, these are the stories that we want to hear: beginnings and ends. Rising from the dead, immaculate conceptions born over and over and over again. Armageddon, flowers growing from the ashes.
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3. |
Diwani Diwani
05:02
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4. |
Electric Crematorium
03:51
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The bottom of the river, where children of god go. Flesh-eating turtles feast on the compost. The bottom of the river, a spine-tingling nature show. Back t home we hide the things we do not want to see. We make them go away. Plumbers, butchers, undertakers keep us clean and blind to our own death and waste. But over here the end screams in your face every day, beckoning your fall. Shit and blood and worse decorate every wall. No illusions over here about the spectrum, birth and god and death are one. Pain and ecstasy are one. In this holy city, a parade of bodies carried to the new improved electric crematorium, where broken tissue is returned to god in wisps of curling smoke. Sometimes I climb just above the traffic in this chaotic town. Sometimes I crawl just beneath the feet of all these hustling clowns. God for sale, sometimes it’s even the real thing. God for sale, who knows what a little money brings? Sometimes I dream of modern conveniences in my mother’s house. Sometimes I see silent bodies motionless as flies buzz around. One world east of Eden, welcome to the land of the destroyer. Rest in his love, no shame. No illusions about sharing our love. God for sale, sometimes it’s even the real thing.
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5. |
Woodstock
02:44
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A sea of yellow grass by lakeside, it stabs our legs, toes dangling in the icy water. Golden sun beats on our brows, our bodies shine. Two mallards bobbing on the fluid crystal blue see us there, apparent indifference to our intrusion. I touch your cool white skin with sun-dry fingertips, the ducks don’t seem to mind. The crazy city far away can never take this mountain. Chunks of moss between the stepping stones make a carpet up to cathedral in the trees. Hold your breath, experience no sound, not even whistling wind. At the top of the deserted hill we find our place, a boulder warmed by the sun. Here comes the tides, off come the clothes. We melt into the rock. The crazy city far away can never take this mountain. Crumble dirt and pebbles in our hands. We’ll never lose this mountain. The crazy city far away can never take this mountain.
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6. |
Song of the Dwarf
03:34
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7. |
Kiss the Boot
03:24
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8. |
Marshmello Rocky
02:44
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Marshmello Rocky, born so wise, stepped into a strange land like she'd been there before. It must be true, how else could she glide? I never saw an arrow fly so true, hands of cotton steel. I never saw an arrow fly so true as those shot by you. Marshmello Rocky, born so wise, the generals tell us courage grows with their stars. That can't be true, your strength cannot be denied. I never saw a lotus bloom so true, liquid emerald eyes. I never saw a lotus bloom so true, drinking from the sky.
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9. |
City of Light
02:59
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10. |
Planet Turns
03:55
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Land faces the sun then looks the other way, planet turns. Grey light breaks horizon as morning spins into position. Sunrise over grassland means rebirth, hope and promise – planet turns. Sunrise in the city means retreat of the night creatures – I turn to her. Planet turns and I turn to her. At first she’s only shadow, a still mound as first rays penetrate our window. Light grows, her colors emerge. Strands of hair, freckles, creases in skin gradually present themselves in growing light. Victorious dawn, planet turns. Morning floods the room. I drink her sleeping colors, motionless, brimming with light.
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11. |
Quality of Wood
03:16
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12. |
Sathiyam Neeye
03:16
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13. |
When We Were Four
02:45
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14. |
Kashi
01:45
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15. |
A Perfect Country
04:50
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In a perfect country, every gas station has a tempting selection of highway snacks & a couple neat pyramids of fruit juice cans & a smiling man in a spotless uniform. In a perfect country, everyone is proud & the whiners get with the program or get out. In a land of automation, every mole in constant danger: edit out the lines on our models' faces. In a land of special effects, there lives a perfect woman. Her cycle & moods have been erased. The ideal life's a lie, everybody smell bad sometimes. The ideal life's a lie, everybody fall on their face. Sometimes the truth is ugly, but so is the stomach of a nude emperor. In a perfect country, everyone believes in the simple righteousness of god's decrees. Athletes & movie stars inspire the youth to eat their vegetables & dress to kill. When a perfect country kills its enemies, the people kiss & buy new color TVs. The kings of marble & music, chrome offices of commerce, nouveau riche, shining, spic & span. No time for simple pleasure. A perfect country growing into one perfect company. Sometimes the truth is ugly, but so is plastic surgery before it heals.
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16. |
Mutant Morning Raga
03:54
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Church of Betty Brooklyn, New York
New York City's long running progressive world chamber rock ensemble performs innovative pop with rock band, sitar, bassoon, string orchestra and a chorus of soaring voices. "Brilliant" - Billboard "Irresistible" - New York Times
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