Pockets

by David Stone

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1.
On Her Mind 03:47
The morning air was cold and uninviting, my bed was warm and I had left her there, I paused just for a moment in the doorway, I contemplated heading back upstairs. I pulled the door turned the key to lock it, I shuffled through the snow toward the road, I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets, it’s so peaceful here where I am all alone. It’s so peaceful here where I am all alone. In the almost dark, the hardest part, isn’t in my aching hands or feet. The thing that hurts, is when I think of her, and all the distance in between, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours close in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine? A single candle burning on the stove-top, the air inside was warm and drew me in, welcomed home by our excited dogs, I read her letter on the counter in the kitchen. She said babe I’m working late, I’ll see you in the morning. She said babe I’m working late, I’ll see you in the morning. In the almost dark, the hardest part, isn’t in my aching hands or feet. The thing that hurts, is when I think of her, and all the distance in between, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours close in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine?
2.
You’re a myriad of decisions A place of worship without religion With scaffolding in place above my bed You’ll take the night shift in my dreams again When we no longer wear this skin They’ll bury us where beauty used to live With pockets full of wildflower seeds For the hummingbirds and bees The embodiment of new beginnings The sound of a frozen lake or a planet spinning The classroom neatly swept in mid-July There's a table set for six but it’s only you and I When we no longer wear this skin They’ll bury us where beauty used to live With pockets full of wildflower seeds For the hummingbirds and bees If we’re still in our seats when the credits end The colourless projector light still flickerin' And if we aren’t seduced by the safety net Then walking on this tightrope is easier I guess When we no longer wear this skin They’ll bury us where beauty used to live With pockets full of wild flower seeds For the hummingbirds and bees
3.
They burned the film with an image of your face, so as my memory fades I’ll still have something tucked away. As I aged, and as you aged with me, that photograph held only but of moment of your beauty. The woman that you are, the woman that you were, I want to tomorrow with you, more than yesterday with her. You are the light that shines through. The way the past, tends to flicker in the distance, like some far off star you can see but never visit. The stories of our life, like a puzzle made of moments scattered on the table in our first apartment. In so many ways forever, is just a million things that ended in an instant. You are the light that shines through. I burned the film, I put you in a song, put your voice on record, but you were with me all along. And as I aged, and you aged with me, I took the time to see the many forms of your beauty. The woman that you are, the woman that you’ll be, I want today with you, If you’ll have me. You are the light that shines through.
4.
Rough sketches in my notebook, from when you were away, I tried to find your figure, I tried to find your face. You walked across the thin grey lines, still and silent on the page, wading through the depths of swirling stories, like a swimmer in the the poets bay. Like a siren singing songs of honest heartbreak. Steer my weary hand, take me further than I planned, show me the darkest hour of night, so by day I see the light. Waiting at home don’t feel the same, if you’re not coming home again. Tough talk about the future, and troubles of the past, as long as we’ve held fast together, the trouble never lasts. You are the swimmer in the the poets bay. The siren singing songs of honest heartbreak. Steer my weary hand, take me further than I planned, show me the darkest hour of night, so by day I see the light. Waiting at home don’t feel the same, if you’re not coming home again.
5.
I found a cozy little place in the corner of a crowded room, in the dull and constant roar of conversation I heard you, you sounded like the very first drop of rain to hit the surface of a sleeping lake, you spoke with the shimmer of moonlit ice through a veil of snowflakes. This was easier when I was seventeen, I couldn’t see through anyone, and no one saw me. My dreams were still naïve, and I took comfort in belief, that I needed to be someone’s somebody. I found a cozy little place in the corner of your busy life, in the moments we could spare we made a happy husband and wife, we grew together like two planets in each-others orbit hurdling through space, sometimes it’s the things we barely notice keeping us secured in place. This was easier when we were twenty-three, we couldn’t see through anyone, and no one saw you and me. Our dreams were still naïve, and we took comfort in belief, that we needed to be someone’s somebody. It’s a long was down sinking deep in your chest, and the words spilled out like confetti on your breath, and the world stood still and we hung by a thread, as you held my hand, and I remember you said. This was easier when it was you and me, we couldn’t see through anyone, and we weren’t always worried. Our dreams were still naïve, and we took comfort in belief, that we needed to be someone’s somebody.
6.
Young 03:45
Tell me the one about when you were young and you were in love and how it was enough for you, to be happy. You were so naïve because it was so brand new I guess you took it all for granted no one could’ve blamed you for, not knowing what to do. When things got hard, you watched the whole thing fall apart. Now she’s leaving in her best-friends car, you should’ve seen the trouble from the start. This was never going to be easy, but now you’re just lonely, living like strangers, barely speaking, fighting back anger, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, listening to her breathing, thinking you’d feel better if she just left, but the last thing you want now is an empty bed, can’t get things straightened in your own head, you never thought you become your parents. Tell me the one about when you were young and you were in love and how it was enough for you, to be happy. You were so naïve because it was so brand new I guess you took it all for granted no one could’ve blamed you for, not knowing what to do. When things got hard, you watched the whole thing fall apart. Now she’s leaving in her best-friends car, you should’ve seen the trouble from the start. Now you’re counting wasted hours and days, trying to find the moment everything changed, trying to find the words to say what she won’t hear now anyways. You couldn’t just communicate, with all your pride you couldn’t shake, you couldn’t make it right, you wouldn’t make the time, you looked into her eyes, told yourself she that she wasn’t lying, when she said everything was fine, you should’ve read the between the lines, but now she’s driving out of sight, and putting you out of her mind.
7.
You count your silver bullets by the console light, mindful of the movement in the corner of your eye. You remember melodies to songs you heard when you were young, you don’t know all the words, so you just hum. A dozen silver bullets might be enough, but you’ve got thirteen in case you fuck up, a dozen silver bullets weighing down your shirt, you took careful aim and shot the thirteenth first. Sharpened up your arrow heads and laid them in a line, a thousand years later this is all they’ll find. Stricken from the record, written over, overtime, like a ghost on the film when you hold it to a light. A dozen sharpened arrows might be enough, but you’ve got thirteen in case you fuck up. A dozen sharpened arrows buried in the dirt, you took careful aim and shot the thirteenth first. You found out the countless were just uncounted, and no one really knows how those people how those people sounded. You wondered if the lore and verse was based in truth, or if they were just telling you what to do. You count on me to be good for you, I’ve been a work in progress since 1992. You found a couple tapes that used to be your Dad’s, in a box of old things your Mom forgot she had. There might have only be a dozen things they ever agreed on, one was you, one was the weather and the other ten were songs. A dozen good years might have been enough, but they had thirteen before they fucked it up. You’ve got a dozen tapes, and you know every word, but you just hum along to the thirteenth first.
8.
Strange 02:31
The Soles of your feet, in the palm of my hand, I lift you up, to the first branch. Does the sun leave us, or do we turn away? Are we just scars in the bark where we carved our names? In 99 years, when we're not around, just a couple of ghosts, the last two in town, I want to know the world, like the back of your hand, familiar enough, just to know where I am. I hope through the years, you still make me feel strange. Give this feeling a name, give it somewhere to stay. As effortless as to have you say you're mine, as complex as to understand why. In the florescent glow, of the restaurant lights, when I said I don't know, you never asked me why. I hope through the years, you still make me feel strange. Give this feeling a name, give it somewhere to stay. As effortless as to have you say you're mine, as complex as to understand why.
9.
It’s a rainy December, it’s cold and shitty everyday, your clothes feel so heavy, but you take comfort in the weight. Strip away the damp cool wool, to your warm ivory skin, smile behind the bottle, balanced in your frozen fingertips. Heart like a hummingbird, hands like the evening winds, pull at my lapels, and rush over my skin. You play with your hair, you drink yourself numb, we aren’t here long, but maybe just long enough. My love’s a mess, folded in a pocket by your breasts. I sound my best, tucked behind your ear like a cigarette. Where I wrote it down, where we intersect, on the northbound, western provinces. In some border town, when it’s Christmas Eve, in a dull basement apartment. I’ll be your just in case, like a blade in your back pocket. I’ll marvel at your grace, like the rose behind your ear. Or the lily in your hair and your summer dress, that you wear to bed when you feel depressed. In some border town, when it’s Christmas Eve, in some cheap motel it’s too cold to leave. The watercolour greys, the “Great Bear” obscured, it’s been at it for days, and the highways a blur. Strip away the damp cool wool, to your warm ivory skin, smile behind the bottle, balanced in your frozen fingertips. My love’s a mess, folded in a pocket by your breasts. I sound my best, tucked behind your ear like a cigarette. Where I wrote it down, where we intersect, on the northbound, western provinces. In some border town, when it’s Christmas Eve, in a dull basement apartment. I’ll be your just in case, like a blade in your back pocket. I’ll marvel at your grace, like the rose behind your ear. Or the lily in your hair and your summer dress, that you wear to bed when you feel depressed. In some border town, when it’s Christmas Eve, in some cheap motel it’s too cold to leave.
10.
The morning air was cold and uninviting, my bed was warm and I had left her there, I paused just for a moment in the doorway, I contemplated heading back upstairs. I pulled the door turned the key to lock it, I shuffled through the snow toward the road, I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets, it’s so peaceful here where I am all alone. It’s so peaceful here where I am all alone. In the almost dark, the hardest part, isn’t in my aching hands or feet. The thing that hurts, is when I think of her, and all the distance in between, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours close in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine? A single candle burning on the stove-top, the air inside was warm and drew me in, welcomed home by our excited dogs, I read her letter on the counter in the kitchen. She said babe I’m working late, I’ll see you in the morning. She said babe I’m working late, I’ll see you in the morning. In the almost dark, the hardest part, isn’t in my aching hands or feet. The thing that hurts, is when I think of her, and all the distance in between, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours close in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine? The morning air was cold and uninviting, my bed was warm and I had left her there, I paused just for a moment in the doorway, I contemplated heading back upstairs. I pulled the door turned the key to lock it, I shuffled through the snow toward the road, I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets, it’s so peaceful here where I am all alone. It’s so peaceful here where I am all alone. In the almost dark, the hardest part, isn’t in my aching hands or feet. The thing that hurts, is when I think of her, and all the distance in between, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours close in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine? A single candle burning on the stove-top, the air inside was warm and drew me in, welcomed home by our excited dogs, I read her letter on the counter in the kitchen. She said babe I’m working late, I’ll see you in the morning. She said babe I’m working late, I’ll see you in the morning. In the almost dark, the hardest part, isn’t in my aching hands or feet. The thing that hurts, is when I think of her, and all the distance in between, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours close in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine? When the sun first crests the ivory rooftops, when the coffee drips and the lights plays with her eyes, when evening hours roll in, and when another day begins, will I be on her mind like she is mine. Will I be on her mind like she is mine?

about

"Pockets" was recorded in my home studio between December '17 & December '18. I wrote, recorded mixed/produced everything you'll hear here.

let me know what you think of the new songs, and if you like something, tell a friend :)

Thanks so much for taking the time to listen to/download my music. Your support is very much appreciated, and there's always new things to come, so stay in touch!

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released December 25, 2018

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David Stone Barrie, Ontario

Singer/songwriter and musician based in Ontario, Canada.

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