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    Myshkin trying on a plethera of musical styles like pretty hats, with the help of some of New Orleans best players, and they all look good. Packaged in a jewel case with a 12 page booklet including all lyrics, and original collage artwork by Myshkin.

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lyrics

your green house smelled of bumblebees vanilla and sweet yesterday’s beer
on the sunny window sill of a california dream
and it was always warm in winter the beaches were always empty 
there were more stars in the sky than i had ever seen
and you cut driftwood into beauty sleek and oiled and lithe in line
you never seemed like driftwood to me you always seemed to know your mind
but beauty cuts us dreadful slow she cuts as slow as live oaks grow
we bleed into her silver bowl i don’t know what it is we owe her
maybe we so readily intoxicated should not be
where the very air is heady mountains sing and oceans breathe
your advice was usually good i carry it like sticks of wood
to burn to light the path to see the seven years between you and me
never strike a match towards you never swerve to avoid
that dog in the road will soon be gone but i’ll be here your whole life long
and if that was a promise won’t you try and keep it
i am hereby on my knees begging you to see that
fear she cuts us dreadful slow she cuts as slow as live oaks grow
we bleed into her silver bowl i don’t know what it is we owe her
maybe we so stubbornly shrugging off our talents 
seed scorched earth as our legacy that’s no response to our ability
and your round face it looks like mine and sometimes my voice sounds like yours
like yesterday i sang a line like what could have come right out your verse
but it has been so dreadful long since i have heard your own true song
unguarded by your tin can army not garbled by your tin can throng
so cut your dead wood into beauty i’ll burn these sticks up in rhyme
don’t mean to speak of debt and duty some habits just outlive their time
and habit cuts us dreadful slow she cuts as slow as live oaks grow
we bleed into her silver bowl i don’t know what it is we owe her
maybe we can tear this tree up by its roots and fuck the pain 
we’ve bled enough to feed an ocean i want to hear your voice again
spring 99 Port Fairy Australia
© myshkin 1999

credits

from Why Do All the Country Girls Leave?, released January 1, 2000

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Myshkin Warbler Astoria, Oregon

Myshkin and an ever-evolving crew of restless gamblers—string, horn, drum, key, and and wave players. Passions range from tango to electronica, folk-noir to gypsy-swing to modern classical to rocknroll. Literate & spooky. Myshkin mostly plays guitars. When warm, she sings like a shiver down your chakras. Like a heart breaking all wide open. Like one in utter control of uncontrollable things. ... more

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