Burt Bacharach's Hands

from by Rainstick Cowbell

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lyrics

it bothers me to no end
the burnt back of my hands
always begs the question
how’d they get that way?
do they heal?
now I shed what’s given
my forsaken, calm friends
they just want an answer
will you come away?
play with us
a please
you know I won’t
call me on soul
I’m singing sorrys
from a shore with no moors
it troubles me without fail
choking out like cattails
the pollen floats a question
can we come this way?
conquering
now to spread across lands
selfishness, it expands
will I have an answer?
from a shore with no moors
fathoms, harbors for anchoring
follows me where I go
stagnation like mangroves
wait, I have an answer
will you come away?
play with us
appease
you know I won’t

credits

from fireants, released May 1, 2009

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Rainstick Cowbell Portland, Oregon

“Rainstick Cowbell makes searing music that’s intensely personal…[from] intense, clear-eyed rants to unhinged exorcisms. It’s exhilarating to hear music this raw.”
—Portland Mercury

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