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(c)(p) 2002; This is the third vocal focused record from Steve (following Rustwaterenginesmoke and Nocturnal Rain). Recorded on multitrack MiniDisc, the song here are far more layered and introduce a new element to Steve's songwriting.
They unwound the crank Right under our nose I made my escape When the stock market froze (In the chamber maid’s clothes) I rode the arroyo When the water main sank He choked up the whiskey When they unwound the crank
They unwound the crank And snapped all the chains In spite of the dam The avalanche came Every precaution Went into the tank I forgot all my memories When they unwound the crank
If granted deliverence Who will you thank? Thank God for the moombeams When they unwound the crank
I’m the railroad in the motion of the treetops I’m the sawmill in the whisper of the leaves And I’ve got half a mind to tell 'em That I’ve lost my cerebellum And chuckle as I cough upon a sneeze
I’m the north wind of the Great Lakes gale warning I’m the rumor that the shipyard’s setting sail Out there I’ll never have to tell 'em Our cargo’s spermicide for Belgium We’re a sensible alternative to jail
So if you’re fixed in such a way That you catch rainbows You’ll find the canning process Hovers in your dreams We all have something that we fear The kiss of Judas made it clear The shadow’s footsteps echo Sideways in the breeze
It’s time to let go of all your worried days It’s time to feel the sunshine on your childhood face It’s time to let go of all that dreary dread It’s time to chase the moths out of your closed up head
This is what a dog thinks Right before an earthquake All the bourbon in Kentucky Couldn’t drown my heartache Sugar coated nightmares Lightning in my raincoat A nicotine dipenser on a Daisy petal steamboat
I’m gonna get my ass Out of Teliqua, Oklahoma Where the oil wells at sunset Look like iron-skinned giraffes My ghosts are slow companions Between my memory and the dashboard The forecast calls for static Blowing from the Pipes of Pan
I ride atop the misenmast Across the barren desert Staring through the spyglass backwards As lonely as December
The wind chills off Superior And it snows four inch-an-hour In Brimson, Minnesota Drinking birchbark turpentine My dreams flow forth at lunar speed Travesre the stoic winter It’s too late to cover up the scent with lime
Crawling across the hydro line I’m trying to beat the sun As futile as my bullets Which ran fresh out of a gun
I’m wiping with leaves After eating Stan’s beans And I don’t hold much hope For cleaning my jeans It’s quite insufficient Because I don’t have the means And there’s thirty miles of walking Until we reach New Orleans
Well, Jeni knows She’s blown the clouds away Through auras pure she runs today Her arms spread wide, it’s time to play On a Jenswept field it will be this way
Oh Jeni Sue, you spread leaves around And giggle as I’m falling down Landing in the Jenswept plain Where Jeni blows my clouds away.
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