1. |
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In the course of my tramping I encountered
hundreds of hoboes,
whom I hailed or who hailed me,
and with whom I waited at water-tanks, “boiled up,”
cooked “mulligans,” “battered” the “drag” or
“privates,”
and beat trains, and who passed and were seen
never again.
On the other hand, there were hoboes who
passed and re-passed with amazing frequency,
and others, still, who passed like ghosts,
close at hand, unseen, and never seen
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2. |
Prairie-Dogs
04:38
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We’re living in a dust bowl,
among the screeches of a night owl;
In the distance a tumbleweed blows in the wind,
while the shaman waits for us, hidden in his blind;
The water overflows swamping the ashen floor,
and we open in silence the Venus doors;
Hey Mojo Hand, this bare garden is full of weeds,
please, take a seat, thou knowest our needs.
(but the) “death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good
and the bad
and the worst
and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest”
We’re darting over the moon,
in a racing car in bloom;
In Victorian leather clothes we cross the barren
land, listening the steam-powered sound that will
become an explosive blend;
Heavy guns and bionic arms in the engine room,
between marmalade walls and power looms;
Crooked lines in the lead sky,
and a crosses parade behind seals of wax.
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3. |
Falling Down, Henry
04:29
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The rough wind of the deepest South blew on his first wrinkles,
while his sooty hair was riding the silence of a warm summer night.
His voice, raspy and feeble,
had caressed the joyful memories
and tickled the gloomier ones in the dusk of the last sun
but he felt the heart in his throat and betrayal hands in constant tremble, nervous, like the ice that wedges into Minnesota’s cold winter,
while the quiet waters of the Arkansas River
flowed limpid like his youthful years spent in Tulsa
and turbid as those in Monroe.
(but) Henry thought that two rifle shots could change his destiny
The bristly beard was spotted with a sudden rain of cherries
in the marble silence of a gaze that lost its vitality;
A deep sigh pervaded the walls of wisteria,
while the acrid smell of gunpowder invaded the acute fragrance of fields in bloom;
cold-blooded, he picked up the little dignity left and directed the exhausted remains on Bill's creaking veranda, took out a cigarette, took a puff and contemplated the infinite;
with a clear white handkerchief he wiped his forehead, then took off his boots and lowered the brim of his dusty Fedora, opened his mouth and bang.
(but) Henry thought that two rifle shots could change his destiny
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4. |
In Cold Blood
05:57
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There was a lone house on top of the hill
and Gary that was wandering around
staring into space
as if in a never-ending dream state
‘cause he kept on working until six o’clock
in the morning
While the moan of the wind through the trees
was becoming eerie and distressing
But everywhere the soil was fine
but not powdery, more like grains of salt
and Jill kept on hoeing the dirt in their garden
for several hours before it got too hot outside
While she tried to listening to any sound
coming from the forest
‘cause the kidnappers had left the foolish Benjamin
bound hands and feet
in the trunk of their pickup
a 1975 Dodge D series
One almighty chop of axe was enough
to tear down the big grin on that face
and Jill kept asking questions but met only with silence
while the dull brown suit made her look older than her real age
with nothing to do, Gary grew dull
and began to roam as a tortured soul
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5. |
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This is a sad, a really sad story
about a tiny man called Smith
He lived in front of us
in a hovel with purple walls
and the shutters colour bean
But for a strange mistake, he died
but for a strange mistake, he died
in a field of grain
He always seemed so demure and cowed
while he was dealing all the time
with rusted junk
A few blocks away lived Bob
a ruthless tinsmith that turned out
had serious troubles with the local Mob
But for a strange mistake, he died
but for a strange mistake, he died
in a field of grain
In a hot July morning, some bad guys
knocked on Smith’s door
believing they were dealing with the tinsmith
They soon became fired up
and the screams of poor Smith, not the tinsmith
snaked raw until some fields to the west
But for a strange mistake, he died
but for a strange mistake, he died
in a field of grain
It is said
that the rust caresses the grain over there
especially on rainy days
where Smith
the tiny man
was buried
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6. |
Summer Clouds
05:01
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In the silence,
I’ll take the tears of this gloomy sky
to make a crystal crown
At full gallop, I’ll ride cinder clouds to my destiny
cutting the cool air sliding on my fingers
Every day that passed by
is a book leafing its pages to tell us a new story
But I feel I’m falling
falling down on concrete feathers
But tell me, I beg you
where can I still smell your hair ruffled by the
wind?
In the dark,
I’ll take rags of dresses stolen by the wind
to make a ruby uniform
In the morning, I’ll slip on dew slides to my destiny
cutting the cool drops sliding on my fingers
Every day that passed by
is a sunflower turning to tell us a new story
But I feel I’m falling
falling down on concrete feathers
But tell me, I beg you
where can I still smell your hair ruffled by the
wind?
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7. |
Psalm
02:35
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Somebody once told me that
There isn’t something to believe in
Time runs, tell me
Never turning back
But his eyes always look at the same sunset
And his hands keep on digging the same ground
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8. |
The Curse of Peak Hill
07:22
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He was a simple-minded man
with long handlebar moustache
big and deep green eyes
behind silver curls
and skin clacked by the warm southern whisper
He dressed a classic suit
black as pitch
unusual like the summer snow
with hand-sewn button holes
including the one on the lapel
T.J., that was his name
liked to gamble once in a while
but he was not a cheat
He just watched his destiny on a Jack’s horseback
or in the company of a Queen of Hearts
But one day his gaze
fell on scarlet lips
and he thought “She’s as pretty as a peach”
but the vice, like the deepest love,
makes the man weak and too much vulnerable
The evenings flowed languidly in Peak Hill
among the fluffy dances of stray cats
and the howls of restless dogs
but not at the Solitary Star
where the destiny could give stardust
or taste the bare lead of a CSAA “peacemaker”
People whispered “God bless your heart, son”
“she is madder than a wet hen”
it was said that she could drain a whisky in one shot
and give smiles for a few small change
That evening the sin was dressed in black velvet
and gave the bill at the dusk;
the curse of “scarlet lips” crossed gracefully
the dense blanket that enveloped
mocking looks and foolish grins
until it reached the table of T.J.
The fate gave a kiss to the naivety of those moments
while the death gave another one to the complicity of the two lovers
The hours passed distracted, silent and winnings
they became more and more substantial.
T.J. left the scene with the elegance of an experienced actor
and the scent of his sin accompanied him into room number nine
No one has any idea what happened that night
where dreams broke in a shower of glittering coins
and the memories slipped away in a river of silence
T.J. disappeared, leaving his smiles in a heavy jute burden
wrapped in the waves of a white sheet
while she threw her smile into the arms of another gambler
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9. |
Bones Orchard
04:30
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Bring me down, down down
beyond the silent and inscrutable horizon
Bring me down, down down
where the earth meets the deep waters
of a distracted destiny
Bring me down, down down
to hear the screams of hearts
that cannot fall in love
and the slow blink of eyes that cannot fly again
Bring me down, down down
where I can kiss the forehead of a grandfather so far away
and caress the soft memory of a grandma who bears the name of a gem
Bring me down, down down
among the icy breath of a dusty memory
and the acrid smell of butterflies burned by the sun
Bring me down, down down
where soot fears are hidden
and the hands are sought
in the darkness of an ash past
Bring me down, down down
One, two, three, four,
can you help us with this novel short?
Five, six, seven, eight,
fine, melt us in the sunshine with a sigh
Nine and ten,
everybody let’s go down on the ground
Nine and ten,
everybody let’s go down on the ground
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HO.BO Biella, Italy
Hobo is an abattoir folk-blues band based on the road, formed in 2017 as a side project of creative people and brilliant musicians. Their first self-published album, 2/10, was released in 2019 through NostudioRec, Kono Dischi and La Mansarda
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