letters don't talk

by mary lambert

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about

Recorded 2010-2012 in conjunction with dungeness records and jeremy cays studio.

credits

released 17 July 2012
Writing, vocals, keys, guitar, ukelele, beatboxing: Mary Lambert
Upright bass: Hayden Pomeroy
Violin: Chandra Johnson
Mandolin, banjo, guitar, buzz dulcimer: Soren Olsen
Percussion and vocals: Braden Torras
Vocals: Maiah Manser

Produced by: Dungeness Records.
Engineered, Mixed, and Edited by: Jeremy Cays (Cays Productions)
Masterered by: John Himmelberger at VineMaker
Recorded at Jeremy Cays Studio in Sequim, Washington

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: my moon
if i were the ocean, i would pull back for you
i could fill up for you; you are the moon
and i am but the sea, the wide blue, filling up for you
my moon, my moon, you're my moon

they don't know why i love you like i do
and gravity don't have a thing to do
with you or me

my moon, my moon, you're my moon

i made a tidal wave just to get close to you
my moon
Track Name: forget me
did you forget me
i wish i could say that i never left
sorry just sounds stupid and quiet
in this house
did you forget me
letters don't talk
and my crying's too loud
paper's no palm,
and i wonder where yours are at
paper's no palm
and i bet you'd laugh at that
did you forget me
please forget me
cigarette out like our dying light
i could love you if you would let me
did you forget me
please come get me
please come get me
Track Name: this heart
this heart is tired and old
this heart is charcoal and cold
this heart throws the white flag when it gets hard, you know
i give up i give in to the whole of your skin
i give up i give in when you let go i'll give in
i give up i give in am i doing this again
we cannot go back
this heart's been sleeping for miles
this heart can't wait to see you
this heart doesn't want to convince you that
this heart will not collapse
what are you doing in these chambers
why are you sleeping in my ventricles
Track Name: i know girls ( bodylove)
know girls who are trying to fit into the social norm
like squeezing into last year's prom dress
i know girls who are low rise, mac eyeshadow, and binge drinking
i know girls that wonder if they're disaster and sexy enough to fit in
i know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin
playing russian roulette with death; it's never easy to accept
that our bodies are fallible and flawed
but when do we draw the line?
when the knife hits the skin?
isn't it the same thing as purging,
because we're so obsessed with death,
some women just have more guts than others
the funny thing is women like us don't shoot
we swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue,
still proceeding to put on make-up,
still hoping that the mortician finds us fuckable and attractive
we might as well be buried with our shoes,
and handbags and scarves, girls
we flirt with death everytime we etch a new tally mark
into our skin
i know how to split my wrists like a battlefield too
but the time has come for us to
reclaim our bodies
our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral,
offering this fuckdom as a pathetic means to say,
"i only know how to exist when i'm wanted"
girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know
we're used up and sad and drunk and
perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up
and tell us that we did good
You did good.
( i know i am because i said am, my body is home)
so try this
take your hands over your bumpy lovebody naked
and remember the first time you touched someone
with the sole purpose of learning all of them
touched them because the light was pretty on them
and the dust in the sunlight danced the way your heart did
touch yourself with a purpose
your body is the most beautiful royal
fathers and uncles are not claiming your knife anymore
are not your razor, no
put the sharpness back
lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin
i once touched a tree with charred limbs
the stump was still breathing
but the tops were just ashy remains,
i wonder what it's like to come back from that
sometimes i feel a forest fire erupting from my wrists
and the smoke signals sent out are the most beautiful things
i've ever seen
love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet
and brother, arm wrapping shoulders, and remember,
this is important:
you are worth more than who you fuck
you are worth more than a waistline
you are worth more than any naked body could proclaim
in the shadows, more than a man's whim
or your father's mistake
you are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4
you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C,
your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood;
wisdom
you are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out:
reborn
Track Name: the machine
don't touch me i'm sleeping, got a bag of bones i've been keeping
why you why you sick
your hands are like a war memorial
why are you sick
we shaved your head cause your hair was falling out
why are you sick all the time
the sounds of the machine are the most comforting thing
knowing your alive
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep

lord, lord. you took my baby
got an empty house with two bathtubs i want to drown in them
lord, lord you took my baby
got an empty house with two bathtubs i want to drown in them