1. |
Rome
06:30
|
|||
|
You filled the cup,
you warmed the bed.
The heart was still,
the flesh was fed.
I’m grateful, though I didn’t say then.
Don’t call again.
You shortened the nights,
darkened the days.
You let the dogs sleep
by the city gate.
I’d give you full marks out of ten.
Don’t call again.
If all roads lead to Rome
God help us all
when Rome starts to fall.
Mother, mother:
is this what you raised us for?
This? Nothing more?
Does love have any other name
than a wolf’s game?
If all roads lead to Rome
God help us all.
All roads lead to Rome:
God help us all
when Rome starts to fall.
|
||||
2. |
Other Girls
02:06
|
|||
|
I’m not smarter than other girls.
Don’t work harder than other girls.
Not more clever or more funny,
my demeanour’s not more sunny than other girls.
Not more charming than other girls,
more disarming than other girls.
Not more humble or more true,
really I am just like other girls.
|
||||
3. |
Inside Weather
04:00
|
|||
|
Won’t you come over?
I already looked up how long it takes you to walk here.
I’ve been feeling strange these days,
entertaining notions and emotion in waves.
Can’t put my finger on it.
Will you come hold me?
How do you deal with the weather you feel on the inside?
I’m counting down
but the daylight and the dark just don’t even out.
Can’t put my finger on it.
|
||||
4. |
Fig Tree
03:44
|
|||
|
There is no green growing
in my sunless yard.
Here the sea gives plenty
but the soil is hard.
Somewhere there’s a garden
where the future slows,
where a firefly hovers
and a fig tree grows.
Branches are like fingers
but roots are not like feet.
Tongue too far to water,
fruit too far to eat.
So I’m sorry sunshine
and I’m sorry soil,
but the tongue is severed
and the fruit is spoiled.
I won’t grow a fig tree.
Besides, I don’t know how.
No one ever taught me,
it’s probably too late now.
I don’t have a garden,
but is that my fault?
When I crossed the ocean
I fell in love with salt.
|
||||
5. |
Rome (Radio Edit)
05:12
|
|||
|
You filled the cup,
you warmed the bed.
The heart was still,
the flesh was fed.
I’m grateful, though I didn’t say then.
Don’t call again.
If all roads lead to Rome
God help us all
when Rome starts to fall.
Mother, mother:
is this what you raised us for?
This? Nothing more?
Does love have any other name
than a wolf’s game?
If all roads lead to Rome
God help us all.
All roads lead to Rome:
God help us all
when Rome starts to fall.
|
||||
Jelena Ciric Reykjavík, Iceland
The long-lost love child of Regina Spektor and Joni Mitchell.
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