Fenway Soil, Motor Oil (2022)
All music and lyrics written and performed by Kevin Wulf
Mixed and engineered by Jonathan Richman
Mastered by Ryan Baxter
•Preface
•Wurtsboro
•Massachusetts
•Avignon
•Kristallen den fina
•Flood of Strife
•Rockaway
•Epilogue
• WURTSBORO •
Profound, broken into two
Wurtsboro met its waterloo
A shroud, Simon said that leaves never bend
But I can see clearly
Their stems bend as I do
But what do I know?
The birds didn’t seem to care
The atmosphere filled with milky air
I bet pilots stopped
Lacking a plan, they decide to land
I curled up on grassland
Besides an unnamed river
I didn't want to, I wanted to be in your arms
But to you, I was transparent, a barren soul
I couldn't help it, was I just thinking far too much?
Or was I still in love with you in Wurtsboro?
Our dock, out on our little swamp
Our eyes refused to meet even once
Blue skies, came the day we thought there would be rain
I sat alone and pondered, a name for the river
I couldn't find one, I didn't want to be alone
But my mind couldn't gather a lengthy thought
I was so numb, I needed to go home
Now my home is here in Wurtsboro
I didn’t want it, to define my world
But it sure did, subdue my vigor
Spit in my face, rip off all my clothes
Show me no grace, contort my figure
• FLOOD OF STRIFE •
Tear them up
In the light
Call them out
Flood of Strife
Talk about
Previous lives
Wish you were
Still alive
Come back to my arms
Come back to your home
Come see me rule everything I own
Come stay for a while
Tapestries on the wall
Soften my surroundings for when I fall
Been denied
An easy time
Tried my best
To socialize
Fuck you all
Struck a nerve
Give myself
What I deserve
You’re not that small
Talk back to your mom
Chewing on your leaves of lemon balm
Come back to my arms
Come back to your home
Come see me rule everything I own
• MASSACHUSETTS •
Blue eyes see through you
Can I be yours?
Am I too hard to look at?
Was my skin too thin?
Could you tell I wasn’t home?
Back Bay to Allston
The streets wind and curl
The rain soaked my skin
These liminal spaces read as palindromes
Was it cool to be bothered by nothing
Saying nothing’s wrong?
Did they think I was too precious to walk alone?
Demise of Blue Birds
Denied of souls
Their wings would flap forever
They try their best to bare their burdened bones
Oh, Massachusetts
Her air, chilly and cold
The woods are home to nothing
The rabbits fled, took shelter in cold stones
• AVIGNON •
Oh, Avignon
Papacy is gone
Frescoes on the walls, frescoes on the walls
Oh, Boniface
Holy Celestine
Dante left disgraced
Avignon, comfort me
Well, I spend my time
Drinking goblets of Bacchus red wine
For all those who crawl shall be friends of mine
Their white cassock robes
Cast long shadows in the Palace of the Popes
This old stone bridge no longer crosses the Rhone
Bethesda arcades
Swelled up with rain
Fell in love with you on the promenade
The fountain remains
As the lightning brigades
And threatens to pummel the palisades
Sweared upon open eyes, I’ll be there for you in your demise
Let you into my walls, and showed you my gardens and my waterfalls
With my fortifications, avoid humiliations
I’ll walk you down the hall and let you surmise, every time
Well, here I sit along the grimy banks of the muddy river
Appropriately named for its viscous consistency
Contaminated by Fenway soil and motor oil
Protected by Cat’s and Komatsu’s, shaded by the trees
In a city not far from the Maginot line
Stands an olive, suffocated by wisteria vines
So long, poor olive tree, didn’t deserve to die
Dripping lilac pedals, nature’s way to try and hide
And in the misty air, you told me of your little problems
And how they make you act and play with your fragile brain
And as I stared into your eyes, my mind began to wander
You’ll love me as much as I love you one of these days
All the lovers of this world have their own place to hide
Somewhere warm, somewhere cozy, preferably inside
But all the love their crave sure won’t stand the test of time
All I wanted were these little friends of mine
• EPILOGUE •
To get to the place in life I needed, I chose my own way/To be a fool, to be conceited, I needed another way/All I cared about was myself, and how I interacted, floating faces bounce around the room, holy matrimony, in our grasps, we had it all, all I did was let it fall, with difficulty to recall, all I lost/Her blankets lay around her room, she emanated confidence, her picturesque figure command submission, from the poignant passersby, her poise she kept behind a curtain, cut from iron, cast by fire, but it lifted that summer, under mid-Brooklyn moonlight
All artwork by Johan Zoffany (1733-1810)
© Wulfincore 2022