top of page
Wheat Straight from the Preacher
Bend
The March of Greywacke
Freedom
Merry is the Mullet
Benz
The Food That Falls from Heaven
Sister’s Gone
Kyrie Eleison
The Queen of New York
Faedir
The Breeze and the Balm
End
All music and lyrics composed and arranged by Kevin Wulf
Performed by Kevin Wulf
On ‘The March of Greywacke’ and ‘Merry is the Mullet’’ - Jack Horvath /Saxophone
On ‘The Breeze and the Balm’ - Francie/Vocals
On ‘Kyrie Eleison’ - CALYPSO/Various Winds
‘Merry is the Mullet’ is a tribute to a song by Jasper Zeray and Kevin Wulf
Recorded by Kevin Wulf
Produced by Kevin Wulf
Mastered by Wiz Petta
Cover design by Kevin Wulf
Bend
I had a friend, she was there until the end
Until I told her I would bend if she would stay awhile
I go to church, and I sing my very worse
I sing until it starts to hurt and then I pray awhile
Benz
I go to class, and I kiss my teachers’ ass
Just hoping that I oughta pass and then I’ll learn to fly
I bought a Benz, it’s for running into friends
To show them I got more than them and they can step aside
Freedom
Do what you see, do everything
Do anything in this world
Do what you do, if you have a clue
Do everything in this world
You set you free, of everything
And anything in this world
Do what you can, if you have a plan
A plan for all of the world
Do what you do, if you have a clue
And find good luck in the world
The Food That Falls from Heaven
All the same, wheat straight from the preacher
Full of game, the food that falls from heaven
Plump and safe, fruit fresh from the country
Stemmed and flayed, feeds your thoughts of comfort
Sickled halls, where bugs collect in corners
Bathroom stalls, are free for those who come here
Kyrie Eleison
Kyrie Eleison, tell me I’m broken now
Kyrie Eleison, help me I’m broken now
I am the son, won’t you help me out?
The Queen of New York
I am the son, won’t you help me out
To get out of Dodge this time next year?
The Queen of New York, a son of circumstance
To have your own bed and fold your sheets
To eat my own bread, and leave the crumbs around
To know what I’ve done and where I’ve been
The Breeze and the Balm
Following the pack as it leads towards the north
Falling through the fountain, seeking out their warmth
Searching for the Four
Sticking to the wool that the Dairy preachers worn
Cooling down their comforts, wary of the storm
And all it will deform
The Breeze and the Balm
For the Dairy lingers on
And the art that hangs has hunger here for so long
For without, the room is wrong
The only ones, for them, belong
While the Dairy lingers on
Sister's Gone
Sister’s gone in the air, sister’s gone
Fading hard in the air, making some
Hate yourself in the air, waiting for
Waiting to fall from the air, waiting for
And sister’s gone, I see it
Waiting for her air, waiting for
Waiting for the early morning light
Find yourself in the organ house of the untied
Waiting for the Earth to roll on its side
On the air, on the air, of the night
Faedir
Stand there, with no one out there
And all I wanted is all I need
Faedir, the old print maker
With tired hands and boiled feet
Precious is his apprentice
With long brown hair, and eyes that creep
Patience, while he’s abrasive
And quite unfair, but sort of sweet
End
I had a house, it was home to Mr. Mouse
He ate his fill of sauerkraut and then he drank my wine
I’ve flown to France and I ate and drank and danced
Until I lost all its romance and then I hope I’d die
The more you’re yourself, the quicker you’ll get to hell
The sooner you’ll be in a cell without just one goodbye
bottom of page