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Live at Subrosa

by Rabbit in the Rye

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1.
I met my love on a cobblestone street near the corner where Scottholm Terrace and Sunnyside meet but only one of us fit on my bicycle seat I met my maker, she's not as they say It was not on God's acre, but instead on my first waking day I'd forsaken my savior when he showed me her face And I met my match in a house on a hill the damn near collapsed and perhaps I should have been killed The damn thing near collapsed and it's haunting me still And I'll meet my fate, yes, I'll meet my end with no heavenly gates or winding staircase to ascend and on that fateful day without prayer or pretend I'll be able to say that I knew you back when; back when I met my love.
2.
Scarlet 04:55
One shot, a photo, a dimeshop camera; one shot I've mistakenly taken And now my love, so tall and dark, unphotographed he leaves the station Photographed, unphotographed, the train rolls out of central station One shot of liquor, one shot to drink; one shot across the barroom table And now my love, so tall and dark, would stand up straight but is not able "Stand up straight, my dear lightweight." With scarlet drinks he is not able One shot (gun shot), one shot rings out; one shot across the courtyard sounds And now my love, so tall and dark, is dark and still upon the ground And darker still, darker still, and scarlet spilled upon the ground "Why so grim, love? Hold your chin up, my dead mourning dove, my red flowerbud My dear, did it hurt? Are you dressed in your best shirt? You're not quite so tall when you're down in the dirt." I will hang now (hang in the gallows) T'was my shot that rang out (silence follows) Yes, I will hang for what I have done
3.
Raging Glory 04:16
I have not seen the girl you're looking for She left my home some eight years or more to see, on her own, a more forgiving shore though we soon may go out to meet her blessed heart to see that she has found a body clean; a trace of threaded golden dream; a place to wash her hands feet "Born," she cried, "I am not made for thee" Torn was I, but now I hold free For my, my raging glory For my, my naked and breathing son For my son, for my son I have seen the light on the hill, it is green and it floods all the valley It highlights the shoreline, unwilling but tame, for my ship's steer to parry In lieu of flowers for the lovely lorelei Bound aground and found with no captain alive no helmsman or no hand to be to this young woman, send all your, your charity send all your, your charity for some day she may be the bearer of all these great worlds yet unseen "Born," she cried, "I am not made for thee" Torn was I, but now I hold free For my, my raging glory For my, my naked and breathing son For my son, for my son I will tread on to the end of my will when I am battered and wary Even if by land, on knees and on hands, for you I will carry
4.
I close my eyes to make out her voice Her breathing is heavy, cold and steady, but she stays asleep all through the noise Soon she will heed my warning that love kept cold does not keep from longing So I sing a song of winter warming And I sing, oh And I sing, oh Like a splitting dove tail that is cut from its lock left alone is made frail and compares in pale like an old man's country talk to his sold son's city walk You make a fleeting remark that my love is for sale Soon she will heed my warning that love kept cold does not keep from longing So I sing a song of winter warming And I sing, oh And I sing, oh I close my eyes to find my voice Her breathing is heavy, cold and steady, but she stays asleep
5.
I was born on a South Dakota farm Fields of corn and golden grain below the barn A nickel from, my poor old mum Said "Go, my son, to the old man’s country store" Whom there I found in a rocking chair beside the door He reeked of rum, asked why I’d come But I was young, I held my tongue He grabbed me by my shirt, the smell of alcohol and dirt He spoke of diamonds and riches yet untold In his eyes I saw it shining like the nickel in my coat Though he seemed ill, I came closer still There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills And by boy if we don’t find it then somebody surely will There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills The man, his words, they came to haunt me in my sleep And so I saved my nickels up for weeks I gave to him, my savings He stroked his chin, he walked right in He returned with his arms filled, a pair of shovels and of pails Said "We’re headed for the hills There’s no time for farewells" There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills And boy if we don’t find it then somebody surely will There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills And by god, if we should find them then, boy, we shoot to kill I never was the spineless sort, But the hours are long and the handle short Well, the man passed on some years ago Buried with his name and some prayer I know Digging ditches in the dirt, I have found hell on earth And all the riches aren’t worth, the devil's curse No matter how you count No, they don’t amount to the devil’s work
6.
Cold Flood 03:53
Sleep now worries away, dreaming pasture Grey eyes come unmade from missing laughter and nothing matters today and will not after so sleep now, worries away let the rain follow you you were born and rebuked you can only refuse this once and you have Can't you feel it creeping before your time? Can't you feel it creeping before your time? Can't you feel it creeping before your time like a cold flood? Like Elysian fields of green and gold calls out to a man, in your youth behold you crave for your beginnings and ends to unfold and now as you wait you feel i's too late though there is no mistake so great that it takes you away Can't you feel it creeping before your time? Can't you feel it creeping before your time? Can't you feel it creeping before your time like a cold flood? Covered up and safe by sheets white and clean You rise ready to return in respite but it's not the right scene Disarray. Can't you feel it creeping before your time? Can't you feel it creeping before your time? I can feel it, I can feel it creeping before your time like a cold flood
7.
Sumac 05:03
Don’t go near the sumac tree There’s something hiding in the weeds There’s something hiding in the weeds, underneath the fallen leaves Don’t go near the sumac tree, please In the growing dark Through the leaves, he sees carved into the bark Someone wrote it down So that he could read, but he can’t make it out So he steps closer Come back toward my silhouette Don’t you take another step Don’t you take another step, you're close, as close as close can get Come back toward my silhouette, instead In the growing dark Through the leaves, he sees carved into the bark Someone wrote it down So that he could read, but he can’t make it out So he steps closer He could hardly stand to wait But as he reads he seems afraid He realizes the choice he made must have been a big mistake On the tree is carved the phrase "too late"
8.
When I lay me to bed So I might rest my head And all of the world goes on spinning Do I stay up all night Or go down with the light Dreams of honey bees and lilac trees are winning Should I wake before morn’ Troubled and torn With my eyes and my lungs all a blazing Do I fold up the sheets Or do I sing me to sleep While the moon she goes waxing and waning Should I open my eyes And be none the wiser Day by day, change my ways, and keep breathing Do I watch from my bed Or do I dream it instead Oh, the answer is ever misleading There’s a difference I’m told It’s cruel and it’s cold Why treat life like a race, and why win it Just to realize I’ve spent Every breath, every cent Now content with the worth to have been in it

about

A live session performed at Subcat Studios hosted by Amanda Rogers on January 19th, 2014.

credits

released April 4, 2014

Recording Engineer - Jeremy Johnston
Live Sound Engineer - Jon Lessels
Mixed by Jeremy Johnston & Alex Lavon

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Rabbit in the Rye Hamilton, New York

rab·bit·in·the·rye [ˈræbɪt ɪn thuh rahy] n. a poetic and ominous, progressive folk rock trio; a collection of bittersweet fables and genuine storytelling; allegory and honesty; stark movement and all-enveloping romanticism; rapturous walls of sound, yet sweet and somber waltzes; the creation and breaking of tension; Joseph Mettler, guitar; Alexander Lavon, bass; Brendan O'Connor, percussion ... more

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