from by Ryan Fitzsimmons

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I wrote this song thinking it was warning to a friend of mine. It ended up directed inward as much as outward. There are allusions in here to a Tom Waits song.


If the law comes knocking I might just sent them your way
Since I over heard you talking on the main line yesterday
We were playing Russian roulette, it was the game we'd always choose
It was always five to one I guess that someone had to loose

You thought yourself the prophet poet flying high above the scene
Erasing lines and blurring edges between reality and dreams
With a gaze much wider than how singular it seems
Now that you lost track of the way you got your means

It all lies below you as you fall above the ashes

She was beautiful like pictures of the mountains in Tibet
Glorious and unattainable by those who haven't been there yet
You thought they were all bastards, but they were just caught in the glare
It's not everyday you see that kind of halo around here

But you saw it and you used it like a free book of matches
Letting each one burn your fingers till you dropped them on the floor
And when the last flame was gone, through the wispy smell of sulfur
You tossed the book aside and when out in search of more
But 'neath the cover on the cardboard lies a number scratched in pencil
And some words you've done your dammedest to ignore

Now all that is pining in your hall is just the ashes

The old ones smile back at you because they know your bound to roll
Their jaded eyes and white lies shine in the water of your soul
That flows the path of least resistance, as crooked as the cracks
In the mirror that you shattered when you saw what was looking back

No reflection, no perception, no consequence to your deceit
No sympathy for the pigeons laying bloody at your feet
Now that razors in your pocket and your smiling sicky sweet
At the next victim that you're about to meet

They all wait in line just to find themselves in ashes

I can't say that I like this, or that I'm not like you
Yeah, there are moments I commit the same crimes that you do
We're seeking the glory of flying up to the sun
But there's more wax in my wings than I had thought when I was young

Hell, I'm STILL young, and I'm still full up
Of ideals and false pretense
Trying to walk the fine line between pride and arrogance
But when you sacrifice the journey to indulge the present tense
Will your soul withstand the weight of the expense?

Now all that's waiting for your curtain call are just the ashes

So here's to what you stand for
Be careful who you trust
You want to go up in ashes
But your destination's dust.


from Cold Sky, released September 24, 2011
Ryan Fitzsimmons - guitar and vocal
Dana Price - violin
Ian Goldstein - mandolin
Faisal Aswat - bass
Jim Larkin - drums



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Ryan Fitzsimmons Boston, Massachusetts

Aquarium Drunkard said: "His rhythmic folk songs are more of the hand-banging variety, his delivery marked with dark traces like the end of the night, and he plays with captivating confidence."

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