Copyright © 2005 Ken Ficara
Ken Ficara: Vocals, guitar, harmonica
Produced and engineered
by Ken Ficara
Recorded at home
They called me a monster; sailors lived in fear of me My picture on maps marked the edge of the known sea So I stayed down deep, always ready to run I'd make my escape if I saw anyone Ink spreads through the water as I flee I have something I'm afraid to say; I don't want you to hear it I hide myself with my pen, writing lines to obscure it I pile up paragraphs so I don't have to face it Layers of ink blot it out and erase it A fence of sentences; you can't get anywhere near it
These words are just a cloud of ink To cover my getaway I spread a screen of language Because I don't know what to sayWords cross empty words like a game of Scrabble We're scoring points, constructing this meaningless babble It's a cage of random text, imprisoning context Don't show your hand; don't let on what comes next
There's ink on my fingers, and there's ink on the page There's ink on the wall where I threw it in a rage There's ink all over you but I can still see your face At least I think so Beneath the ink so black It looks like blood under streetlightsSemantics cloud the water, I sink out of sight I just can't bring myself to face the light It's dark and it's cold and the pressure grows I know we should talk, but I don't want to know Ink spreads out behind me, and I go.