Get all 16 Chris Robley releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Margarette, Straight White Male, Louise, Louise, Louise, Louise, Let You Go (radio edit), Collapsing Star, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, Irretrievable Beauty, 1+1+1=3, and 8 more.
1. |
A Memory Lost at Sea
04:31
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I wait in the rain that falls on the pier
everyone’s here to watch the ships come in from the fog
I’m nervous and cold
its been so long since they’ve been home
what happened to my baby?
where has my baby gone?
who’ll keep me safe from harm and warm?
I’m soaked to the skin and everyone’s gone home with their friends
and I’m all alone in the cold, shaking my bones
nobody knows where is my boy
someone knew me
they’re gone now
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2. |
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like a flower bent towards the memory of the sun
you will do the things that you have always done
like a wounded bird who has fallen from the sky
you will never never know the reason why you never ever really learned to fly
no kiss me and make up
no shake hands and make friends
this is how the story really ends
no pinch me and wake up
no way we can fake it
there’s no way we can pretend again
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3. |
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remember that movie we saw at the film festival?
-the one with the girl and the artist.
this torn and worn ticket stub is reminding me of your breasts
that I praised in darkness.
a period piece set in France with a star-crossed romance
and the ending dragged on in slow-motion.
I held your hand as you breathed heavy during the scenes where they made love
like us by the ocean.
and when the couple would fight, grainy and black and white
it seemed like they fought out of boredom.
and when the theatre turned on the lights, exit out to the night
all the leaves in the street colored autumn
I said I sided with him, you found him selfish and dim
like all men who dwell within their own minds
you don’t want to be alone so I’m walking you home
hand in hand, both of us for the last time
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4. |
Solipsist in Love
03:47
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It's hard to believe things existing outside my head
That you’re sleeping with somebody else in someone else’s bed
and that people still live in the homes and the towns I’ve left
That the world will keep turning around long after I’m dead
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5. |
Atheist's Prayer
05:15
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can’t ya hear us crying Lord, Lord, Lord
don’t ya feel us dying Lord, Lord, Lord
thought I saw you flying, oh my god
flying out of town like Santa Claus when times get hard
every man is free, that's a story
we can barely be before we
get so tightly tied to Lord, Lord, Lord
tied for all our lives to lies
every man is free to choose his chains
you’re at liberty to pick your pain
do you hear my prayers, Lord, Lord, Lord
do you even care? are you even there at all
god is great and god is good
but god is something I’ve never understood
god is good and got is great
but god is something to which I could not relate
and god is great and god is grand
but god is something I could never understand
Amen
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6. |
Premiere
03:27
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city folk in city clothes all bustle down the street
check their hats and coats and loap about the mezzanine
crowded in the queue to view the concert
coughing as they’re clustered in their seats to be there
dressed so fair to put on airs
like throwing fine pearls to swine
recite the lines a dozen times tonight and then repeat
by demand the actor and the audience will meet
would that I could muster up the strength to
such a feat for one accustomed to defeat just to be there
the show goes on at eight o’clock
and we won’t stop when we mess up
when they’re on their feet
the world is at peace
the world goes to sleep
all have gone, tomorrow morn we’ll wake another day
to mine the mint the papers print for what the critics say
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7. |
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Ahhh, the great age of paper.
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8. |
Concrete & Nails
04:20
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so you think you’ve gone
is it any wonder that you won’t stay long
spoiled bon vivants in the real world with no confidence
so you’ve gone away
is it any wonder that you won’t stay there
out all on your own
soon enough you will come crawling home
concrete and nails
bitter betrayals
stones against stick
bones against brick
stepping on cracks
knife in the back
when all else fails
run with your tail between your legs
back home
raise society on a little bit of sesame street propriety
and this is what you’ll get
little mama’s boys and teachers’ pets
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9. |
Glass Reich
02:33
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(instrumental)
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10. |
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wake up babe its time to leave this place behind
and cross the border
before the morning comes we’ll run from what we’ve done
our new life’s just begun
give me the keys
oh, we gotta go
we’ll drive down to Mexico
these sweet dreams would’ve been nice
to take you to the Mayan Empire
and tour the pyramids of gold
lying on the beach at sunrise
you'll be kissing me
I’ll be holding you
did you see those lights flashing in the night
its time to make our flight
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11. |
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on the train, I’ve seen this movie before
its the one with the midwest football hero and the championship game when he scores
how dramatic, how cliché
and he gets the chick and she sucks his...
yeah, but they’ll cut that part out anyway
but its a picturesque burlesque
and I look out the window
a dozen silos poking up above the fog
and a man on a gravel path by the highway as he jogs in the after-dawn
all those silos are all the same
all painted red and filled with grain
and he’s running home to his ball and chain
run boy, run
cause its a picturesque burlesque
and all those silos are all the same but I count them
as they go flashing by I count them
one, two, three, four
why is everything a fucking bore?
and these photogenic freaks in their seats,
nervous as they’re drifting in and out of sleep
they’re all the same but I count them
they’re all the same but I count them
one by one and two by two
everybody’s got so much to prove
one by one and two by two
everybody’s got so much to lose
one by one and two by two
everybody thinks they’ve got the blues
one by one and two by two
they’re all the same but I count them
cause its a picturesque burlesque
and I’m no different
but I think I am
ah, but I know I’m not
but I don’t give a damn
a permanent fixture of regret
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12. |
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1, 2, 3, 4. It's my fault.
This album needed a waltz.
But I just can't stand 3/4 time.
So 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.
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Chris Robley Lewiston, Maine
"Chris Robley is at the top of his game with his new work." - KCRW
Maine-based
singer/songwriter and award-winning poet Chris Robley (formerly from Portland, Oregon) performs orchestral indie-pop and fractured folk reminiscent of John Lennon, John Vanderslice, Harry Nilsson, and Joe Henry.
His poetry has appeared in POETRY Magazine, Prairie Schooner, and many other journals.
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