woolgathering...

2009-02-02T13:13:00.001-08:00

the meadow party |

the woolgathering... e.p.

november.

a verse.

song for amanda.

digging through the trash.

philistines.

fat man & little boy.

on & on.

living now.

weeping willow tree.

all songs written by lee henderson. arranged by the meadow party.

lee henderson... drums. hammond organ. lead & rhythm guitar. vocals.

james caran... bass guitar. hammond organ. lead guitar on "a verse" & "philistines." percussion. rhodes piano.

cary henderson... baby grand piano.

patrick pfeiffer... lead guitar on "bunny," "living now," and "on & on."

produced by james caran & lee henderson.

engineered by james caran.

mixed & mastered by ron guensche.

extra special thanks to james caran, for all his hard work.

recorded at slanty studios in san francisco, ca.

this e.p. is dedicated to sarah mattie bunny... without whom none of this would be possible. i love you tons the most. ~lee.

"immature poets imitate; mature poets steal."

-- t.s. eliot.

"the test... is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. one should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless yet be determined to make them otherwise."

-- f. scott fitzgerald.

"you know the man you hate? you look more like him everyday! hi- di- hoa! two good shoes won't save your soul!"

-- jane's addiction.

...this record should be played LOUD.

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november.

she left the room in a fit of rage...

he stood there motionless, not a word to say.

he never knew she felt that way...

walking off a darkened stage.

now the walls look out the windows...

packed into a suitcase.

dead branches scratch soliloquies...

newspapers turn the page.

fallen apart, they'd grown.

a life once planned, postponed.

a new day for come what may...

but for a love once shared, alone.

still the walls look out the windows...

packed into a suitcase.

dead branches scratch soliloquies...

newspapers turn the page.

and all that's left now's november...

that sullen bitch of wind and cold.

an unmade bed... a broken head...

making rainmen out of snow.

[all the letters that he never sent...

all the things that she never said...

foolish pride now given way to regret.]

a verse.

i wander...

i wander in between the winds.

sometimes i stagger...

down the sidewalks

shadowboxing.

stepping through the blueberry deaths...

singing, the invisible words

they escape... they escape.

i listen...

i listen to the music that the city makes.

the crosstown bus whales

swim with the taxi cab sharks.

another day... another mountain...

i delight in the way that your eyes see mine

as we walk home together.

i think it's just like what the wise man says:

"some people feel the rain; others just get wet."

song for amanda.

i watched you look away...

from the question that i asked you and the answer you gave.

you had this ashen look on your face...

like you'd just been refused your final stay.

what happened to not making the same mistakes?

i guess from lessons you didn't learn.

what happened to the future that you promised me?

what happened to the future we deserved?

this shirt feels like it's on fire.

these green walls are closing in.

now i just sit here like the fool i am,

and think about the fool that i've been.

all the words i heard you say sounded underwater...

bought myself a drink at the bar and toasted to fate.

the city lights seemed to spike their fair share of blame...

but i didn't think twice, i just turned and walked away.

this shirt feels like it's on fire.

these green walls are closing in.

now i just sit here like the fool i am,

and think about the fool that i've been.

digging through the trash.

there's no spending money on our salvation...

there's little left of the foundation.

there's no blame... only shame. dressed- up and

drove us away from the things we used to be.

it's a certain kind of sadness attached.

the only things now that i have left...

a broken promise,

an empty home.

all alone.

we used to be the songs i'd sing...

a lucky guy had everything.

now i'm sleeping on sand,

and digging through the trash.

i'm not proud of what i've done...

and i'm not proud of what i've become.

i just get up in the morning now.

we used to be the songs i'd sing...

a lucky guy had everything.

now i'm sleeping on sand,

and digging through the trash.

we used to talk like human beings...

you used to love the songs i'd sing.

now i don't sing anymore.

we used to laugh like little ducks.

we used to love each other once.

philistines.

smart bombs... but stupid children these days.

it's these little things... they kill me again and again.

the philosophy... that all men can be kings...

depends to me... on who is doing the asking.

humanity? the sanctimony...

you won't save me from street mime vigilantes.

my inner peace... and what i believe...

what i believe...

i will wear it on my sleeve.

i will wear it on my sleeve.

i will wear it on my sleeve.

i want to be like a punk rock song on an acoustic guitar.

i want to sing the celebrations that scream from my heart.

i want the threadbare and facile banal to be replaced by the truth.

i want to give all of this to you.

fat man & little boy.

fat man & little boy walked through the garden,

the flowers all avoiding their gaze.

fat man & little boy walked through the garden,

leaving oiled footprints in their wake.

fat man & little boy sat on the hilltop,

their bloodshot eyes like little stars.

fat man & little boy sat on the hilltop,

drunk with flagrant disregard.

fat man & little boy made their way on home,

proud of their day in the sun.

fat man & little boy made their way on home,

pleased... so pleased with what they'd done.

...but there was no one left to go home to,

everyone else had gone away.

all the trees in the forest and the children in the chorus

had been neutralized by the flames.

on & on.

my specialty is living said

a man (who could not earn his bread

because he would not sell his head)

-- ee cummings.

on and on...

help me be where i belong.

on and on and on.

stay up with me...

let's see what the morning brings.

lay low with me...

we'll listen to the city sing.

remain close to me...

come the daylight i'll again be lost...

i may not know quite who i am,

but i know exactly who i'm not.

and it goes on and on...

help me be where i belong.

on and on and on.

my ambition on my bookshelf...

never mind who i've left behind.

i stare deep into the mirror...

to exact what's on my mind.

i'm always having nightmares

about the woman of my dreams...

no more arrows in my quiver...

ingloriously out of means.

and it goes on and on...

help me be where i belong.

on and on and on.

living now.

"there's no telling time," he said.

"just the air and the open road...

burned my home.

all my pictures and my telephones.

the sinners in their sunday best,

are following me out the door.

but they can't come. i'll go alone.

i deserve this now.

i'm on my cloud.

world's behind, and my music loud. and my music loud.

see you around...

all this time and i'm finally living now. i'm finally living now.

little fears have now all left me

secrets and shame i leave behind.

i might write... still i'll try but

there's no more telling time.

i'm on my cloud.

world's behind, and my music loud. and my music loud.

see you around...

all this time and i'm finally living now. i'm finally living now."

weeping willow tree.

everything…

you gave everything to me.

running down the hillside…

the sun, it shone down on me.

looking up at you…

my whole world, a blue blanket of safety.

a summer day in georgia…

i remember…

the weeping willow tree.

this is for you now…

i've taken you for granted.

this is my thanks now…

i'm all that you've planted.

the weeping willow tree.

and when i'm in trouble…

i can hear you say to just let it be.

running down the hillside…

the sun, it shone down on me.

looking up at you…

my whole world, a blue blanket of safety.

a summer day in georgia…

i remember…

the weeping willow tree.

thanks.