Old Dog

by John Carroll

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about

This is the single taken from the album 'Let Every Tongue', released in Hangzhou, China on December 1st 2012.

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released December 1, 2012

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all rights reserved

about

John Carroll Hangzhou, China

John Carroll is an artist from Limerick, Ireland who lives in Hangzhou, China.

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Track Name: Old Dog (single)
Old dog snapping my heels
Trailing through the shadows with me.
Gorse and thicket high, we forage the quagmire
Wading through the waters neck deep.
Old cur, your canines pierce
The fleshy tarsals with your temper.
Ensnare me with your fiery optics,
Smouldered eyelids and blackened corneas.

My daughter,
This old dog will retrieve his missing senses
And give you a reason
To be proud to call him daddy
This old dog
This old dog

Master, I am the messenger
Ascending the trees of old Beechgrove
Her bark and crusty shell, the movement of her skin
To the marrow depths I've siphoned ore below.
A hollow of wooden stigmata
I harvest a mine with lumber for bones.
Scavenger magpie, I’m in your home
One for sorrow, azure and cold.

My daughter,
This old dog will retrieve his missing senses
And give you a reason
To be proud to call him daddy
This old dog
This old dog
Track Name: Bird Can Fly (b-side)
I try to find direction but
Arrows keep pointing back
The road’s at an end
I turn and pretend
I’m not lost,
Lost.

Circles vicious circles
Tie me up in knots
I wonder if I can
Let go of your hand,
Your hand
Your hand.

This bird can fly,
in circles

Your no eagle
No pride of a nation
Your a humming bird
You forget all the words
You’re my friend
In a cage
For too long
I’m afraid.

This bird can fly,
in circles
Track Name: Farmer and Friesian (home demo)
We are men who serve no purpose
And no kingdom to revere
Foreign lands are fertile
And our minerals are bare
The blades of grass like cenotaphs
For years I’ve left behind
But we remain the harvesters
Of blight that spoils the land

A farmer and a friesian pull the plough.

We are slaves that serve your purpose
Your place is where we fear
Mountains are our deity
Our fruits are in your care
All fallen father’s monoliths
Are shackled by your reign
No longer can I hold my breath
For a nation wrapped in chains

A farmer and a freisian pull the plough
My perennial land of love, that you are.

Brother, butcher, fattened sow
Command the quelling soil
Abandoned by the rising tides
Of emigrants and exiles.
The falling leaves like cenotaphs
No longer proud to stand
We remain the harvesters,
A blight that spoils the land.

A farmer and a freisian pull the plough
My perennial land of love, that you are.