Get all 5 Autumn Burnett releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Oneiria, The Petrel Song, The Malady, The Needle and the Damage Done, and Whittled Thrones EP.
1. |
Ms. Martyr
04:37
|
|||
|
I found a place beneath the willow tree,
the Earth opened up and swallowed me.
I walked the dark and dirty streets that run underground,
Where I found a recluse who was dying to be found.
Her eyes were lost, her head was crossed on finding a way out,
She plucked the guitar on her knee but ceased to make a sound.
A father's grave a hungry cave taught her to be tall,
But on the ice that splits the knee, she must learn to crawl.
Hello, Ms. Martyr, why are you still down here?
You better get your lungs back into Northeastern air.
Frozen streets and inner beasts will open up your veins,
So please be free and forgive me for cutting these rusty chains.
Hello, my mirror, you look a lot like me.
Could it be we're both roots to the very same old tree?
Let's go run where oxygen is a crimson shade of blue,
Let's go run, cause you are me and I am you.
Goodnight, my savior, it's time for you to leave.
Thank you for making these young bones breathe.
It's time that this weathered mind put itself to use,
Ignore the marks on my skin, it's only a bruise.
I left my body, I don't drown as much these days.
My Martyr keeps me save above the ocean waves.
Be and brood the man that you wished that you could be,
And close wide eye, but don't ask why there are scars on your feet.
|
||||
2. |
Why Would We Want To
02:42
|
|||
|
I want to wake to hungry skies,
Telephone wires and you on my mind.
There are days when your shoulder blades
Could cut through stones of time.
I am spent with my fleeting ways,
beg me to, beg me to stay.
Quit burning down cities with your mind,
and stop tapping toes to non-existent time.
But I could part oceans of ice,
And you could make a prophet go blind.
We could make the trees tell lies,
But why the hell would we want to?
Oh dusty road, carry my home
You'll never know the places I've gone.
Oh cold space, I am alone,
Empty old faces are made of chrome.
But I could part oceans of ice,
And you could make a prophet go blind.
We could make the trees tell lies,
But why the hell would we want to?
Oh snowy mountain, swallow me whole,
I want to die where people don't speak anymore.
Oh blue water, cover my soul,
I want to live where life is impossible.
But I could part oceans of ice,
And you could make a prophet go blind.
We could make the trees tell lies,
But why the hell would we want to?
|
||||
3. |
The Wind and the Window
04:27
|
|||
|
We are aspen's daughters
They are alder's sons
Bark, it shows the ages
We've been here too long.
We are lovers waiting,
They are pilot's lost.
We write tales and stories
Of the monster's we've become.
We are soldiers of ephemeral stature
We are sailors of tenuous waters
We rode across an infinite skyline
We found cold lust in in the big city highlife.
I found warmth for the first time in you,
But i lost my mind in rhythm and blues.
Like the air bends the wheat of gold, oh he moved me,
But I will not think of how he could have loved me.
The boy fell out the window,
Lost his grip on dice.
He was caught by a saviour,
Who had already fallen twice.
The wind will catch your body,
Should you be bound to fall.
But her hands are full of people,
She can't catch us all.
I tip my glass to the wind and the window
The fall it is far, but the ground it is hollow.
Wind and Windows.
|
||||
4. |
Leave My War Alone
03:41
|
|||
|
There's a man in a suit in my living room,
I wonder if he wants to stay.
He says, "this light is nice, do you feel alive
when you play your woe away."
But little did I guess that underneath his theatre vest,
He would have a knife waiting for me.
On that night in February, I became a missionary to his customary tainted deeds.
Well the sheep I'm counting aint got no wool,
Devil in my head aint a fool,
Why can't we leave behind the hands of those who die,
You better leave my war alone.
There's a light at the end of my blue road,
You snuffed it out and glanced behind.
You left me blind, paralyzed and refined,
I've never been so alive.
Then you took the fork in this war-torn road
And ate your sanguine pie.
You'd come around when you had the time,
I aint your porcelain mime.
Well the sheep I'm counting aint got no wool,
Devil in my head aint a fool,
Why can't we leave behind the hands of those who die,
You better leave my war alone.
Give me alabaster capture, morning after rapture,
Without the visage of an actor.
Give me guitar-dusted serenades without golden renegades
And my heart on a harlequin platter.
Leave intentions of lines to say,
And players to play away,
In the body of a Portuguese letter.
Since your last escapade, I have now learned to stay on grounds where my feet can be faster.
Well the sheep I'm counting aint got no wool,
Devil in my head aint a fool,
Why can't we leave behind the hands of those who die,
You better leave my war alone.
|
||||
5. |
Whittled Thrones
04:39
|
|||
|
Brother of mine, you would have loved it here tonight.
There was whiskey and wine and music and mountains of time,
Time to build a bridge and head on back
To days when all your roads were clean
Darling don't you wonder why diaphanous eyes haunt your sleep?
They aren't cynics run dry, but angels born from the sea.
They are someone watching over you,
And their waters will soak you through
Don't tie your strings to a puppeteer you don't know
He's got a mind of paper and hands of oil and woe
He will rip apart your golden seams
When he finds out where you've been
And I believe the pastures of heaven are green,
And one day we'll make it up north, just you and me
We will build a castle out of stone
And carve love into our whittled thrones
Build a castle out of stone
And carve love into our whittled thrones
I'm afraid of wolves of chrome
I have seen them burn your whittled throne
I will learn that blight is not won
I'll find grace in the window's setting sun
|
||||
Autumn Burnett
Autumn Burnett is a songwriter, guitarist and violist from Lake Tahoe and Reno, Nevada. She studied songwriting at Oberlin College and Conservatory and currently lives in Asheville, North Carolina.
Autumn Burnett recommends:
Flying Lessons
by James Vitz-Wong
Evidence that love can come in avian forms.
go to albumIf you like Autumn Burnett, you may also like:
Sorry I'm So Sensitive
by Bea Stewart
The second EP from Northern Irish singer-songwriter Bea Stewart runs from gentle folk to pillowy pop ballads, all perfectly executed.
go to album
Michelle Stodart’s folk music captures hope in melancholy, addressing the transformational aspects of the most challenging times.
go to album
Veneer (20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition)
by José González
featured on Bandcamp Radio Aug 29, 2023
go to album
Onliness (songs of solitude & singularity)
by Josienne Clarke
Folk artist Josienne Clarke revisits music from her back catalog, infusing these lonesome songs with a new luminosity and drive.
go to album
Once Upon A Time In Montréal
by Murray A. Lightburn
The folk artist explores grief through these smooth and soulful tracks.
go to album
