Circumambulate EP

by john henry hoagland

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released November 12, 2013


Music and Lyrics by JHH

Produced by Louis Weeks

Arrangements by Hoagland & Weeks
Woodwind Arrangements written and performed by Ethan Helm
Additional Vocals by Emily Burns

Mixed and Mastered by Chris Watkinson at Chris Watkinson Sounds

Album Artwork by David DiAngelis



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Track Name: Just Enough
Can't my world start small
Just enough so I can touch it all
Can't my world move slow
Just enough so I can watch it grow
Can't our love grow from where it hurts
Just enough so I can guess its worth
Track Name: Parachutisms
There must be oil pouring through our bones
how else could a body burn so warm
and oh my god spread through the rest of me
to those parts that show, and I know
that for now I won't be harmed

it's our love, the kind we own
the kind we parachute, the kind we know
it's our love, our powdered love

I know it's gonna be my heart that goes first
for now, I just hope that it won't hurt too much when it bursts and stuff
but your'e calling me on the way I let the scansion break
and when I ask you say this could be much better

Won't you take all but the best of me
until all that I know is your mouth
and that quiet way you talk to me
Track Name: Cathedral
I sang in a cathedral once and knew that I was singing songs right to you
I sang the words I knew by heart and hoped that I was helping sound pass through you
I sang in a cathedral and I drew you in.
Track Name: Mirror City
I am the coarse tip of my tongue
or, at least, that's what I'm tied to
when I watch you take your shoes off, bare-soled and unbound
I gaze on hungrily

cause I often sleep with my shoes in bed
on those listless nights I'm irrelevant in Ohio's arms

These days slide past as adjectives
I know that action doesn't suit me
I was once a man of nouns, but they've since become unwound
I'm improper now

I'll make my way through this mirror city to get to you.

I'll tell my other I won't get high if I can avoid it.
I won't get high all alone.
Track Name: Circumambulate
A son is the ink stitched in your arm
a cicatrix thing, a charcoal scar
and all you can hope is that he'll know
not to follow the lines that you once wrote

I'm sorry about the way I said it's not your fault
I'm sorry if it stuck to you or if it fucked you up
Will you still burn me with the boxwood trees?
Will you still scatter me.

I've tasted the salt of a distant sea
it tasted like blood and gasoline.
Got drunk with a girl in a Catholic town
we fucked in her car with our jeans rolled down.

I've been a mirror-bound lover
I've been desperate for the sea
as I've circled the edge of my mirror-bound dreams
by now I've cut all the corners that could sharpen my jaw
so won't you help me step back from the fire I sought.

A son is the glass washed up on shore
my edges are blunt from all the waves I've worn
I'm salty and tough now and seafoam green
and I'm broken enough for you to pocket me.