He goes to NZ and Europe and anywhere he's asked or is curious about, he himself is vaguely North American.
He's one of those rare jolly fatalists who amplify the obvious tragedy of our short tawdry confused and bumbling existences in a way that we can all sing along. He lends dignity somehow to all that is shambolic. I think so anyway.
Last Song(c)1999 by Jason Webley
One day, The snow began to fall,
And slowly, inch by inch, Covered up the earth.
'Til finally, The top of the tallest building,
Was lost beneath a powdered sea, As quiet as a shadow's grave.
And we say that the world isn't dying. And we pray that the world isn't dying. And just maybe the world isn't dying. Maybe she's heavy with child.
One night, A woman took my hand. I left my home and followed her Into an icy field.
When I wanted to go back, I'd lost the way.
So she beckoned me to lie beneath The stone that always bore my name.
And slowly, inch by inch, Covered up the earth.
'Til finally, The top of the tallest building,
Was lost beneath a powdered sea, As quiet as a shadow's grave.
And we say that the world isn't dying. And we pray that the world isn't dying. And just maybe the world isn't dying. Maybe she's heavy with child.
One night, A woman took my hand. I left my home and followed her Into an icy field.
When I wanted to go back, I'd lost the way.
So she beckoned me to lie beneath The stone that always bore my name.
One morning, We woke up in an alley. To the smell of urine, alcohol, Trash and gasoline,
With a dim sense of a notion We'd held something in our hands,
That was bigger than us or God, And we can never touch again.
With a dim sense of a notion We'd held something in our hands,
That was bigger than us or God, And we can never touch again.
I've been looking at the symptoms for a while, Maybe she's heavy with child.
Jason: vocals, accordion, stomping, vodka bottle, pump organ, double bass
Trained monkeys: igga-di igga-di igga-digga-dup.
Jason: vocals, accordion, stomping, vodka bottle, pump organ, double bass
Trained monkeys: igga-di igga-di igga-digga-dup.
Dance While the Sky Crashes Down(c)1999 by Jason Webley
The flowers by your bed are wilting.
The sun is setting in the west. A fog is covering your eyes, Your stockings are attracting flies, Decay is nibbling at the boards on which you rest.
There's someone waiting at your window,
Familiar face without a name.
One night he'll creep in like the mist, To touch your forehead with a kiss, And lead you back into the void from whence you came.
We've all begun to die, and don't know what to do.
Since it hurts to pray to God, when God is dying too.
Takes strength to laugh, when you start to drown.
And we dance while the sky crashes down.
Like that the earth begins to quiver, And all the oceans turn to black. A ship of maniacs with knives, Are playing Blackjack with their lives, To kill the time until the giant rats attack.
It's raining leprosy and acid.
The saints were taken out and shot.
When someone proffers you a pear, You sink your teeth in unaware, That just beneath the skin lies pestilence and rot.
All that now breathes, and all that you love, All that we weave, will find its way back to the dust.
A band of skeletons is playing, Don't act like you don't know the tune.
Your part is echoed in the path, Of every dead leaf blowing past, Against a counterpoint reflected off the moon.
There is a banquet at the table, Exotic cheeses wines and cakes.
And every one of us is damned, Until we start to understand, That living is to gorge ourselves at our own wakes.
When the stakes are high, best to play the clown. And we dance while the sky crashes down.
Jason: vocals, guitar, accordion, marimba, double bass, drums.
http://www.jasonwebley.com/index.html
When someone proffers you a pear, You sink your teeth in unaware, That just beneath the skin lies pestilence and rot.
All that now breathes, and all that you love, All that we weave, will find its way back to the dust.
A band of skeletons is playing, Don't act like you don't know the tune.
Your part is echoed in the path, Of every dead leaf blowing past, Against a counterpoint reflected off the moon.
There is a banquet at the table, Exotic cheeses wines and cakes.
And every one of us is damned, Until we start to understand, That living is to gorge ourselves at our own wakes.
When the stakes are high, best to play the clown. And we dance while the sky crashes down.
Jason: vocals, guitar, accordion, marimba, double bass, drums.
http://www.jasonwebley.com/index.html
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