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Aside

by Henry Mansfield

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R Insanely fun and touching at the same time. If a voice could reach out, grab your heart, and give it a hug: it's Henry's. Favorite track: Mascarpone.
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1.
I want to climb to the top of the nearest hill And see the world with the smallest possible eyes I got a note to burn my calendar The new world leaders bleached all the bibles And said, "Survive." We'll have to start over again We must define our lives And our muffled imperfections But please don't rush, we've got a lot of time I wish we could be stargazers and count the constellations like these keys And losing count's a church of novelty Replace our certainty with picture books Take instinct from Myers-Briggs, leave the quantified to empty maxims And we warm our hands on the fires that burn us ever on.... Please don't rush, we've got a lot of time Let dog eared pages turn to skies And sunburnt clouds God's new disguise We read words to tear out meaning And pull transcendence close But it's all around us I want to climb to the top of the nearest hill And see the world with the smallest possible eyes
2.
Mascarpone 04:39
Who thought this was a good idea? I'm not qualified to assist See: my husband card says nothing about this I've memorized Home Depot aisles And the corner of the radiator I can build you things you won't believe But I'll never understand this recipe Never been so helpless You make peppermint scones and bring home Jars of mascarpone Leave me here alone and I'll find kitchenette distress Instead of a meal You're drawing parallels to Picasso Cause it was Spanish and it looks Like I dropped some acid then I tried to cook Honey, I have tried before Remember Janet's Chopped-theme birthday? Our team lost because I thought that The cumin was the worchestershire sauce Can't you tell I struggle? You make blueberry scones and bring home Jars of mascarpone Leave me here alone and I'll make a something-esque big mess instead of a meal My hands are homesick with a whisk How is it that this can be so hard? I was really hoping that I could impress ya But now I can see I'm no Barefoot Contessa You've left me with instructions for some tiramisu Honey, I'm enthusiastic but I'm no you... Come home find me slumped on the floor In a puddle of some sad condiments On tiles littered with pasta sauce cat prints I tried to call Janet, she didn't pick up The internet just mocked my lack of forethought And I think I broke your Kitchenaid appliance How do you control this dismal science? You bent down and whispered Those aren't peppermint scones, it's ---- dough That's not mascarpone I left you alone and I found a something-esque big mess Kitchenette distress I left you alone and I found a sweetheart husband who'll always try his best
3.
Even at this speed it feels like home Hum a center spiral 'round the drone On your way to the square Breathe and watch your context turn bright red Cause you, you are free! Count in clicks the sidewalks keep the time 4, 3, 5, 6, 2 they all align Sign says no bikers Sign says no hikers What about my scooter? You can't define my scooter Always called a child's toy but you can't beat a scooter One foot on and one foot gone and onward on a scooter Easily concealed, a quick escape comes with a scooter You can't be defined by signs, you're perfect on a scooter SCOOTER!
4.
Morning silence in my coffee cup Reaching limbs still as the snow clouds dump Disguising the trees as a quiet wife They shake like an earthquake survivor and I know that there's life Beasts are out there breathing Between my starvation wage sighs White fur to their feet All the word creature implies Lungs topped with song for night skies I picture afternoons spent in the trees Squinting at an ornament of strange machines Ferrying sound to the northern side Quick here he comes and then scatter to wherever they hide from me A different world runs through me A vision through animal eyes Burrowed underground Chanting carols till sunrise I howl, you howl lullabys For now I'll watch their breath clouds Filter through branches of pine Fire up the lift Greet the morning like an in-law Wait for the evening to come alive Can you hear the howls at night? Echo off the blanket white Shaking up the pinhole sky Snow beasts are singing a love song
5.
Mr. Milford 02:52
Picture this: A sunny Sunday small town afternoon Front page paper spread about the new library Eyes inside a head inside the corner of a café Twitch in sync with skinny legs by a deerskin suitcase Oh, he levels cities in another life He swallows swords of inquisition, whispered bar bets Oh, he's got a face you can't forget And his name is Mr. Milford and he's got a secret! Mr. Grady watched the day he first came to the city Eyes were lashed with saddle rash from riding Greyhound People here are giving him the space of someone wide Shadow cast by a hazy past is long in this light Oh, he levels cities in another life He swallows swords of inquisition, whispered bar bets Oh, he's got a face you can't forget And his name is Mr. Milford and that is all they know They want him to go Their anger shows Through stares in windows Wherever he goes Back in the café his body perches somewhere calm And you can hear the chorus of one hundred sweaty palms He says some tiny epitaph and then he starts to laugh His concrete face it breaks it cracks and if you and I were there trust me We'dbelaughing too Oh, now he's walking to the door And he's smiling wider than a bridge too far Oh, now he's bending with the light Like a foreign map to fold together Steps across the cuts the tether Holding back the bricks and feathers In a dream you might remember What the things he whispered meant
6.
Sneak out the farmhouse To the silo in the yard Stare out at the stars So close but far We're never coming back again We've left the trough to brainwashed friends We're going home again! The planning, well, you'd be surprised We cleverly disguised our rocket In the store of grain Now the farmer is asleep Let's pray we don't wake up the sheep But we won't be meat Runs off of haystacks Ramshackle one-way trip to space Away from this awful place Us you'll never taste We came to earth Seeking our friends But we were enslaved By you evil men Who say pigs cannot fly Well, watch the sky.... We're never coming back again We've left the trough to brainwashed friends We're going home again We're going home again
7.
I found you at the bottom of my deepest year In a basement full of sandbox kids  Finding fun again without the knives They use to carve a way out of their minds A freedom you called God before you filled the void with all you had to give There we'll be Sore from stories over-told With words like memories-- they can't define our history As we cross the line With glaciers stopped by checkered flags To save a checkered past From waiting for us after class Let's string a length between the stars and what they are And push and pull until we find A balance point  Cause policy makes puzzle pieces; patchwork little lives And I am stuck on sticking landings on the point of living so subjectively Or you could trace the short route to simply being kind There we'll be Sunlight freckled on our cheeks You teach me the morning and I'll teach you in the dark These words don't mean a thing Our names are pretty labels but the syllables have value by the virtue of being yours I wish you knew how rare you are I wish you knew what seemed so far Found you and now it's safe to breathe I'm heading east this summer, you know I'll hate the heat But I'll find the ocean on a beach To lose myself And out where you are found, a river runs through every town So cradle something small that waves a false white flag to the currents like a Trojan horse Drop it, knowing all things have a source And there I'll be Sore from turning over rocks Looking underneath to rebelieve in mysteries Suddenly, a lap Against my ankles tickles me And plays a memory And I know what you mean when you said, "I don't need a plan." 

about

An EP about characters and creatures other than the ones you might expect.

credits

released July 29, 2016

Henry Mansfield - piano, accordion, vocals, percussion
Chris Clark-Johnson - bass, backing vocals, percussion, pots and pans
Serena Dominguez - bass, backing vocals
Gus Meyer - drums
Jackson Borek - trombone
Kira Newell - trumpet

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Jason Suko at South Sound Sound

All songs written by Henry Mansfield

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Henry Mansfield Seattle, Washington

Seattle and LA-based anthemic piano rock. The best parts of Ben Folds, Death Cab for Cutie and Slingshot Dakota.

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