Old Stock
Fledgling
words and music by Ben Caplan and Christian Barry
appears on Old Stock
Once there was a mama bird who flew across the sea
Carrying her fledgling young aloft upon the breeze
The time had come to migrate as a chill fell on the land
The fledglings were too weak to fly, too young to understand
Mama took them on her back, the three into the sky
And set upon a journey with a prayer and a sigh
Mama, where do we fly?
Where are we welcome and where will we thrive?
Mama, where do we fly?
Where are we going and will we survive?
The journey was exhausting but at last, a shore was found
The fledglings leapt off mama as she crashed into the ground
It took some time to learn how to adapt to the new clime
But food was found, and shelter, and it felt stable in time
The family was grateful to survive another day
But they missed the life they had and all their friends so far away
Mama, where do we fly?
Where are we welcome and where will we thrive?
Mama, where do we fly?
Where are we going and will we survive?
As years passed, other families from other far-off lands
Began to cross the ocean and to wash up on the sand
The fledglings and the neighbours felt themselves to be as one
And scarcely could identify with new birds on the run
They feared that all the new birds would bring violence and disease
Despite an old familiar song aloft upon the breeze
Mama, where do we fly?
Where are we welcome and where will we thrive?
Mama, where do we fly?
Where are we going and will we survive?
Lullaby
words and music by Ben Caplan & Christian Barry
appears on Old Stock
The market is empty
The butcher's gone home
The candle’s half spent
Soon the light will be gone
Soften your brow, dear
Breath slow and deep
Let your eyes close
As you drift off to sleep
The moon in the window
The sun in the sea
Now is the quiet
Just baby and me
And the sun will sleep in the ocean tonight
And the cool of the water makes everything right
And the ocean once dreamed it could shine high above
But protecting, reflecting the sun is enough
We used to go dancing
We used to drink wine
We used to buy flowers
But now we buy time
Mommy and daddy would work bare our hands
To make sure you have all you need in this land
The moon in the window
The sun in the sea
Now is the quiet
Just baby and me
And the sun will sleep in the ocean tonight
And the cool of the water makes everything right
And the ocean once dreamed it could shine high above
But protecting, reflecting the sun is enough
And the sun will sleep in the ocean tonight
And the cool of the water makes everything right
And the ocean once dreamed it could shine high above
But protecting, reflecting the sun is enough
Minimum Intervals
words and music by Ben Caplan & Christian Barry
appears on Old Stock
The minimum intervals from conjugal duties as prescribed in the Talmud are as follows:
For men of independent means every day is what she needs
Labourers it’s twice a week, you’ve got to make your lady squeak
Donkey drivers once in seven, got to send your spouse to heaven
Sailors every half a year, it’s back to port you’ve got to steer
According to the old tradition
A Jewish husband is forbidden
To go too long without spending
Time on nether region tending
For men of independent means every day is what she needs
Labourers it’s twice a week, you got to make your lady squeak
Donkey drivers once in seven, got to send your spouse to heaven
Sailors every half a year, it’s back to port you’ve got to steer
Her pleasure is your obligation
If she gives the invitation
She has the right of course to say
She’s not quite in the mood to play
Consent is de rigeur
You’ve always got to check with her
The point is human beings as such
Need a little loving touch
Every human being as such
Needs a little loving touch
Plough the Shit
words and music by Ben Caplan & Christian Barry
Monologue drawn from Pico della Mirandola’s Oration On the Dignity of Man
appears on Old Stock
The world is an overflowing gutter
It bubbles with a brine of shit and blood
And those who keep their eyes upon the heavens
Are the ones who'll wind up face down in the mud
It's easy to speak of grand ambitions
It's easy to pretend you’re innocent
But lest you get distracted by the suffering of your sister
Being practical and trying to pay the rent
Heaven has been promised to the righteous
Hell's an overpopulated pit
Purgatory's given to the dreamers
But the world belongs to those who plough the shit
There's a special place in hell for fancy talkers
There's a special place in heaven for the whores
There's a throne reserved for those with good ideas
Stolen by the demagogues who want it more
The flowers and the laces in the market
Are all purchased by the peddlers of the flesh
But those who bring relief and carnal pleasure
Sometimes serve the needs of mankind for the best
Cast off the limitations of the righteous
There are good deeds only devils can commit
Let us dance between the teardrops of the angels
For the world belongs to those who plough the shit
At last the Supreme Maker decreed that this creature
To whom He could give nothing wholly his own
Should have a share in the particular endowment
Of every other creature
Taking man therefore, this creature of indeterminate image,
He set him in the middle of the world and thus spoke to him:
We have given you, O Adam, no visage proper to yourself
Nor endowment properly your own
In order that whatever place, whatever form, whatever gifts
You may with premeditation select
These same you may have and possess
Through your own judgement and decision
We have made you a creature neither of heaven nor of earth
Neither mortal nor immortal
In order that you may as the free and proud shaper of your own being
Fashion yourself in the form you may prefer
It will be in your power to descend to the lower brutish forms of life
You will be able through your own judgement and decision
To rise again to the superior orders whose life is divine
The dead become the emperors of memory
The saints have all been eaten by the worms
The living have the right to twist the future
And the sinners all have practical concerns
There’s sentinels with rifles on the borders
All the pretenses of charity are swept
But lets not talk of slipping into nightmare
For the day is won by those who haven’t slept
So throw away the vestments of the righteous
Make sure the body armor snugly fits
The souls have taken flight now from the birdhouse
And the world belongs to those who plough the shit
Traveller's Curse
words and music by Geoff Berner
appears on Old Stock
Truth Doesn't Live in a Book
words and music by Ben Caplan & Christian Barry
appears on Old Stock
What Love Can Heartbreak Allow?
words and music by Ben Caplan & Christian Barry
appears on Old Stock
Widow Bride
words and music by Geoff Berner
appears on Old Stock
You've Arrived
words and music by Ben Caplan & Christian Barry
appears on Old Stock