Outer Boroughs from Outerboros by DOUGMORE

Ferry’s all aboard Staten Island’s teeming shore,
Gal in Green, seafoam queen, let me through your golden door.
Harbor water deep, lady’s vigil still she keeps-
Stares a hole through the boat, she staring square at me.

Here I stand, where my fathers stood in line,
to take a new name and a new life to find.
If liberty’s queen lights the American dream,
Oh the beacon I seek ain’t what they had in mind.

Think I’ll take a ride up to Rockaway’s tide,
Sit on the dock, take stock of my nickels and my dimes.
‘Cuz I spent up all my tin on a Flatiron mandolin,
By the teeth of your skin, OuterBoros trap you in.

Here I stand in the subway lines,
Echoes through subterrain and serpentine,
All the coins in my case can’t create or erase,
The beacon I seek for what they had in mind.

If today, the world is the alchemy of fools,
and tomorrow’s gold is yours to hold or refuse,
if to borrow is to steal, whats the deal when the beggars get to choose?

If you wear the right disguise you can grow but not in size.
Clinging to your child, believe up all your lies.
It’s the story of a boy, half-skin and the other half-scales,
sits in his tower and devours every page of his tail.

Here I stand in the subway lines,
Echos through subterrain and serpentine.
All the coins in my case won’t create or replace,
The beacon I seek that lights the torch of my dreams,
The teeth of your skin around your brother’s mandolin,
All the subway maps collapsing as this song plays on and on in my mind.

• Folk
• art folk
• avant-folk
• banjo
• chamber folk
• dreamfolk
• indie folk
• myth
• poetry
• progressive bluegrass
• singer-songwriter
• snakes
• New York