Tight Wound Gears/Cameras and Clocks
Although more appropriately a Fishing for Comets song; I chose to put it here since part of this page is just being a material dump for me and I thought it might be a nice home for it since it has nowhere else to go.
A Pretty Penny is a home recording project taking place on a computer, guitars, keyboards, and whatever other instruments happen to get caught in the crossfire.
A Pretty Penny is a home recording project/song/sketch pad.
Story behind the song
This song grew out of some thoughts I had while driving home from a good friend's funeral. It's mostly about the impermanence of things and the need, I suppose, to preserver without getting caught up in the tendency to dwell to much on the future or the past. Most of the imagey, is, of course, concerned with cameras and clocks, which, to me is pretty powerful in that one of them is mostly concerned with stopping time, and, the other with pushing it forward. Really, these are parts one and two of 'Cameras and Clocks', but, I chose to combine them to preserve the intention behind it.
Lyrics
Show me your fondest stare from the bright spinning carosel and please remain like that for years. In the night red leaves are falling. Shooting stars are swarming. From the painted horse there is a warning; "Someday all this will fade away". And in the back of your head you'll hear the twinkling sound of tight wound gears, singing like soft, sad bells. There'll be cameras and clocks in your soul as it's gasping for air. Have you seen cameras and clocks? There's a bright sound loaded with meaning it covers your face in a blush. They are the light now over the course of your life. Cameras have captured your bright lopsided smile, looking at me from the frame. You will never age, you'll never start dying over the course of the night. Clockwork mechanical toy turn, spin, redundant, marking the passing of years. Go by so fast. Lost in the hoping time will slow down for a night. It won't break up alone. It waits for the morning I won't be that alone. Believe me, I won't be coming around for the lite, late lullaby.
