For fans of melodic, harmony-laden classic album rock.
Cinnabar is Matt Tyson and Gary Judge
All composistions are by Tyson & Judge
All selections are produced by Matt Tyson.
We like the freedom to write in many different styles. Sometimes within the same song. We like to go from 4/4 to 7/4 or 10/4 and change keys a lot.
Our tunes are usually long and change a lot from section to section. So if you don't like what you're hearing, just wait a minute, it will change! We write this music only to please ourselves, but with our introduction to SoundClick, finally other people have a chance to hear our work.
Lyrics
Calling to imaginary friends
His one last chance to explode
Hope is a cloud above his head
Wearing poverty just like a coat
Paradise?… won’t find it here
Window watching souvenir
Erin takes what she can
She got no commitment in sight
Carries the weight of popular demand
In a world of her own devise
Safety pin for lollipop
Runaway or window-shopper
Who would believe this situation
Seemingly opposite relation
There’s another fellow over there
He’s liberating wayward souls
For the Holy with a cross to bear
God’s work is a one-man-show
And he’s a riveting orator
Sinner with an Open-Door…
Taking the train back from New York
We saw ourselves in old familiar ways
Poor boy, a god in handsome green
You’ve got to keep it clean
It’s all you can hope for
Poor lad, sure you must be mad
Don’t look now they’re coming after you…
The toe-tapping insomniac…
an innocent bystander to the supreme sacrifice…
Waiting with bated breath, oozing a pale confidence,
understanding is an aberation…
Erin’s in a hurry as she scurries up the stair
With hand held high, she waves “goodbye”
Who needs a millionaire
Andrew takes a taxi and in the back relax
With Erin’s eyes still in his mind he reads a zodiac
Tomorrow’s a bad day, If they ever find me…
Poor boy, a god in handsome green
You’ve got to keep it clean
It’s all you can hope for
Poor lad, sure you must be mad
Don’t look now they’re coming after you…
The smoke hangs like haze above the poets and players on the corner across from the, once and future, entrepenurial fighter… standing, with arms akimbo, in the growing shadow of the mercurial ghost whose low and distant moaning awakens the androgynous outsiders waiting in the shallow graves of their own virtual existence.
Listen, You drive me out of my mind
Reason, Don’t you think me unkind
This is only a test, a man under stress
Flying, defying gravity
Soaring, ignoring tragedy
I’d be better off dead, isn’t that what you said
Never looking backward but you left your stain
Welcome to the jungle as you feel the rain
“So why don’t you move me as you are, ‘cause I like it…”
Nature… has its way
Wind and rain
Calling (calls me)
Early morning, crack of dawn
Waiting for the rising sun
Far across the glen… the fog rolling in
Shadows gathered there
Like divers coming up for air
Water falling below, a rose colored show
Welcome to the canyon of the waterfall
The man with attitude arrives with natures call
“We’ve got a way to amuse you… come one, come all
“Why, there he is, the Mad Dasher”
“That’s him right there next to the surrey box”
“It’s now past twelve O’clock, so I wonder what he wants”
“You’d do yourself wise to keep your fishhooks out of me”
[ street corner evangelist ]
I don’t know what he means
And answers aren’t always what they seem to be
If only I could have some wings,
If only I could have…
Gonna find my way some day
Someday there’ll be so much to look back on
The day begins… the afternoon
Finds me with my friends… all alone
You can go where you want (If you believe what you’ve been told)
And it’s cool when you’re hot (Bring everything your arms can hold)
You can sleep when you’re tired (If you’ve been down and feeling small)
And work when you’re not (Garden green, waterfall)
Take you’re time, bring your wine, everyday, rain or shine
If you go down to Adam’s Hole you better take the very old
If you go down to take a ride no matter what’s inside
Above it all
Whether pauper, king or pawn, if rich or poor
Come to the waterfall, come to the waterfall
Underneath the canopy that shades July
Chance a caterpillar meet a butterfly
Come to the waterfall, come to the waterfall
I don’t know what he plans
Questions are always, maybe, better left to chance
If only I could have some wings,
If only I could have…
Standing, with arms akimbo, in the growing shadow of the mercurial ghost whose low and distant moaning awakens the androgynous outsiders waiting in the shallow graves of their own virtual existence.
Poor boy, a god in handsome green
This KICKS!