Alone Before the Doors of the Silent House

by Corbad

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joelbrandt Dark, sorrowful, and often more than a little spooky on both a lyrical and a musical level, as mournful melodies over minor chords on accordion, ukulele, piano, and guitar bring forth poetic yet haunting expressions of despair. But life is pain sometimes, and these seven tracks remain utterly captivating in their raw authenticity and bitter beauty. Favorite track: This Hobble of Being Alive is Rather Serious, Don't You Think So?.
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My dying days are done;
like rising rays of sun,
no longer will I be content
to lie down, slowly die, I’m meant
to serve you, bring you daywarmth in your night;
to keep you, be your comfort, hold you tight;
but too, be your deliverer:
I’m meant to name you traveler,
plant flowers where you run.
My dying days are done;
I need to put that shade away
and learn to live another way,
where colour blooms like thermal hotspring blue
in more than just your eyes, but all that you
direct those glowing eyes upon.
My love, my dying days are done,
my dying days are done,
my dying days are done.


released July 21, 2017

Original art by Howard Pyle
"Alone Before the Doors of the Silent House" is a quote from "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien
Song titles are quotes from "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" by Thomas Hardy
Lyrics of "The Serpent Hisses..." are excerpts from Job 3 as found in the King James Bible



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Corbad British Columbia

We will sit on the edge of ruin and talk.

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Track Name: Some Remote and Distant Hope
in the ivy, dead, it lies,
baring bones and shriveled eyes.
a dead crow in the leaves.

in the grass it lay before.
now, it isn’t any more
than dead crow in the leaves.

tragedy had struck its wing,
now it lies, a broken thing,
a dead crow in the leaves.

i will take its bones, inter
skull and hip to mother earth—
a dead crow in her leaves.

time will show it become more,
more than feathers, drying gore.
a dead crow is the leaves.
Track Name: The Wrong Man the Woman, the Wrong Woman the Man
The path ahead is so dark
and so black.
Play a song
for the fiery red headed girls
to keep them off your track.
Play a song
for the ferryman
to take you across.

Find your heart in the grey
cloud ahead.
Play a song
for the one you left behind
to tell her to follow you.
Play a song
for the trust that
you cannot feel.

You have entered into Hell;
don't look back,
don't look back.

Her figure's leaving right in front of you;
her figure's leaving because of you:
you looked back.

She was gone before
you turned around.

She has entered into Hell;
you can't go back,
you can't go back.
Track Name: Why Didn't You Tell Me There Was Danger? Why Didn't You Warn Me?
Little rabbit on the pavement,
where are you sleeping tonight?
What have you accomplished today?
"Nothing," whispers he, "I just got
lost, so lost."

Little rabbit, why have you left
home and hill to go a-roaming?
"I was told to follow my dreams
and they led me here before they

"I'm going to die alone:
a lonely bag of bones."

Little rabbit, why don't you
continue on this path you've chosen?
"Take a look around me," cries out he,
"there's nothing for me here but
death, cold death."

"I'm going to die alone:
a lonely bag of bones."
Track Name: The Serpent Hisses Where the Sweet Birds Sing
Let the day perish wherein I was born,
and the night in which it was said,
"There is a man-child conceived."

Let that day be darkness;
let not God regard it from above,
neither let the light shine on it.
Let that night be solitary,
let no joyful voice come therein.

Why died I not from the womb?
Why did I not give up the ghost
when I came out of the belly? For
now should I have lain still and been
quiet. I should have slept.
Then had I been at rest!
Track Name: A Transient Impression, Half Forgotten
i am
the failed fruit
the futile child
who never grew
but longs to die

i am
the damaged dream
the backwards flesh
who never seems
to do his best

i am
the squandered sperm
the broken egg
who never earns
but will not beg
(for death)

i am
the bastard dirt
the homeless seed
who has no worth
that no one sees

i am
the neverend
andthe false start
no joy within
my wrinkled heart


Estuaries flow
endlessly from snow
eaten peaks. But no:
even they must stop.

Every ember choked;
everything, like smoke,
ebbs away. A yoke
even I must drop.

Exit this mortal
egg: scream, push, and pull.
Enter the jeweled
earth, come and gone.

eagle-eyed to see
exactly how I
end, God looks on.
Track Name: This Hobble of Being Alive is Rather Serious, Don't You Think So?
Darkness creeps
up on me.
Night will come,
I will sleep.

Devil's treat:
night so deep.
I don't want death,
I just want sleep.
Track Name: This Happiness Could Not Have Lasted. It Was Too Much
Tonight, my sopping bones melt through my skin–
here I will fade into the strips of soak–
enormity within their spongeing lines.
Enormity, and so it goes: a spot,
now spreading on my sheet, of sloppish mulch,
of squelching mush, of flesh and bone and blood
removed of form and shape: of hair and heart–
magnificent upon a time–now gruel
in greys expanding on an empty bed;
these bones were once a church, this blood was life;
yet now all fades in drying, grotesque lines.
A year ago, the bed was made the same,
no shape misplaced, no organ present but
dripped liquid on a crusty, oozing sheet.
Until tonight, the room had sat forgot,
sat gone in memory, but now the cold
enormity of aging porridge riles,
long trapped beneath sandpaper skin; the hot
enormity of sundered dreams recall
sheets grey and cracking, soaked and seeping, time
seems backwards, now, and here I lie; tonight,
not only will my bones retreat from flesh,
end wriggling on the bed like post-rain worms,
slop, fall, and creep, but it won’t serve to last:
sometime–in years, perhaps–I’ll grow anew.
Of this, I’m sure: my skeleton will grow,
form up, solidify; of this, I’m sure:
At present, I am melting on this bed.
Life leaves me, waterfalls away, bleeds out,
in sheets of hungry age it leeches, drips,
falls to the floor and proves that in the end,
enormity is nothing but a lie.