Dusk

by Reuben Butchart

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    Immediate download of 16-track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire, including 2 free "Me&Rico" dance remixes by Dangeroos and Genji Siraisi.

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    The CD version comes with the original booklet and an additional art book with an illustration for each song by a different visual artist. Also includes immediate download of 16 track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire, including 2 free "Me&Rico" dance remixes by Dangeroos and Genji Siraisi.
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03:47
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credits

released December 31, 2002

Engineered & Mixed by
Steven Bagley & Reuben Butchart.

Mastered by Charles de Montebello,
CDM Sound Studios.

Lyrics by Reuben Butchart.
Reprinted by Permission.

Music Written & Arranged by
Reuben Butchart.

Except:

Justified, Don’t Believe, & Let it Go by
Reuben Butchart & Steven Bagley.

Blackout Shame by Reuben Butchart, Steven Bagley, & Jason Powell.

Service Man by Reuben Butchart,
Steven Bagley & Darren Lolk.

Everyday by Reuben Butchart &
Richard Robertson.

Episode by Steven Bagley.

Published by Felix Static (ASCAP).

Except:

Justified & Blackout Shame by Felix Static (ASCAP) / Bunker Mentality Music (BMI).

Episode by Bunker Mentality Music (BMI).

Vocals by Reuben Butchart.
Additional Backing Vocals on Everyday
by Jason Powell.

Acoustic Guitar by Reuben Butchart.
Electric Guitar by Steven Bagley.
Except: Service Man & Do Something by Darren Lolk.
Everyday by Reuben Butchart.

Bass Guitar by Steven Bagley.
Except: Paperback & Everyday by Reuben Butchart.
Synth Bass by Reuben Butchart.

Synthesizer, Sampler, & Drum Programming by Reuben Butchart.
Except: Justified, Blackout Shame, & Episode by Reuben Butchart & Steven Bagley.

Cellos by Julia Kent.
Violins by Maxim Moston.

Photography by Maciej Toporowicz.

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Reuben Butchart Brooklyn, New York

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Track Name: Do Something
DO SOMETHING

Take the first step
up a flight of stairs
out of the scary hole
you were pushed down into.
Believe me.
There is a glimmer of light after a fight.
Make it a point to push on through.
Though Papa may be out of his head
and Mama in bed,
cut your losses.
Let the dead bury the dead.
'Cause you got to rise to the occasion.
What are you waiting on?
What you going to do?

Do. Do something.
What you going to do?
Do something.

Running higher,
your desire to aspire
has got you
jumping through rings of fire
in this circus of life.
It may be a bitch
when you itch for a stitch
and you ain't got no clothes
to fit your backbone in.
Well, Papa may have
and Mama may have,
but praise to the child
who plays his own hand.
'Cause you got to rise to the occasion.
What are you waiting on?
What you going to do?

Do. Do something.
What you going to do?
Do something.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Justified
JUSTIFIED

Found out I was feeling low.
Found out I was justified.

Feels like I been arrested.
I been shackled down and I found
I can't change it.
Feels like I'm going crazy.
I been incarcerated,
separated from you.
Not a damn thing to do.

Found out I was feeling low.
Found out I was justified.

Feels like there's only darkness here
and it gets heavier, emptier here
in solitary confinement.
Feels like there should be
a glimmer of hope,
some kind of missing link,
but I think
I'll have to sink
deeper into the hole.

Found out I was feeling low.
Found out I was justified.

Justified....I found out the hard way.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Paperback
PAPERBACK

Pick a paperback from my shelf
and lay back on my bed
and read for awhile.

Wait just a minute there and I'll join you
and forcibly relax and maybe breathe.

You don't have to mind me
as I curse the time I spend on TV news.
You don't have to mind me
as I fuss to get talk radio in tune.

Please pack a brown bag lunch
just for yourself.
Oh, I'll get something fast
on the way back to my desk.

You don't have to mind me
as I curse the time I spend on TV news.
You don't have to mind me
as I fuss to get talk radio in tune.

Tattered, tied, and tangled.
Tethered to a thread
in the information age.
Fettered, fried, finagled.
Fanatic function
in the information age.

Pick that old paperback from my shelf.
We'll forcibly relax and together read.
Maybe even breathe for awhile.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Me&Rico
Me&Rico

Me&Rico. We're in the life,
lucky to feel the warmth we feel
a day at a time.

Saw an orange-tinted photograph
of him in his hippie hey-day.
He must of been sixteen.
Stoney, stoney, stoney, stoney Rico.

He used to be a bedroom wino
in a storefront on Mulberry Street
way before he got clean.
Swishy, swishy, swishy, swishy Rico.

Me&Rico. We're in the life,
lucky to feel the warmth we feel
a day at a time.

He's a collector
of Honeywell thermostats
and any vintage typewriter
if it's got its original case
and every key's in tact.
Picky, picky, persnickety Ricky.

On a downtown date,
we went to a masquerade
and saw a Goth band
playing a Theramin and a Moog
and it was retro new.
Tricky, tricky, trick or treat Ricky.

Me&Rico. We're in the life,
lucky to feel the warmth we feel
a day at a time.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Blackout Shame
BLACKOUT SHAME

Come and let them see my shame.

Smoked tobacco fields... blackout
Sniffed a puff of white... blackout shame
Sipped a tanker spill... blackout
Launched a battleship... blackout shame

Come and let them see my shame.

Stole a money clip... blackout
kicked a crippled cat... blackout shame
boxed a red head blue... blackout
slammed a steely door... blackout shame

Trying to find relief
at the end of those days,
days of too much caution
and minding everything I'd say,
I used to take my remedy
before even leaving the house
- reward for good behavior,
to toast a big night out.
At first it worked real fine,
but after time it went sour.
The lush life lost its luster.
My remedy lost all its power.
The lightness of relief
folded into the shade.
I suffered fade to black,
my shoulders heavy with shame.

Sang a taunting dirge.
Tore a vocal chord.
Danced a demon jig.
Scraped a skinny knee.
Touched a lightening rod.
Burned a soggy bed.
Swallowed brother's milk.
Spawned a brush of crabs.

Come and let them see my shame.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Care of Myself
CARE OF MYSELF

I don't know how to take,
how to take care of myself.

I cannot keep a good house these days.
I got dusty floors.
I got stained and strangled bed sheets,
spotted with soggy sunflower seeds
and overflowing ashtrays.
Butts and smut and everything else.
Empty bottles and cans all around me.
Silent films on the TV keep me from a good night sleep.
No one looking after me.

I don't know how to take,
how to take care of myself.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Don't Believe
DON'T BELIEVE

We don't believe in nothing.
We can't believe in you.

People keep talking 'bout
a higher power,
saying something's out there
taking care of it all.
But, I wasn't born
with a notion of god.
Mamma did not teach us
'bout an architect of time.

We don't believe in nothing.
We can't believe in you.

How can they hope we'll find faith?
Say, where's the grace?
So, your lost are found.
Good. Keep them
from chasing us down.
Just give us space.

Though I don't know
which way to go,
though I'm oh so lonely,
I just can't care.
And, at the end of a day
of stifled stillness,
no make believe can alleviate the pain.

We don't believe in nothing.
We can't believe in you.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Service Man
SERVICE MAN

You treat me like I am a service man.
My duty is to service you.

If you got me hypnotized,
then I'll have to stay.
But, if you do not,
then I can get away.
You won't let me sleep.
You make me do it all.
You got me working hard.
I'm up against the wall.

You treat me like I am a service man.
My duty is to service you.

If of my own volition
I do something special for you,
you're simply not impressed.
My gifts will never do.
You tell me that the
customer is always right.
Well, I have had enough.
I'm ready to take flight.

You treat me like I am a service man.
My duty is to service you.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Everyday
EVERYDAY

Reaching out for a better day,
some place where the living's
free and easy.
Not a fantasy, but for real.
Must I pass through
every scary ring of hell
just to taste one tiny piece of meaning
everyday.

Everyday is so everyday.
I am just the everyman.
Seems everyday's just like every other:
A grind against the grain
for every gain
everyday.

Wearing me out,
the daily trials and tribulations.
Is this some higher plan
to strengthen spirit or character?
Have I asked enough right questions?
Is this love, this living
for the lessons learned?
Feels like I'm only trespassing
here on earth
everyday.

Everyday is so everyday.
I am just the everyman.
Seems everyday's just like every other:
A grind against the grain
for every gain
everyday.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Let it Go
LET IT GO

We're reminded 'bout
the way we were
...sorry old ways
Stranded deep in silent,
separate rooms
...sorry old ways
Could hardly breathe
with every window shut
...sorry old ways
Always numb
to every feeling
...sorry old ways
...old suffocating ways...

Must've stewed
and festered long enough
...farewell old days
Could not sit still
for a minute more
...farewell old days
We finally got a chance
to change our ways
...farewell old days
Stood right up and
got our move on
...farewell old days

Never have to suffocate
in darkness now.
We have learned a way
to make each day
a breeze of light.
We just let it go.

Though we got to get
our hustle on
...brighter new days
We've the spirit
of an inner strength
...brighter new days
Not everything will always
go our way
...brighter new days
Feeling everything
and feeling fine about it
...brighter new days

Never have to suffocate
in darkness now.
We have learned a way
to make each day
a breeze of light.
We just let it go.


©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: ...afterthought...
...AFTERTHOUGHT...

Because I fancy him,
I gave him a Baby Ben alarm clock
I bought at a yard sale
right near the beach.
I bought myself one too.
Tickety-tock. We're in sync, Rico.

©2002 Reuben Butchart
Track Name: Stay Awake
STAY AWAKE

He sinks into a shadow
to ditch the thunder cloud.
He sniffs a puff of bright white
and cleans the key with his mouth.
His sleepless eyes grow out
from deep inside his head.
He says, "Sniff a hit of bliss.
It's better than all of this
strangely tainted air we breathe."
Confused by what he says,
I steal away to bed
and leave him to fight for some sleep.

I close my eyes. I feel paralyzed.
What if he must stay awake
until he dies?

So tired from wrestling bed sheets,
but still I cannot sleep.
So I grab my keys and raincoat.
I go and search the street.
I quit the fight and sign up for the flight.
I make rocket cocktail floats
and origami boats,
a cargo full of white, bright bliss.
Since I long to understand
the musings of this man,
I'm going to have to follow after him.

I close my eyes. I feel paralyzed.
Why not stay awake together
until we die?

I trade all my postcards for him.
...sell all my red clay.
He swallows a handful of pins
only to melt away.

Stay awake.


©2002 Reuben Butchart