Liner notes.

Coming down off the nova somewhere near the boiled egg that is the Royal Albert Hall, we watch Paul's sun crossed with John's star and hold ice cream hands. Someone slipped on a cassette as the one you wanted left with someone else but somehow it was cool because as the music filled the shadows, you heard a sound that was a million miles away from fakery and a step away from your heart.
Just like it always did, this sound puts the swagger back into your step, the rush into your blood but somehow, and I don't know how, they had become deeper, wider, soulful, better at their craft, inspired by so many things like a world that is tilting who knows where and the applause they always knew was theirs but waited so impatiently to receive. Words cut you from all angles, backed up by a monumental sound that rises high, high and high to crash against your rocks and then changes, majestically and magically to soothe the wounds inside.
As you are dragged inside on this trip abandon, you hear a council estate singing its heart out, you hear the clink of loose change that is never enough to buy what you need, boredom and poverty, hours spent with a burnt out guitar, dirty pubs and cracked up pavements, violence and love, all rolled into one, and now all this.
At the end you flip over and start again because now you are not isolated. They have gone to work so that you can go home. High above the day turns pink and you feel your feet lift above the ground as new roads open up in front of you. In this town the jury is always rigged but the people know. They always know the truth. Believe. Belief. Beyond. Their morning glory.
- (What's The Story) Morning Glory?

Honesty in bloom, heart on sleeve, life ever exposed and safe, courtesy to them and all you know, cinnamon and cider mills past last night's drenched roof shingles, down and cotton covered breath, out in the open with nothing to hide, mention of soft paper and pine, soda powder and brown paper bags, angora and hound's tooth, youth and canvas, fresh color, blind chance and forward stumble, scarlet mood, and white ivory shimmering laugh, safe in mind and comfort in home, absent of flies and anger, blankets of your own, peaches in cellar, subtle hair and skin, sand and leaf, felt napkin and clothing line, warm air from heating vent, snow on ground, reunion of sane unforced presence, motherly intervention held in suspense, enraptured holy sight, reception in halls, your Sunday go to meeting, your helping hand, your summersault, your attic, your home and your preservation, so simple, so untouched, this is as wise as raven and as easy to trust, yet have they known, and yet may they wonder, with words and thought and thorn, this spirit and persona under.
- Elephant

"When you are asleep you are not dead. Even when you are dead you are not dead."
- Lifted, or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear To the Ground

I like these. They splash about everywhere but they still say what they say.

The air hanging heavy and damp in the living room, sweat and leather, tried and true. Your casual assurance that you hated me then and you hate me now, your wink, your smile, your lit cigarette. I go back to that day for the patterns in the carpet, the whitened knuckles, the lilt in your voice as you told me all the ways you've ever screamed and why. Your words drew charcoal on the walls, little ladies with fluttering fans, Chinese ships, rabbits and plum blossom. Overflowing ashtrays and overflowing minds. Speech the crudest form of communication, I relied on eyes, lips, trembling fingers and scuffing feet. Day breaking and clock striking with equal measure, each striving to be heard in a world where one rules and the other is forever lost.
- Me