Christmas Fuller Project (New songs!)'s Blog

Oh, my heart, the cold!
The numbness in my hands.
The gloves I stole from Mom.
The weakness of my skin.

Oh, my God, the time!
The paleness of the light.
The fire in my house.
The promises to keep.

I drive across an icy highway.
How will I die?
The streetlights burn like late desire.
How will I sleep?

What hope
for the uncovered man
in the chill of night?
Or the garden he made
when the fire arrives?
What hope?

God to me and God to be,
Jesus Christ up on a tree,
three to know and one to see.

Two sisters with black bangs like their mom
celebrating the bulb
that chose to light the room
they shared with mom and dad.

I saw one’s socks, her shoes were with holes.
I saw one’s well-worn hands.
Still they jumped and still
they clutched their gifts so tight.

You might cry for me,
but I cry for you no more.

With their heads on my shoulders,
one read a verse that she knew.
The other colored paper.
Their father laughed.

In this desert, within walls
of cinderblock and foam,
I saw blessings received,
yet hearts kept pure.

I cry for you no more.

I’ve flown too much this year.
There’s a fear of weapons:
shoes and toothpaste, bottled water.

One flight was delayed by weather
when a fast summer rain did enough in Chicago…

Two brave planes hit each other;
the rest roll back to their gates
like soggy Cubs in Wrigley
who don’t get to play.

What really does it take to get away?

Flooded Greeks on CNN fight Paris for airtime.
Starbucks sells itself.
There’s music in my headphones,
American money in my wallet.
I’ve got some yellow-paper ideas
I’ve got to get off of the ground.

Some thoughts make it off of the tarmac,
finally airborne—departures, connections, returns.

What really does it take to get away?

In a sunnier terminal, I saw a bird stuck inside.
I picked out some lines to make a song—
they rhymed too much and ran too long.
So I scratch them out and scribble two new
and hope they keep me up this flight.

A power’s born in the quick and free,
and it seems to get trapped in airports.

This island stretched and laid out
face down in the ocean,
a blight in her back.

I am half as big as the universe
and half as small

Heaven sent me to you,
through blue, red, pink, yellow, blue—
the deep is the graveyard sea.
The Sun is a star

God’s teeth scrape the skin
off her black butter back.
His tears flush bogs (blush bogs)
and rain.

I am half as big as the universe
and half as small

Sunset chasing, picturing;
east Atlantic vanishing.
God horizon, fairyland,
muddy river, fallen man.
 
A stone in my hand:
This is all that is made

Green & Lonely
An EP by Christmas Fuller Project
Recorded & Produced by Adam Putman at Insomiac Studios

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Coming soon!