The House in the Canyon

from by Marc M Cogman



I dreamed I was young, in a top-down convertible under the sun, snaking up serpentine curves to the hilltops above. Perfumed air in my lungs, a lucky American son, resting on laurels for what little things I had done, enjoying the spoils from a battle that I hadn’t won.

There’s a house in the canyon with the boys in your band, and 4,000 square feet of open floor plan, and a deep blue pool surrounded by tropical plants. And a softly lit room and a girl by your bed, and a way that she bends as she slips off her dress, and a thundering fear that you’ll wake up before what comes next.

Every mile that I drove, another new staggering vista arose, the impossible blue of the sky and the valley below. Like a dream, but I know, hidden somewhere behind the tableau: the unshakeable feeling that all of it’s only on loan, and soon someone might come in a truck, pack it up and then go.

There’s a house in the canyon where the money gets spent, and you sell your guitars but you still can’t make rent. You used to write songs but now you throw parties instead. There are holes in the ceiling where rain pours in, and rooms full of her junk where your friends used to live, and the deep dirty pool, yeah you’d have to be mad to jump in.

And when everything’s slipping away, you tighten your grip, and you try to hold on to the girl, but she doesn’t exist. Once the role has been played out, only the actress is left.

I dreamed I was old. In the grey light of evening, I walked down a road, staring off into the distance through light falling snow. It was quiet, I was cold, and deep in my soul, I knew I was alone. And in that same instant, I felt myself turning to stone.

There’s a house in the canyon where it all comes undone, and the storm breaks above you and blocks out the sun, and everything you used to care for gets lost in the flood. There’s no phrase to be turned now, no tale to be spun. Your words melt to nothing as the ink starts to run. No staunching the wound now, no clotting the blood. No path to redemption, the damage is done.


from Nothing is Fantastic, released March 21, 2017
Marc M Cogman - lead vox, acoustic guitar
Frogs - bass
Steve McDonald - electric guitar
Giulio Carmassi - trombone, trumpet
Justin Siegel - drums
Jillinda Napolitano - background vox
Joe Napolitano - background vox, electric guitar, percussion



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