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09 We Used To Fly (Don`t Mention Its Name).mp3

Composer:
Ed Hooke

Date of
Composition:
 July 2008

Date of
Recording/Copyright:
  
2008

Backing Vocals:
Nojit

Commentary
Fragmented memories of the present day from a not too distant future.

“Post-apocalyptic” is probably the correct word to describe the setting for this song.  The particular apocalyse in my thinking at the time of writing was as a result of climate change / global warming.  “We Used To Fly (Don’t Mention Its Name)” is thus a sequel to “Glass Bubble Home”.

Hostile this land captures us and chides us

Who knows what goes beyond these horizons?

The goddess of the breeze tells not what she sees.

We depend on streams which water life inside us;

defend till death the cool dark caves which hide us

from daytime's burning sky.

Against all odds by evening some of us survive.

Hurrah!

We've made it through one more day.

We've made it through one more day.

Alive!  Alive!

Tomorrow is taboo here.

Don't mention its name.


The diseased don't question their harsh exile.

Sacrifices dwindle too our numbers.

We eat in silent shame.

Don't mention its name.

Night brings freezing cold winds which bite through us.

Before their pain we huddle and share whispers.

We speak of former lives.

We still tell young ones the fairytale

of how we used to fly, miles high,

looking down on white clouds,

looking down on white clouds.

They cry "you lie!"

- to disbelief from wonder

- to disbelief from wonder.

We Used To Fly  (Don’t Mention Its Name)

Sleep seeps in with dancing half-seen memories

- a world so close so suddenly so distant

which crumbled as we ran

from which this world began.

Cars, computers, food shops and brick houses.

How spoilt we were!

How did we fail to notice the rising of the tide?

Countless died.

Were we lucky?

Well, we survived.

We're alive!

We've made it through one more night.

We've made it through one more night.

Cold dreams, white screams

This time is our past's future.

This time is our past's future.

We used to fly, miles high,

looking down on white clouds,

looking down on white clouds.

Cold dreams, white screams

This time is our past's future.

Don't mention its name.