Hist’ry from Control Songs by David Garland

Hist’ry

Look at my house, it’s not my histry.

It’s where I live, but it’s not histry.

Histry beats a path right up to my door,
breaks in quietly, sees me sleeping in bed.
Watch me sleep tonight, dreaming in my bed.

Histry, you can’t know of my histry in dreams.

Histry watches me, Mystry lives in me,
Mystry holds my hand, Histry kisses my mouth.

Look at this map, no it’s not Histry.

Its roads and routes are not my histry.

Histry brings to me responsibilities

which then stare at me, though I never look back.
I don’t look ahead, I just stay in bed
sharp hands at my eyes, jaw shut tight against words.
Please don’t bring it up, please don’t wake me up. 
Mystry’s growing up, Histry’s looking away.

Some thoughts can place you in histry.

Those are the thoughts that have left me now.

If I could have what I wanted,
I would turn my Histry off and on.

Look at my face, for me it’s Histry.
I look at yours, can’t know its Histry.
Histry beats a path right up to my door
breaks in quietly, sees me sleeping in bed.
Hist-repeats itself, Hist-repeats itself,
Hist-repeats itself, Histry does it again.

Hist-repeats itself, Hist-repeats itself,
Hist-repeats itself, Histry does it again.

• Alternative
• Control Songs
• David Garland
• Fairlight CMI
• Hist’ry
• avant-garde
• experimental
• folk
• singer-songwriter
• New York