Ceschi & Sage Francis – “Barely Alive” (prod. by Factor Chandelier)

Great new video (filmed a few years ago) from Ceschi’s upcoming Broken Bone Ballads LP, produced by Factor Chandelier. Digital pre-orders now up on iTunes. Directed by Phillip Haleen.

@ceschi @SageFrancis @factormusic

Ceschi:
Another year gone.
Stomach fatter, beard fully grown.
Waiting for the nothing and I’m awfully alone.
Sunday went and visited your grave.
Put a wild rose on the Virgin Mary engraved.
Mother sang her song,
brother kneeled,
and I just kept on wishing that the last year wasn’t real.
Teeth have sunk into my neck.
Teeth have sunk into my neck.
Build us a holiday out of stones and holograms,
holy relics and hummingbirds,
all to fill this hollow man.
I’m alright.
I’m alright, but don’t fuck with me tonight.
These fists are clenched and I will fight for every breath left in this life.
All the mosquitoes in Saskatoon couldn’t quite suck the tough out of me yet,
although I know I’m a three legged dog hopping and begging like Vietnam vets.
These years were only appetizers, swallowed quick and wet
but I will not forget the remnants that were left.
Build us a holiday out of straw and out of sticks,
out of claws and out of bricks,
out of gauze and spit.
We’re alive, barely alive, but we’re alive!

We’re alive, barely alive, but we’re alive!

Sage Francis:
I make a fist,
stare at it and think,
“This is how big my heart is and I’m scared of it.”
‘Til they use scissors to open my shirt
I go to work overworked,
in the business of holding a smirk.
Private jokes telepathically shared
from the present me to the past me,
when I had more hair.
The tub remains clogged.
Sloshed through the memories of hooking up friends in need of jobs.
Didn’t stop them from requesting loans.
It started with them calling me “Boss” in a condescending tone.
Put an indefinite extension on the zero interest.
Better business bureau better be damn well prepared to be impressed.
We’re reporting back to duty, heavily wounded.
Steadily losing our gains.
The enemy moves in.
Gotta choose your weapons wisely
when I bust open my ribcage and I unleash the fist that’s beating inside me.
It’ll punch more than clocks.
Check your peephole, ’cause there might not be more opportunity that knocks.
Door to door I’m selling artificial tears for your eyes.
Using a stethoscope just to hear your cries.
We’re alive. Barely alive, but we’re alive…
Surprise.