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Left Handed Son

by Keyoung

supported by
Jarrod Scranton
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Jarrod Scranton Love you bro! It was awesome running sound for you at Audiofeed last year! Completely excited to do the same this year! 2 WEEKS! Favorite track: Shake.
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1.
Left handed son where have you gone? Have you went down to the valley of death? Last time I saw you your neck was red from the gallows rope Peeled back raw like an apple’s flesh Do you walk amongst the shadows The light inside you dancing past your lips playing kindling against the shades like winters chill on hot breath Now no longer your brothers keeper No more than your Father’s seeker Out of step with the world’s meter Running between the metronome’s clicks Dagger drawn Face of flint No longer the goat outside the pen You shake the dust of the world from your heels With each departing step You found the human race isn’t won with honest strides It’s fleet footed vulpes double backs sleight of hand in sheepish guise Because There’s no holy glow in the television screens no divine prophecy in the magazines Stopped subscribing long ago to what they’re trying to sell me Trying to soar like a seraphim rise to my feet Cus patience breeds confidence Wisdom brings restraint Tie my own hands together knowing my enemies have no stake in my fate nowadays it’s only to martyrs that I can relate Blood seeds of the willing planted in that concrete You can Call it Highpower if you wish But I just call it divine justice with no risk We all serve a master just a question of on which altar you sit So get the bricks get the mortar and Take your pick Joshua Miller: Left Handed Son where have you gone? Left Handed Son find your way back home. Always thought myself to be a middle child of history No beginning no ending to the cacophonic litany The world’s vindictive rhythm dictated decisions Ending in a deadening of my being by the age of 16 A lack of vision made me want the pity of an early death Newton said it best An object at rest stays at rest Felt for my whole life I had slept Putting the first law to the test Prayed for a miracle becoming a black sheep out of step So now I straddle cultures Korean born American raised outside of ethnic infrastructures Found my worth wasn’t by merit Rather an inherent inheritance Thanks to the One who created us from dust Thus I stand Forever a left handed son Joshua Miller: Left Handed Son where have you gone? Left Handed Son find your way back home.
2.
A Ghost Key 03:51
I stood standing in front of the bathroom mirror at the age of 7 Hoping to open my eyes wide enough to look more like the pairs of my parents’ Appearances never changed But always tried to rearrange Whitewash the thoughts of the guilt of a concept I could never frame So I tacked i up on the backwall of my closet Pretending that I lost it amidst stockpiled piles of misplaced anger That played the ammunition for family arguments I took my fear and swallowed it Rested all my hate on my tongue and cocked it Let the frustration fester Till it fractured my speech’s once fluid notes Making the world feel slightly sloped Everything backslid Towards my self-centered core Identity crisis was my idol Call it Isis I thought it gave me license To set myself apart from the world Instead It stood upright a dagger dance a whetstone pirouette carving out a resting place in my mind I was just a goatskin bled dry of it’s bitter wine A handless clock told by the dark how to keep time This is for every child that sits behind a history book that wasn’t written for them So they cover up their pain with artistry The edges where the text stopped and crayon canvases begin Framing the crossing of the Delaware and the great Sphinx the wax bleeding into history blotting out George Washington's features into a color wheel with no beginning and no end For no forefathers face had ever looked like any they have ever known I don’t think I’ve ever written more honest words than this That to not speak of race is to kill a culture And we as a society are internally hemorrhaging Come let us sit at the right hand of truth and beside the left hand of spirit A Deathless scale that portions us as an unbroken horizon against the Son We are meant to stride frictionless Like the bits of kaleidoscope glass we are We are more than the sweeping commotion within our earthly sight That covers our eyes like a stone fog We are subtly and wind Seized by different dusted vessels of infinite water and conducting light How can one measure the worth of a garment when we are the threads? We only see the edge of the loom of which we are attached But too many see a thread of a different color as coming from a bolt of different cloth 24 years spotless of anger 19 years of wringing hands Now I’ve set the table We’ll have our fill before the end
3.
Maranatha Jehovah Rapha Raah Nissi Shammah I saw the sky pour scarlet lines Like etchings on crooked palms Outlining a pair of tattered wings wearing a tin crown Flapping violently with the grain It spoke nothing Held thunderclaps in each its hands and war beneath its hooves Greeted eagerly by backdoors and whispered secrets It kept glass eyed hatred in television sets, cupboard drawers, and by street corner signs Where people offer their safety hand over fist While clutching each other's fingers shaped into shadows that look like coffins In the dusks last lantern light I saw the bellies of women filled with flames Stamped out by silver hooves Before as much as a cry could escape from their lips They cough the smoke from their flattened stomachs Kiss with sooted lips and give charcoal filled grins I watched plowshares bend like tired backs over bronze earth Scattering silver sparks like seed over unyielding ground that took the sweat from men’s brows and drank joyfully the blood of their hands Mapping red thread roots over the copper loam That sprouted the muzzles of wolves with mortar mouths and pestle teeth snatching the speech of angel tongued children; They spoke in the language of God And after I surveyed all that had been done I tried to shut out my anger with a match stick mouth But my black cauldron mind boils over with the striking sound of sulfur Righteous indignation turns to holy ghost heaviness that escapes like a free falling hammer from my chest That makes me cry out Maranatha Jehovah Rapha Raah Nissi Shammah Oh come swiftly for this nation that burns its candle at both ends It arrogantly believes that time runs straight a bullwhip they control for their own benefit Not knowing that they are merely a neighboring spoke beside destruction on age’s wheel Lobo eyed children ones that carry stones in their left hand while greeting friends with their right Lash your splintered bones in the shape of a crucifix Make sure to listen to the sounds of the marrow scraping against marrow Let it be a tuning fork whose pitch cracks your ribs Let your blood flow forth Make your heart burst like wineskins For horsemen come Horsemen take No crimson mark above your door will save your kin No forefathers face will lead to your escape What you hear tearing through your stepping stone thrones of glass and steel that sounds like the wind through a keyhole Is DEATH undiluted by the snake skin palms of man These are surely the last days The prophets fill the streets Playing dirges for covered ears and dancing feet Babylon falls like a millstone into the sea But To a lamb even a dragon must bow its knee
4.
Lay my body with the kindling in the corners of your remorse I hope the fires heard by your itching ears over your own tongues discourse
5.
The skin of my body is the skin of a drum Every lash across my ribs conducts percussive song Scarified 16 bars A note for every flaw Each wound Connecting like constellations I am Ursa Major Den father to sons and daughters Children unaware of their place amongst the stars But Great love cannot be contained Like wine in jars of clay Cracked and thinning pottery We are merely A cup trying to contain the ocean Overflowing and drunken from the our contents intoxicating spirit Gushing forth from our fissures and cracks Our bones may lay brittle But in death they will be stacked Blazing funeral piers scraping against the heavens an indication of our crowning destination For we are made of dust and breath Living only starts at death For our soles were meant for steps Our heads have no place to rest We wave no flags Giving allegiance to no empire For the kingdom we serve is unseen Underfoot Not upon the backs of an ass or a pachyderm Beasts of a burdened political system When asked, who are you? We reply I? I am not, I represent the Great I Am We speak on behalf of the one with a voice like a trumpet call Isa, Living water Bridegroom Great shepherd The burning bush that was not consumed Teaching us that the greatest victories are indicated by the scraped knees of the servant The ones who pad their footfalls by walking on hand and knee Our backs will become bent in the shape of a bell curve Gaussian functions indicting we are dictated by our hearts And we bend north and south from there So awake children of Zion Understand the lamp you hold in such high esteem only blinds you Let us not cling to the safety of steeples and spires Totemism of glass and mortar Built to echo till the voices become one sound That they think is our God’s speech So do not sit with bated breath Stock straight eyes ahead in those wooden bastilles As a great friend once told me *There is only death in our safety And We serve a God that breathes
6.
Cliff edge dances beside crevasse lined cracks Hesitation lost with each soft soled advance Toes point to heaven with angelic rhythm A heels kiss away from countless schisms She dances from men’s advances Keeps her head in her book far from the callous glances She takes the public transit Armed only with a thick skin against backhanded compliments While she fidgets with the gold that sits on the 4th digit of her left hand Playing with the her grandmothers old wedding band A piss off for the men that try give her fish hook compliments But she bends those barbs backwards Spits that iron in their face Her mother taught her which knuckles to put her house keys in and when to keep a finger on the mace A soft as lace demeanor Wrapped around a crowbar tough character Daughters learn the juxtaposition of their position from early age Sons are taught the world is theirs from boyhood on their confidence is laid I’m just one man of privilege admitting that I don’t understand much outside what I see But if I truly love my sisters and daughters then I have to believe in their belief that the world might be less fair than what’s been done to me My girlfriend told me about how men speak to her on the street I told her take their words as a complement, brush them off with ease She explained to me that the words are more about a role and less about the sting Kind of like admitting that I have don’t have clue is more about pride and less about the certainty things But I don't know Libby Johnson: You speak over me But you don't speak lightly Your words could make me what I am to be Raise the banner high Let Truth decide Who He declares I am to be Kyla Morgan: And she wanders Wandering the paths of exploding stars and glass Glistening, gliding Dying to know where she's at Where she belongs This song never go it right Words too small to capture his heart She starts to listen Believing she is just a collection of mismatched parts for the taking Replacing matchbox cards or toy trains for these grown up hands to play And she stays because this is her place A cacophony of sounds where only boyhood fantasies may abound And she is found breaking Open and exposed Marred by jagged scars That make a road map to the lost pieces of her heart This is the heart of a broken china doll dream The once believed enough to dance and sing Until she learned what doll really means But darling you are the daughter of a king Defined by strength and beauty It's you He sees And needs And calls Reminding you it's all for the taking Don't lose sight of the stars Because they are a reflection of His affections Fluttering then bursting with passions He's asking you to see That you are worth more than the skies or sea For He gives you life that you may share it This is our anthem A thousand couldn't stand in the light of the might of a woman who understands that she is more than a queen She is a Son The image of God's good love So trust that she will burn Radiate to penetrate the night and stand tall in His presence Able to dance her dreams without a gleam of question Because this was what she was made to be Complete So raise the banners high and see Libby Johnson: You speak over me But you don't speak lightly Your words could make me what I am to be Raise the banner high Let Truth decide Who He declares I am to be
7.
Shake 04:54
I was born a canvas covered picture frame My teachers sanded down my edges Not knowing that it would mean I could never be cornered So the paint always spilled off my sides Making sporadic sputtering acrylic spit stains when I opened my mouth for speech I never knew to protect my heart so I let my colors bleed So Most of my childhood was spent playing near cemeteries And trying my best to avoid talking with strangers My pockets filled with quarters and always in hopes of buying my friends thoughts and My teenage years were consumed by death metal records in my friends car and getting punched by men 5 years older than me in garages filled with kids that wore shirts that didn’t fit correctly, learning how verses not only get written on a page but also become etched on your heart but I’m older now I planted a flower bed in my chest and waited for the rain But it beat hard enough to wash the gullies out So the soil ran down my legs My bare feet darkened and stained the roots lay bare inside my chest a fire napping inside my conscious Laughing softly as each drop of rain kissed its red flecked skin My calloused vellum hands lay in wait unwritten by my sides My eyes stand perched like peering vultures from the caverns of my mind Because I’ve been whittling guilt from black cloud promises and trying my best to hammer out silver linings With caution tipped fists, swollen blue reminders of what happens when hesitation rears its head and fear wins I'm tired of demons waking me weekly before my alarm rings I have enough ghost hunts I need to learn to stop chasing while laying in a borrowed bed So I put on a brave face that I chiseled with shaky hands because I’ve taken a lot of disappointment lately and I’m finding truth in the weight of friends hands on my shoulders When the arch of my back bridges sorrow and joy with each shallow breath I take My heart cries anarchy because I’ve seen greed trap young women in windowed cages wearing less for men that will pay more when the curtains close I only imagined their pain as I biked by them everyday on my way to work But I still can’t help thinking that it’s all my fault Why didn't I smash the windows, set the captives free Why didn't I do what had been done for me? The canals where the girls worked were filled with swans that floated among the garbage And the neon signs of sex shows made the birds look like phosphor winged demons or broken angels But the crowds of men looking for a hour glass figure to hide their loneliness and the women clutching cameras and overstuffed purses barely noticed them While my friend Jimmy froze on the streets at night laying by the bike paths like broken teeth too fractured to be set back in their rightful place They walked by deaf while Mary plucked the violin strings I gave her in November, her whispered words nodding in agreement to the wolves that sat in her head content in feasting on her heart And these things make me no longer afraid travel roads without markers or to take walks after dark because I see now that the eyes are the color spectrum of the soul and so many people have pupils that are shades of gray, the colors never change no matter how colorful their speech Which has made me learn to fashion my words as ropes and set my thoughts firm like boards To build bridges between cynicism and desires for scarred hearts I wish my hands were set as hot brands lined with the stories of the weaker than That they would lick hungrily for unwitting palms to declare that they have value So every handshake would mean something I just want this all to mean something because my throat grows tired Of coughing with sawdust lungs which makes my chest rattle lonely song with sinew heartstrings fickle notes lifting my voice octaves higher than it was suppose to go And it all just keeps getting caught in my throat But my Father keeps promising an easy yoke I have to remind myself that it’s good, that it’s grace He’ll let me bend but never break I keep pouring myself out like a cistern Until my bottom is scraped I keep waiting to be filled............. And I keep waiting to be filled. But silence never fills the cracks and I cannot find what I've always lacked So I stand knocking on my God’s door I know, I know He’ll answer.
8.
shame 02:40
I don’t know much about fairness but I’m familiar with justice and how my tongue twists it into a shape the looks an awful lot like vengeance I just grit my teeth and pray that grace transcends this hard as iron ire filled temperament I pray that God plays the anvil that stretches my will into a plowshare instead of the sharpened tip where my temper sits But regardless of sincerity I always spit out that bridle and bit Even though the pull from an unseen Masters reigns is to save my steps from the pit I cloaked myself in fury and shod my steps with purpose Apathy was my blindfold written inside was the word “worthless” Thoughts of injustice kept me up at night But not near as much as my self-righteous soul would like It’s been 5 years spent picking the lint out of my pockets Counting monetary gain as loss It’s been a tacticle struggle to stop from feeling the cost Of becoming a rolling stone without moss A slow dance with integrity A game of crossed fingers theology Became a tightrope walk of art and self-serving apologies Seven is the number of completion I prayed that seven wouldn’t complete its task in me Seven sat silently in the corners of my remorse Discourse brought no course of action for divorce From Cardinal sins that blinded cardinal directions given by the ghost that lives in me My hands knew nothing of what my eyes did And my feet kept secrets from my mind So each of my limbs held errors Which led me to err on the side of caution But I’m No longer letting my condition dictate my position No longer singing and “I was wrong” swan song Psalmic inspiration without self-minded trepidation Has helped me to define freedom I know now that grace is a steam engine and compassion is a well that won’t go dry Just like love is a flame that can’t go out So when God stokes the fire in my chest my limbs act as pistons I have no choice but to let the steam that rises escape from my mouth Which makes my body a fractured locomotive beating a rhythm of submission I’m all forward motion, free fall, and breaking boughs Hoping to stick my landing somewhere between eternity and kept vows Which has stopped me from killing myself for over 5 years now This is for the ones that have to bench press their blankets every morning to get out of bed Because the world seems too heavy even from a bedroom window It’s for the ones who wear X’s on their hands as a reminder of their parent’s mistakes I pray I can be the salt that mixes with the blood-stained soil and not the added pain in someones gaping reminder Before I’m plunged back into the ocean I was meant for all along To become just another note in an entire symphony Because a note alone just conveys a tone And most everyone I know is not in harmony I try to be a man, I plant my feet, I stand like a native son, I’m trying to make my childish nature forgotten and foregone I’m no longer content with playing with sticks in the front lawn (in the light the dark has no place to hide)

credits

released September 23, 2013

all music written by Keyoung and Charisma House Recordings
Keyoung is Jeffrey Stuckel

backing vocals done by The Left Handed Choir on tracks 1, 5, and 8
The Left Handed Choir is Caleb Miller, Joseph Hanson, Claire Decker, Libby Johnson, Joceyln Nicolas, Joshua Miller, and Aaron Nicolas
Engineering & Mixing by Aaron Nicolas of Charisma House Recordings
Recorded and Mixed by Aaron Nicolas of Charisma House Recordings
Produced by Aaron Nicolas of Charisma House Recordings
Mastered by Aaron Nicolas of Charisma House Recordings
album artwork by Maria Lavender

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