THE WIRE SONG
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The Wire song is our first studio-live-recording. Its lyrics were originally inspired by the story of mine-workers close to a war frontline, going down the shaft with the elevator every day, not knowing if they will come back up and if so, to what.
As we worked on it, the song became a poem of endurance and of trusting in the spirits of past and presence to accompany us in the darkest hours.
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Composer: Rahel Nahely
Lyrics by Julian M. Grünthal 2022
Performed by: Rahel Nahely (Vocals & Piano), Anat Porat (Vocals & Guitar), Rolf Caflisch (Drums), Rees Coray (Base)
Recorded and mixed by Manfred Zazzi, Aquarium Studios Zurich
Cover art: Astrid Gutmann
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Down down down
into the coalmine of our souls
the wire sings its song of steel
into the narrow dusty hole.
Down down down
into the womb of blackened stones
the forests still alive in our hearts
their roots will tickle our bones.
Down down down
to our friends and our kin
with open arms of sweat and dirt
we’re holding hands, we sing.
And as the lights go dim
the spirits of the canary birds
rise up from deep within
lending their wings to our words.
As we keep singing -
and with fear, and with rage
and with love and with hope
we age.
While far above
some primitive god
is playing the drums
on our homes.
Making brick into rubble
and our souls into stones
and fire.
May the wire
survive
to take us back up.
And the coal becomes a tree
and the dead birds fly free
and we return from below
yet to what - we don’t know.
But if the wire survives
it will take us
back up.
Oh, may the wire
survive
to take us back up.
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A MOTHER
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A mother is an intimate goodbye to a mother who passed over that river after a long disease.
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Composer: Rahel Nahely
Lyrics by Julian M. Grünthal 2022
Performed by: Rahel Nahely (Vocals & Piano), Anat Porat (Vocals), Rolf Caflisch (Drums), Rees Coray (Base), Monica Tarcay (Violin)
Recorded and mixed by Manfred Zazzi, Aquarium Studios Zurich
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Your head so cold
your hands so old
Your eyes are almost shut
I wonder if the smile you smile is your’s
and where you’re at.
A brother and a brother
help each other
tie the bandage ‘round your head
to close your mouth - it looks less dead.
Your belly’s gone
your breasts are gone
morphine embraced your pain.
I wonder if the smile you smile is your’s
and what is staying?
A sister and a father
hold each other
put the scarf around your neck
the one you liked - it looks less dead.
Your cheekbones strong
your cheeks all gone
your pupils melting in your eyes.
I chose to know the smile you smile is your’s.
My choice is wise.
A grandson and his mother
and the grandson’s father
come to stand there by your bed.
This is grandma -very good you met.
Some wood,
a mother
and a watch
become a tiny pile of ash,
still warm,
still her
the one who read me to my sleep.
And as we spread her ‘round that tree
that tiny pile of ash
I wonder
what’s the kind of flame
that can burn a watch.
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