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1.
When you are sick of sweetness come to me. When summer fruits have curdled in your gut, when peaches bore you, and you crave the cutting acid that can sear complacency - When velvet skin, and plums, and palmy light have run their course with you, and when you thirst no more for sickly nectar but for bursting blood, and when your beachy sun’s too bright - When all terrain’s familiar, flat and slight and you recall how shadows too can thrill and sudden, quick-eyed creatures of the night stir in an inner field you swore was still - Seek out the blade to cut you into life.  I am the loving blade.  I am the knife.
2.
Beneath the weight of idleness Beneath the weight of idleness, the flat stone that presses dully on the teeming earth, where worms eat what life’s lost, and where the birth of life is sparked, small, fervent and alone, a movement barely felt - a chilly coil of muscle circling muscle, a blind pulse of reptile - stirs. Forgotten things convulse just inches from the surface of the soil. The stone lies still, The stone lies still. The static plate absorbs the heat of sun, and cool of night. The garden grasses bow. The blossom's bright with promise of benignity of fate. Under the sleeping surface of the slate beautiful serpents writhe and twist and wait.
3.
Thought I'd begin by telling you something I oughta, Something - for better or worse - that I share with Cole Porter His genius it ain't, or his glittering tragical life. It isn't his penchant for loving both men... and a wife.  I've said it before and I'll tediously say it again: Though once I adored it, now I get no kick from champagne. Oh! Champagne was swell in a fluted glass For sayin 'What the hell' with a little class Til that Jezebel bit me in the ass Now Baby you're the bubbly for me Whiskey I adored, comfort in a kilt Vigour was restored, ne'er a drop was spilt Then I just got bored and the floor would tilt Now Goddamn, you're the wee dram for me Boozing is a beatific bliss until it turns into a full-time occupation Then you better give the glass a kiss goodbye and cultivate a new flirtation Bordeaux was treat, rosy and divine Dry or semi-sweet, naughty but benign Till I found defeat at the finish line But I can bear it - you're my fav'rite claret. Baby you're the cocktail for me. Boozing is a beatific bliss until it turns into a full-time occupation Then you better give the glass a kiss goodbye and cultivate a new flirtation Vodka in your juice on the morning train. Resolution's useless the old refrain. Till I found defeat at the finish line. Baby you're the cocktail, my 'been around the block' tale. Baby you're the cocktail for me, for me, for me.
4.
Perry Street 02:00
5.
Hear that voice calling from tomorrow, Feel that song crying to be sung See that end to worry and sorrow Taste that sweet tomorow on your tongue  I was born a sentimental sinner I was always lookin for a chance I may be an sorrowful beginner But I got nat'ral talent for the dance Done my time a-workin and a-weepin Lost my way in the weary war Heaven, carry me  to a new morning Carry me to that beautiful shore For the battle was never meant for fighting The glory never meant to be In tomorrow's sweetness I'm delighting  In the distant gleaming I can see No longer terrified and tender No more my spirit frayed and torn For my victory lay in my surrender In surrender my burden shall be born Done my time a-workin and a-weepin Lost my way in the weary war Heaven, carry me  to a new morning Carry me to that beautiful shore Hear that voice calling from tomorrow, Feel that song crying to be sung See that end to worry and sorrow Taste that sweet tomorrow ... Taste that sweet tomorrow... Taste that sweet tomorow on your tongue.  © 2016 Valerie Cutko & Michael Roulston. All rights reserved.
6.

credits

released July 28, 2013

Songs written and performed by Michael Roulston and Valerie Cutko

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Michael Roulston UK

Michael Roulston is a composer, accompanist, arranger and actor-musician with a passion for cabaret.

www.michaelroulston.co.uk

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