Everybody Hates Elves

by Kari Maaren

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about

This album contains a selection of music written for and performed at Toronto's Chiaroscuro Reading Series in 2013 and 2014. Subject matter ranges from elf hatred to the ridiculousness of Canadian literary fiction. May include nuts.

credits

released April 8, 2015

All the material on the album was written and performed by Kari Maaren: karimaaren.com

It was recorded, mixed, and mastered at the Pond Studio by Devin Melanson: www.thepondstudio.ca

The album's artwork is by Karl Stahl of Painted Red Productions: paintedred.com

Additional vocals on "Fake Geek Guy" were provided by:

Leslie Hudson: www.facebook.com/LeslieHudsonMusic

and

Deborah Linden: www.facebook.com/deborahlindenmusic

Thanks go to ChiZine Publications (chizinepub.com) and the Chiaroscuro Reading Series (chiseries.com) for providing the opportunity for this music to be created and performed. Special extra thanks go to Debs and Errol (whose farewell concert contributed to the "CanLit" track), Sandra Kasturi (whose poem "Starcats!" inspired "When the Starcats Come"), Mike Bryant (whose poem "A Stark and Wormy Blight" inspired "Follow My Brain"), and David Nickle (whose novel The 'Geisters inspired "The 'Geisters (I Did It for Love)").

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about

Kari Maaren Toronto, Ontario

Kari Maaren is a Toronto musician who plays geeky ukulele songs about monsters and superheroes. She isn't sure why, but it amuses her, so that's all right.

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Track Name: Everybody Hates Elves
Everybody Hates Elves

Come into the mystic valley,
All ye weary travellers;
Come and rest beside the pool
And lay aside your grief.
Astriel will play the harp
And sooth you with her singing
And beauty quite beyond
Belief.

We shall dine by moonlight
On delectable confections
While conversing softly
In our ancient tongue, and so
All will be quite courteous
And wonderful and magic,
And yes, in case you're wondering,
We know

Everybody hates elves.
Everybody can see
That we're better than you.
This is knowledge that we
Hold over your heads.
You are all you can be,
But you'll never be anything like us.
Everybody hates elves.
Everybody's aware
That we elven-folk don't
Really know that you're there,
Or if you point it out,
Then we truly don't care.
Everybody hates elves.

We are lovely and accomplished
Symbols of perfection;
We are slender, willowy,
And absurdly tall.
Humans long to sleep with us
And spawn pretty half-elves
With no human features
At all.

Humans have such tiny lives;
We live almost forever.
I have spent a hundred years
Just gazing at the sky.
And since we are all wealthy,
We live our lives in comfort.
It must be awfully dreary
To die.

Everybody hates elves.
Everybody can see
That we're better than you.
This is knowledge that we
Hold over your heads.
You are all you can be,
But you'll never be anything like us.
Everybody hates elves.
Everybody's aware
That we elven-folk don't
Really know that you're there,
Or if you point it out,
Then we truly don't care.
Everybody hates elves.

[Long, silly kazoo solo]

You are nourished and quite rested,
And the beauty of our land
Has allayed your grief, which vanished
'Neath ethereal song.
Now that you are clean and happy,
Lapped about with comforts,
It's time for you to move
Along.

We shall give you gifts, of course,
And prophecies, and blessings;
We'll shed diamond tears as we all
See you on your way.
But you can't just stay here; this
Is not a place for humans.
We shall wait politely as you say:

Everybody hates elves.
Everybody can see
That we're better than you.
This is knowledge that we
Hold over your heads.
You are all you can be,
But you'll never be anything like us.
Everybody hates elves.
Everybody's aware
That we elven-folk don't
Really know that you're there,
Or if you point it out,
Then we truly don't care.
Everybody hates elves.

Everybody hates elves.
Everybody can see
That we're better than you.
This is knowledge that we
Hold over your heads.
You are all you can be,
But you'll never be anything like us.
Everybody hates elves.
Everybody's aware
That we elven-folk don't
Really know that you're there,
Or if you point it out,
Then we truly don't care.
Everybody hates elves.
Everybody hates elves.
Everybody hates elves.
Track Name: Fake Geek Guy
Fake Geek Guy

Since I was eight years old,
I’ve wanted to be Batgirl.
I make grappling hooks and batarangs,
And the other girls and I all strive
To foil the Joker’s plot to kill
The whole Bat-family, as told
In Gail Simone’s dark chronicle
Of Batgirl’s valiant struggle to survive.

I notice that your Batman
Costume’s mixing eras.
And your colour scheme is off, and you’re
Too pudgy, and you’re not so tall.
I doubt you even know that Batman’s
Gloves were purple in their first
Appearance in the thirties. You
Should not be dressed as Batman at all.

Hey, dude,
What’s going on?
Why are you even
At this con?
You can’t be one
Of us; get gone.
Your costume is a lie.
Hey, look,
I’ve confessed:
This conversation was a test.
You failed like
All the rest.
Go home;
You’re just a fake geek guy.

I miss the old days when
I could come to conventions
And could talk about the things I loved
With other people just like me.
Oh, sure, there would be one or two
Of you; you didn’t bother us
Because you knew your place and stayed
Off on the margins. That’s how it should be.

But now it’s cool to be a geek,
And suddenly you’ve noticed,
And you hang around because you think
That makes you cool and geeky too.
You say you love the fandoms, but
We know you are just posturing.
These properties are ours; you won’t
Admit that they were never meant for you.

Hey, dude,
What’s going on?
Why are you even
At this con?
You can’t be one
Of us; get gone.
Your costume is a lie.
Hey, look,
I’ve confessed:
This conversation was a test.
You failed like
All the rest.
Go home;
You’re just a fake geek guy.

Your costume is too sexy.
Why is it so sexy? You should hide
Your muscles and your package ‘cause
We know that you’re just taunting us.
Do you really think you’re sexy?
You’ve got rolls of fat on your backside.
Cover up and move on through.
We don’t want to look at you.

I know you think you’ve
Broken through into our clubhouse,
But you’ll never really understand
What makes a proper geek a geek.
“Geek guy” is just a secondary
Category, and we don’t
Appreciate your strange belief
That you should have an equal right to speak.

Go make me a sandwich; let
The other girls and me catch up.
Your package is distracting, though
It’s kind of nice to know it’s there.
We don’t want your opinions; you
Should probably just watch some sports.
Sure, tweet about it; that’s so cute,
But to be honest, no one here will care.

Hey, dude,
What’s going on?
Why are you even
At this con?
You can’t be one
Of us; get gone.
Your costume is a lie.
Hey, look,
I’ve confessed:
This conversation was a test.
You failed like
All the rest.
Go home;
You’re just a fake geek guy.

Hey, dude,
What’s going on?
Why are you even
At this con?
You can’t be one
Of us; get gone.
Your costume is a lie.
Hey, look,
I’ve confessed:
This conversation was a test.
You failed like
All the rest.
Go home;
You’re just a fake geek guy.
You’re just a fake geek guy.
You’re just a fake geek guy.
Track Name: Come Rescue Me
Come Rescue Me

The moons rise
Over the sand.
There's no surprise
Anywhere in this land.
We run the farm.
The Jawas come.
Sandpeople are
Just kind of dumb.
Stuck in a rut,
I know that I
Will never leave.

I search near and far
For somewhere that's green.
Not that you are
Gonna find that on Tatooine.
The stars hang in
The sky and taunt
Me. I cannot have
What I want.
Stuck in this life,
I wish that I
Could just believe

That someone would rescue me.
That I'd have a destiny.
That I could simply slide
Into being what I was meant to be.
And I would save the day
In a galaxy far, far away.
There would be nothing to choose,
And I would be free:
Come rescue me.

I know I
Am meant to be great.
Perhaps I should fly
Off myself...no, I'll just wait.
I need adventure.
Even so,
I've no idea
Where to go.
I guess I could ask
Uncle Owen
And Aunt Beru.

I have got
A lot of dreams,
But they`re not
Worth going to extremes.
I`m discontent;
I`m wanting more,
But someone needs
To get the door
For me, `cause I can`t
Work out what
I`m supposed to do.

Please, someone, come rescue me.
Tell me my destiny.
Help me to simply slide
Into being what I am meant to be.
And I will save the day
In a galaxy far, far away.
There will be nothing to choose,
And I shall be free:
Come rescue me.

And if only I could find a hermit somewhere
Who would hand me some old weapon
And a story from my past.
And if only I could find some droid companions
And some rogue who owned a spaceship,
And a ship that could go really fast.
If only I could run into a princess
And could rescue her by accident
But get the credit anyway.
If only I could win some sort of medal.
I could do it if my family
Weren`t in the way.

The moons set
Under the hill.
I`m chafing, yet
I`m standing here still.
It isn`t right;
It isn`t fair.
The universe
Just doesn`t care,
For if it did,
I know that it
Would send a sign.

I guess
I`ll just have to stay.
It`s more or less
Expected, anyway.
But if fate wants me,
Have no fear:
I`ll be waiting
For it right here.
I wish on the stars;
I wish that they
Would fall in line.

Please, someone, come rescue me.
Tell me my destiny.
Help me to simply slide
Into being what I am meant to be.
And I will save the day
In a galaxy far, far away.
There will be nothing to choose,
And I shall be free:
Come rescue me.

There will be nothing to choose.
There will be nothing to lose.
And somehow, in the end, I shall be free:
Come rescue me.
Track Name: Trekless
Trekless

Why is it not okay that I don't know anything about Star Trek?
Why is it so absurd that I don't follow the rules of this game?
I hear you discussing the Borg.
I'd rather be trapped in the morgue
Than contribute to that conversation.

Why are you so surprised that I don't know anything about Star Trek
While it's okay that you think that Darth Vader is lame?
I find it colossally hard
To feign interest in Jean-Luc Picard,
And I wish we could pick a new station.

I know you, Captain Kirk. I can't avoid you.
Spock is a Vulcan who has pointy ears.
"Beam me up, Scotty," I cried, and annoyed you,
'Cause Kirk never said that, and then there were tears,
And you hugged your stuffed tribble, and I still don't know
What a tribble is.
What a tribble is.

Why are you angry that I've never watched a full season of Star Trek?
God knows I've tried, but I can't, and no, it's not because I'm a girl.
I watched BSG before you
Stargate, Firefly, and Doctor Who,
So I don't understand what you're saying.

Why must I be ashamed that I would rather read books than watch Star Trek?
I'm not sure what a Ferengi is, so I'm a churl.
You claim that I'm not a real geek,
But I think your logic is weak,
And I'm not as bad as you're portraying.

Being a redshirt is bad for some reason.
Klingons are bumpy, though why, I don't know.
Thinking that Star Wars is better is treason.
It is a good thing to say "Make it so."
Jean-Luc Picard is the best unless Kirk is.
All of the spinoffs are both bad and good.
Watching the movies and going berserk is
Okay if they're odd-numbered; that's understood.
Star Trek conventions are fun for the fanboys.
Wesley's annoying, but Wheaton is great.
The fans will attack you if you call them man-boys,
And Spock's resurrection is all right to hate.
There are four lights, and Picard plays a whistle,
And Kirk kissed Uhura, which was a big deal.
Bakula's series may merit dismissal,
Or not; all I know is it must make you feel.
Crusher and Riker and Data and Sulu.
You'll happily watch any series that's on.
And now even better: they're all up on Hulu.
If you cannot access them, you just scream, "Khaaaaan!"
None of these elements actually makes
Any sense to me.
Any sense to me.

Why are you leaving me due to my not knowing stuff about Star Trek?
I didn't dump you when you told me outright that Tolkien was crap.
I sicken you, but you will pay
For five seconds with George Takei
After six hours of waiting.

I am a bit relieved that I don't have to fake interest in Star Trek
For some Klingon speaker who can't find Berlin on a map.
I think that I'll go on a binge
And watch all five seasons of Fringe,
Which I expect is less grating.

Why is it not okay that I don't know anything about Star Trek?
Track Name: Being Watson
Being Watson

Mrs. Hudson showed another client
Into Flat B;
You knew what he wanted right away.
That didn’t stop you
From approaching me
To see if I had anything to say.
I got it wrong, of course.
I always do.
I’m not sure why I even try.
I’m not stupid,
But I’m not you.
We’re very different, you and I.

I can’t help admiring
Your enormous brain,
Which analyses everything with ease,
Without effort,
Without pain,
And everybody just says, “Mr. Holmes, please.”
Most of the time,
I am content
To simply lurk behind.
But every now and then,
I resent
That you never dream I’d mind

Being Watson.
Shunted slightly to the side.
Being backup:
Always bridesmaid, never bride.
I have wondered
In odd moments of ennui
How you would handle being me:
Being Watson.

Later, you became more brilliant
And more precise
Solving scores of puzzling cases that
Left me breathless,
Without advice,
Growing stupid and, for some reason, fat.
The contrast made you
Shine more bright,
While I pranced like a buffoon.
More than ever,
You did everything right;
I was a cartoon.

Being Watson.
You were sky, and I was soil.
Being always
Seen as nothing but a foil.
You got brighter;
I got obviously dim.
Were you happy you weren’t him?
You weren’t Watson.

And I sometimes think it's all right.
And I sometimes just lean back and let you shine.
But I sometimes wish the glory
Of the story I was telling could be mine.
It's mostly fine.

Now we've ventured
Out into space
In pursuit of crime.
We've changed gender;
We've changed race;
We've travelled through time.
We've met Cthulhu.
We've turned bad.
We've been lovers, though discreet.
We've cured cancer.
We've gone mad
From the shadows over Baker Street.

I'm brighter now,
But still I find
That no matter how far
We go, I'm that same
Step behind.
We've changed, but we're still what we are.
I'd break away,
But I'm constrained
By my own perfect loyalty.
It's a bit
Like being chained.
I just hope someday you'll see

Being Watson
Would be really hard for you.
Being silent
Is what not everyone can do.
You solve cases;
Though I suppose that is a start,
I'm the one who turns them into art.

Being Watson
Isn't always fun, but hey:
Being different
Must be worse. And anyway,
You've existed
So ridiculously long,
And still you could never write this song.
That's why I'm Watson.
Track Name: Follow My Brain
Follow My Brain

So English class is getting boring.
It’s full of stupid stuff that I don’t know.
And half the other kids are snoring
As we’re exploring
Some poem by Edgar Allan Poe.
I wish that we could read The Hunger Games.
I think I need an ugly hat.
I don’t know why I can’t
Remember people’s names.
And I’m not sure
Why the raven quoth that.

They say I’m hyperactive;
They treat me as a pain.
They don’t get that all I do
Is follow my brain.

So Mrs. Black is has one green earring,
And it is shaped like lots of little trees.
I spend a lot of class time fearing
Her way of sneering
Because she always gives me Ds.
I wonder if there is a poet tree,
A tree with poets as its fruit.
It’s getting really hot,
And I have got to pee.
I think I’ve got
Something gross on my boot.

They say I’m kind of spazzy;
It fills them with disdain.
They can’t see that all I do
Is follow my brain.

And there is something rapping,
There’s something gently tapping,
But none of it is trapping
My attention, and I
Am looking for a haven
From the grim and ghastly craven
Poem about the raven.
I would like a piece of pie.
A grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous piece of pie.

She said she’d finished; what a lie. Day-
Light makes a burning patch on half my neck.
At least I know that it is Friday.
Tomorrow’s my day!
There will be no more of this dreck.
My teacher’s probably a demon queen.
My pencil isn’t very good.
I want to write a song
About a submarine,
And I would do it
Now if I could.

They say I’m bad at learning
Again and then again.
They don’t understand I just
Follow my brain.

It is a stark and wormy morning.
I would have given lots of chocolate for
Some kind of poem-related warning.
Now I’m adorning
All of my books with “nevermore.”
My teacher’s giving me a grumpy look.
She doesn’t like it when I squirm.
I want to think about
Stuff that’s not in this book,
But Mrs. Black
Is incredibly firm.

I’ll fake attentiveness, though
It really is a strain.
But on the inside I will still
Follow my brain.
Follow my brain.
Follow my—

Squirrel!
Track Name: The 'Geisters (I Did It for Love)
The 'Geisters

Don’t misunderstand
What I am wanting here.
People call us a cult,
Say we yearn for control,
Exercise that control through fear.
But everything that I’ve done,
Everything that I want to do
Is explained by the pure,
Purifying emotions
I always have felt for you.
You say you had no choice?
Well, you should rejoice.

You have power beyond
What I have ever seen.
I worship that power
Through your total subjection;
There is no in between.
If I left you alone,
How could anyone call that praise?
I enslave you because
I respect you so much.
I’m respecting you with my gaze.
Despite what’s happening here,
My motives are clear:

I did it for love.
I did it for you.
It’s strange that you claim
You didn’t want me to.
In the end, this will be
Win-win...well, mostly for me.
But come on: you gotta agree,
I did it for love.

Okay, I’ll admit
I aim to dominate
You, for if you are mine,
If your greatness is bent
To my will, then I must be great.
You should be very proud,
For clearly, you have been sent
To provide me the means
To start on the path,
The path to enlightenment.
I am quite under your spell.
You say it hurts you? Oh well.

I did it for love.
I did it for you.
It’s strange that you claim
You didn’t want me to.
In the end, this will be
Win-win...well, mostly for me.
But come on: you gotta agree,
I did it for love.

[Bridge]

You have made it clear
That you are quite upset.
You have bided your time,
Taken bloody revenge,
But I’m not discouraged yet.
For the more you rebel,
The more satisfied I will be
When I finally break you.
Believe me, I will.
You are meant to belong to me.
You had better give in.
It’s clear you can’t win.

Sure, evidence suggests
That you have won this round.
I’m surrounded by corpses,
Lying twisted in pain
In a wretched heap on the ground.
It is sweet that you think
That you have the power here.
See, since you are mine,
Your power’s mine too.
I’m revelling in your fear.
You should really have guessed
You’re built to be possessed.

I did it for love.
I did it for you.
It’s strange that you claim
You didn’t want me to.
In the end, this will be
Win-win...well, mostly for me.
But come on: you gotta agree,
I did it for love.

I did it for love.
I did it for you.
It’s strange that you claim
You didn’t want me to.
In the end, this will be
Win-win...well, mostly for me.
But come on: you gotta agree,
I did it for love.
I did it for love.
I did it for love.
Track Name: They Are in Love
They Are in Love

Thurghald and Magilor
Go questing in the badlands,
With Shahna as their brave companion,
Clad in threads of gold.
The three fight dragons and recover
Bushels of lost treasure
And lore recorded by the ancients
In the days of old.

They suffer and they overcome.
They weep, they fight, they conquer.
And Thurghald's mind is broken
When he finds he cannot bend.
But everything they go through
Is a footnote to the real point:
There is really only one plot thread
That matters in the end.

They are in love.
Boy wants girl, girl wants other boy.
The math is wrong,
And that makes everything seem right.
Push comes to shove,
And any story, any song
Should treat true love as more important
Than a planet-changing fight.
They are in love.

Captain Smithson and his crew
Explore a distant planet
They crash on when their cargo ship
Develops sentience
And tries to kill them all; this starts
A struggle for dominion
Between the humans and machines,
Which quickly grows intense.

The conflict spans a century
And several generations.
The younger fighters do not know
What they are fighting for.
A few escape the battle and
Hole up on someone's farmstead,
And then we get the bit that's more
Important than the war.

They are in love.
That is what gives the tale its punch.
If there were no
Love plot, why would we even care?
The moral of
The story always has to go
Somewhere with true love at the centre.
There is nothing can compare.
They are in love.

Bridget is a foundling who
Goes wandering through the forest;
She comes across a mansion lurking
Lost and overgrown.
She bravely breaks in to explore
And finds it full of monsters,
Awaking her ancestral need
To fight them on her own.

She'll stand upon the mountaintop,
Death pulsing through her fingers,
Her destiny a shining light
That will--that must--prevail.
But first she's got to make it through
That mansion full of monsters,
And most of them are kind of cute,
And all of them are male.

They are in love,
Which is the way it always goes.
The story's charms
Are not complete without a kiss.
If we must shove
Our heroine into the arms
Of monsters, that's the way it's going to
Be; she'd better find her bliss.
They are in love.

They are in love.
Let's take five pages to describe
The way they gaze
Into each other's soulful eyes.
We'll rise above
That pesky plot, and we'll amaze
You all with just how much in love they are.
You'll feel such glad surprise
You'll be in love.
There's so much love.
They are in love.
Track Name: The Prophecy Hotline
The Prophecy Hotline

Thank you for calling the prophecy hotline.
If you are a prophet yourself, then press one.
Press two if you need to connect with a prophet
And three if your prophecy's done.
Press four if you're planning to sidestep your prophecy,
Or five to bluntly rebel against fate.
Press six for denial and seven for apathy.
For righteous fury, press—[beeeep]

You have chosen to sidestep your prophecy.
Press one to leave your small child out to die.
Press two for advice about slaughtering newborns
To send the succession awry.
To desperately search for the tiniest loophole
In words uttered by three weird sisters, press three,
Or four if they're seeming to offer a kingship.
That never pans out, believe—[beeeep]

You have chosen small infant exposure.
Press one for the desert and two for the plain.
Press three for a mountainside haunted by shepherds
Just slightly outside your do—[beeeep]

You have chosen to opt for the shepherds.
Press one to strip your baby naked. Press two
To leave him some token that marks him as special
And clearly connects him to—[beeeep]

You have chosen to leave him a token.
Press one for rejoicing, and press two for tears.
Then, no matter which option you have selected,
Just wait on the line sixteen years.
Here is some Muzak—[beeeep]

You have chosen rejoicing and waiting.
And now that you've waited, press one if a boy
Has come to your kingdom surrounded by portents
And looking for things to dest—[beeeep]

You have chosen the hero's appearance.
Press one if you've figured out he is your son.
Press two if you're clueless or just don't believe me
And three if you are on the run.
If you're still insisting that you did the right thing
When you threw the universe into uproar
By mucking with fate and assuming that you could
Just kiss off the prophet, press—[beeeep]

You have chosen to follow tradition
And act as if prophecies can't be fulfilled
By well-meaning morons who want to prevent them.
You're likely about to be killed.
I am afraid you have run out of options.
I hope that our system has helped in some small.
Way. Stay on the line to connect with a prophet,
Though that will do no good at—[dial tone]
Track Name: When the Starcats Come
When the Starcats Come

Sylvia and Brittany
Just posted rumours about me
Online. Their friends are laughing even
Louder than before.
I guess they feel they have to tell
Me that I'm ugly and I smell,
And then I guess they have to go and
Laugh at me some more.

I've got no contacts on my phone.
I sit in math class all alone
And listen to the giggles and the
Whispers all around.
And I can always feel them stare,
And I don't think it's really fair
The way they mock me even if I
Never make a sound.

But I don't let my feelings show
Since I know something they don't know.
Things are going to change here, so I'm
Waiting patiently.
Right now, I may want to bawl.
I may not matter much at all,
But someday soon, the clouds will open,
And the world will see:

It will all come right
When the starcats come.
It will all be better
When they sweep down from the sky
And be my friends and make it clear
That I'm the reason that they're here.
That's right: run away in fear.
It will all come right
When the starcats come.

The starcats live in outer space,
But soon they'll have to leave the place
They're in and come to Earth, where they will
Spread despair and pain.
They have quiet, glowing paws
And lethal poison in their claws,
And when they purr, the frequency
Destroys the human brain.

I will be immune, of course.
I'll ride a starcat like a horse,
But not quite like a horse, since she will
Speak good English too.
The starcats will respect me, and
Be glad to bow to my command,
And everywhere we go, we'll show our
Prominence to you.

It will all come right
When the starcats come.
It will all be better
When they sweep down from the sky
And be my friends and make it clear
That I'm the reason that they're here.
That's right: run away in fear.
It will all come right
When the starcats come.

And Brittany will come to me
And beg me for a starcat of
Her very own so she can fly
Around and be almost as cool
As I am, but I'll smile at her
And order all the starcats to
Attack her with their fire breath,
And then I'll eat some ice cream.

The starcats will soon settle in,
And then the hard part will begin:
The part where we restructure every
Social hierarchy.
It will be merciless and fast,
And all the kids who were picked last
At sports will be prime ministers, though
Still subject to me.

And everywhere the starcats go,
They'll hunt my classmates, since, you know,
Starcats prefer to prey on people
Who are in my class.
And it will all be more ideal
With every hearty starcat meal,
And all the jocks and beauty queens
Will tremble as we pass.

Right now, I'm in the garbage can
Because they put me there and ran
Away after they superglued
My trousers to the rim.
But I'm not worried. I won't fight.
When starcats flash across the night,
They'll toss those jerks into the sea to
See if they can swim.

It will all come right
When the starcats come.
It will all be better
When they sweep down from the sky
And be my friends and make it clear
That I'm the reason that they're here.
That's right: run away in fear.
It will all come right
When the starcats come.

It will all come right
When the starcats come.
It will all be better
When they sweep down from the sky
And be my friends and make it clear
That I'm the reason that they're here.
That's right: run away in fear.
It will all come right when the starcats
There will be a blight when the starcats
It will all come right when the starcats come.
Track Name: Take My Sheep
Take My Sheep

It’s five o’clock a.m, and
The night is nearly done.
We’ve agreed that we shall play
Until someone has won.
As that’s the case, take pity;
This is torture without sleep.
Goddamn this game;
Please, someone take my sheep.

I thought that I was clever when
I went and settled on
The sheep-infested hexes of
The island of Catan,
But I don’t have a sheep port,
And I can’t sell these things cheap.
I’m begging you:
Please, someone take my sheep.

I have so many sheep cards in my hand,
So much sheep-dominated land,
And we keep rolling sixes, and
That’s sheep for me.
I’d give an arm and leg for bricks or wood,
And ore and wheat would both be good,
But you’ve decided that that should
Just never be.
I’m buried in a mound of sheep.
Why won’t you set me free?

I know that I could trade them,
Get one resource for four,
But it is kind of stupid to
Pay twelve sheep for three ore.
You all trade with each other,
But not me. I could weep.
I’m on my knees:
Please, someone take my sheep.

My strategy has been smashed into shards;
The robber’s stolen half my cards.
I can’t afford to hire guards.
It makes no sense.
You’ve all decided I am going to lose;
I have no options left to choose.
I see you tightening the screws.
You think I’m dense,
But I know what you’re doing; my
God, this is so intense.

It’s six o’clock a.m. now.
This game is really slow.
It’s all a vast conspiracy,
Though why, I do not know.
I cannot build a city;
The price is far too steep.
I am in tears;
Please, someone take my sheep.

This has become a nightmare.
It’s dragging on and on.
Perhaps it is revenge for how
I gloat through Carcasonne.
Will you forgive me if I
Just admit I’ve been a creep?
I need your help;
Please, someone take my sheep.

I guess this goes to show you
That what you sow you reap.
Goddamn this game;
Please, someone take my sheep.
Track Name: Damn Those Dwarves
Damn Those Dwarves

I’ve tried to be understanding,
To hold the group together on my own,
But this job’s too demanding.
We’re fourteen, but I feel all alone.
I didn’t sign up to
Nursemaid a bunch of helpless guys.
Well, sure, I’m kind of new
At this, but ‘twas a bad surprise
To learn that my employers
Aimed to be their own destroyers.
They didn’t even bring their winter scarves:
Damn those dwarves.

I was green in the beginning;
I cringe when I think about those trolls.
But lately, I’ve been winning
Lots, plus I’m achieving all my goals,
I’m much less often bait.
The dwarves have learned I have some use,
Which would, I guess, be great
If unaccompanied by abuse.
I am the main provider
And can stab a giant spider,
But take the blame when everybody starves.
Damn those dwarves.

And all I hear is, “Bilbo,
Why don’t you steal something? Why are you
So lazy? It’s your job
To rob the dragon; go and follow through.”
And meanwhile, you are thirteen
Dwarves armed to the teeth and full of pride.
You’ve come back to your mountain
But are terrified to go inside.
You depend on me for everything
Just because I’ve got a magic ring.

There they go again, complaining
That I’m way too weak and way too small.
I am barely refraining
From just ditching these guys, one and all.
I don’t know who they think
Has managed to get them this far.
I really need a drink,
But this cave doesn’t have a bar.
I wonder if they ever wonder
Who ‘twas rectified their blunder
As they all lay moaning on the wharves:
Damn those dwarves.

I’m pretty good at riddles,
But one riddle I can’t solve is how
I’ll get through this adventure
With this dead weight choking me. And now
We’re at an impasse here
And everyone has looked once more to me,
And I just want a beer,
And if you’re rational, you will agree:
This is more a nightmare than a dream.
Dwarves are not as useful as they seem.

Gandalf got me into this, but
He’s gone AWOL for some reason, so
I’m in charge now. Oh, bliss. But
I envy his power just to go.
I’ve got the Arkenstone,
Which makes me feel obscurely bad,
And how we`ll get away`s unknown,
And I think Thorin’s going mad,
And everyone’s against us,
With extremely solid reason,
And we may be here forever,
And I’ve just committed treason,
And I’m stuck inside a mountain
With no food or hope or plan, just creeping
Blindly ‘round the halls the dragon carves:
Damn those dwarves.
Track Name: I Can't Decide
I Can't Decide

As the night wears on
And I toss and turn alone in bed,
Scenes racing through my head
Without resolution,
I dread the dawn.
Things will get urgent when
I have to see them both again.
I doubt there's a solution.

They said I had to choose.
I said I would. I lied.
Right now, both boys are mine;
I can't decide.

One is tall and dark,
And the other one is tall and fair,
Sun glinting in his hair,
And pretty good at singing.
One is great at snark
And always looks a little hurt
Plus excellent without a shirt.
My preference keeps swinging

From Boy A to Boy B.
I wish that I could hide.
This is too hard for me;
I can't decide.

And Boy A is immortal,
Or he says that he's immortal, anyway.
Boy B is a little dangerous,
But so is Boy A, and Boy A
Takes me flying through the universe.
I feel so free.
Both of them make me not need
A personality.

And I think of them
As I brush my teeth and go to school.
They're both so pretty and so cool,
And both of them have powers.
And by ten p.m.
I'm surprised to see the day is done.
It feels as if it's just begun.
I've dreamed of them for hours.

There's nothing in my life
That they cannot provide.
Which one will make me his wife?
I can't decide.

And I am nearly sixteen,
Or I say I'm nearly sixteen, anyway.
I am old enough to love,
So I love both Boy B and Boy A.
Maybe I'll just kill myself a bit,
Prove my love is pure.
Does it make a difference that
I'm feeling so unsure?

This is life or death.
I have got to make them want me more.
Otherwise, what am I for?
We're meant to be together.
I should take a breath
And choose a soul mate randomly
So that you can live through me.
Why are you asking whether

That's really the best way?
I feel it deep inside.
I'll wait just one more day;
I can't decide.
Track Name: CanLit
CanLit

Our literary magazine is looking for submissions.
We hope you will consider sending us a story, though
Before you do, please notice that we have a few conditions
It is important that you know.

I've heard that you are fond of spaceships and of conversations
Between old ghosts and children set on futuristic Mars.
These do not fit our guidelines, which have served as the foundations
For how we choose our writing stars.

We want your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Meaningful and gritty. Give us CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Because ennui is witty.
Postmodern or historical, with lots of metaphorical
And patly categorical bad weather that will fit
Into your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Fulfilling expectations, that is CanLit. (CANLIT!)
With a smidgeon of First Nations.
We don't want your unrealistic shit.
Just fill us up with good CanLit. (CANLIT!)

We're running out of stories of Alberta and of farming
Set around the Great Depression; those are never stale.
A bored housewife protagonist will be completely charming
As long as you yourself are male.

Stick in outdated gender norms and social indiscretion
And blizzards that are metaphors, and one important pie
Embodying the housewife's clearly blameworthy repression.
And also, someone's got to die.

We want your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Meaningful and gritty. Give us CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Because ennui is witty.
Postmodern or historical, with lots of metaphorical
And patly categorical bad weather that will fit
Into your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Fulfilling expectations, that is CanLit. (CANLIT!)
With a smidgeon of First Nations.
We don't want your unrealistic shit.
Just fill us up with good CanLit. (CANLIT!)

For Gothic in Ontario,
Don't go and make it scary; oh,
No: Gothic in Ontario
Should just be kind of twee.
If you were born in Newfoundland
Just write of unemployment and
A broken hero, bent and tanned,
Who broods upon the quay.
Magic realism's okay
If you're from B.C.

You want awards and funding, so don't make your story happy,
And if it fits a genre, you will find you're out of luck
Unless you're Margaret Atwood, and you're not, so take your crappy
Formula away; you suck.

Perhaps our categories may appear a bit restrictive,
But we know what sort of fiction makes this country great.
Your otherworldly fantasy may read as quite addictive,
But can the average scholarly Toronto WASP relate?

We want your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Meaningful and gritty. Give us CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Because ennui is witty.
Postmodern or historical, with lots of metaphorical
And patly categorical bad weather that will fit
Into your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Fulfilling expectations, that is CanLit. (CANLIT!)
With a smidgeon of First Nations.
We don't want your unrealistic shit.
Just fill us up with good CanLit. (CANLIT!)

We want your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Meaningful and gritty. Give us CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Because ennui is witty.
Postmodern or historical, with lots of metaphorical
And patly categorical bad weather that will fit
Into your CanLit. (CANLIT!)
Fulfilling expectations, that is CanLit. (CANLIT!)
With a smidgeon of First Nations.
We don't want your unrealistic shit.
Just fill us up with good CanLit. (CANLIT!)

Just fill us up with good Can—
Barely understood Can—
Fill us up with good CanLit!