Blanket
FEiN Little Homes: hospital wake-up, prescription drugs, cable without a plug: Marx all that's solid melts, parking lot chase, doctor pulls blanket over skin; cradled child dreaming, face to face with all you ever made.
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ISRC QZ2QB1600013 (soundexchange)
Track fourteen on Little Homes (May 31, 2016), after Pretty Things. Walton/Woodward co-write. The little home dissolves in a hospital, and the song reaches for Marx to name what is happening.
It opens disoriented, wake up in a moving chair, you catch the smell of this sterile air, the body struggling to send that thought from your brain to your tongue through your mouth. The doctor offers only a ceiling, there isn’t much that we can do for you outside of write a prescription, and the verses scatter through memory: a scraped knee in the neighbor’s driveway, a partner’s things unpacked to help her feel at home, a self diagnosed as a cable without a plug. The chorus lifts the Communist Manifesto almost verbatim, sobered senses, all that’s solid ends up fallin away, all that’s holy is profaned, face to face with all you ever made, capitalism’s dissolution of everything fixed turned into a deathbed reckoning. The eviction is literal too: chased out of a parking lot, running with all you’ve got, the homelessness BMI flagged on the LP.
The title earns its last meaning when the doctor pulls your blanket back up so it covers your skin, a small mercy where the system has only scripts. It answers Don’t You, where someone asked open your blanket up and let me in. Leads into All Her Books.
Written by Luke Francis Walton and Brandon Michael Woodward (FEiN). Produced and recorded by FEiN at Tiny Giant; engineered at LMU; mixed and mastered by Frank Rosato at Woodcliff (Discogs). Brian Robert Jones, bass (album).
Lyrics
" Blanket " Wake up in a moving chair, You catch the smell of this sterile air, And got a couple questions now, So S end that thought from your brain to your tongue through your mouth. " I see you've woken up, I'm afraid there isn't much that we can, Do for you outside of, Write a prescription from my pen to a nurse for your drugs. " Racing down past your neighbor's driveways, Scraped your knee. Fingers polished and free of rust, Wait for the signal to shake the dust off, But you're a cable without a plug. You Struggle now to accept that a brain's not enough. Unpacking all her things to, H elp her feel at home. Sobered senses, Meltin ' . All that's solid. Ends up fallin away. All that's holy, Is profaned. Face to face, With all you ever made. Chased out of a parking lot, You're running with all you've got, But when the door closes you're still confused, By unaccounted for things that you used to use. The doctor's making rounds, He sees you lost to delirium a nd the cold is creeping in So Pulls your blanket back up so it covers your skin . Cradled your child, As she lay dreaming in your arms. Sobered senses, Meltin'. All that's solid. Ends up fallin away. All that's holy, Is profaned. Face to face, With all you ever made.