Lines Overlapping

Music, travel, design and oddities.
Final Tailgate, Monumentour

Final Tailgate, Monumentour

Jack’s Mannequin

Jack’s Mannequin

Jan Hardee

—Let The Flames Begin

Let The Flames Begin narrated by Martin Hardee

What a shame
We all became
Such fragile, broken
things.

A memory remains — just a tiny spark.
I give it all my
oxygen,

To let the flames
begin

To let the flames begin.

Oh, glory.
Oh, glory.


This is how we’ll dance when,
When they try to take us down.
This is what will be

oh glory.

Somewhere weakness
is our strength,

And I’ll die searching for it.
I can’t let myself regret
such selfishness.


My pain and all the trouble caused,

No matter how long
I believe that there’s hope
Buried beneath it all and
Hiding beneath it all, and
Growing beneath it all, and…

This is how we’ll dance when,
When they try to take us down
This is how we’ll sing it.
This is how we’ll stand when
When they burn our houses down.
This is what will be oh glory.

Reaching as I sink
down into light.

Reaching as I sink
down into light.


This is how we dance when,
When they try to take us down
This is how we’ll sing it.
This is how we’ll stand when,
When they burn our houses down.
This is what will be oh glory.

- Hayley Williams

Jan Hardee

—Fences

"Fences" narrated by Martin Hardee

I’m sitting in a room,
Made up of only big white walls 

and in the hall

There are people looking through
The window in the door
they know exactly what we’re here for.

Don’t look up
Just let them think
There’s no place else
You’d rather be.

You’re always on display
For everyone to watch and learn from,
Don’t you know by now,
You can’t turn back
Because this road is all you’ll ever have.

And it’s obvious that you’re dying, dying.
Just living proof that the camera’s lying.
And o-o-open wide,
'cause this is your night.

So smile,
'cause you'll go out in style.

You’ll go out
in style.


If you let me I could,
I’d show you how to build your fences,
Set restrictions, separate from the world.
The constant battle
that you hate to fight,

Just blame the limelight.

Don’t look up
Just let them think
There’s no place else
You’d rather be.

And now you can’t turn back
Because this road is all you’ll ever have.

And it’s obvious that you’re dying, dying.
Just living proof that the camera’s lying.
And oh oh open wide, ‘cause this is your night.
So smile.

Yeah, yeah you’re asking for it
With every breath that you breathe in
Just breathe it in.
Yeah, yeah well you’re just a mess
You do all this big talking
So now let’s see you walk it.
I said let’s see you walk it.

Yeah, yeah well you’re just a mess
You do all this big talking
So now let’s see you walk it.
I said let’s see you walk it.

And it’s obvious that you’re dying, dying.
Just living proof that the camera’s lying.
And o-o-open wide, yeah oh oh open wide.
Yeah, o-o-open wide,
'Cause you'll go out in style.
You’ll go out
in style.

- Hayley Williams

Jan Hardee

—The Gates Of Eden

The Gates Of Eden, narrated by Martin Hardee

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when ‘neath the trees of Eden.

The lamppost stands with folded arms
Its iron claws attached
To curbs ‘neath holes where babies wail
Though it shadows metal badge
All and all can only fall
With a crashing but meaningless blow
No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden.

The savage soldiers sticks his head in sand
And then complains
Unto the shoeless hunter who’s gone deaf
But still remains
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
At ships with tatooed sails
Heading for the Gates of Eden.

With a time-rusted compass blade
Alladin and his lamp
Sits with Utopian hermit monks
Side saddle on the Golden Calf
And on their promises of paradise
You will not hear a laugh
All except inside the Gates of Eden.

Relationships of ownership
They whisper in the wings
To those condemned to act accordingly 
And wait for succeeding kings
And I will try to harmonize with songs
The lonesome sparrow sings
There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden.

The motorcycle black madonna
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
And her silver-studded phantom cause
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden.

The kingdoms of Experience
In the precious wind they rot
While paupers change possessions
Each one wishing for what the other has got
And the princess and the prince
Discuss what’s real and what is not
It doesn’t matter inside the Gates of Eden.

The foreign sun, it squints upon 
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden.

At dawn my lower comes to me
And tells me of her dreams
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means
At times I think there are no words
But these to tell what’s true
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden.

- Bob Dylan