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about

recorded (at SAE Paris), mixed and mastered by Sonambule

lyrics

I Don't Know – Rob Miles

And is it folded into laparello books,
Or is it hidden in the wrinkle of a walnut,
Or the shrapnel of its shell ?
Does it crackle in the static,
Under dust sheets in the attic,
Is it howling in the silence of a broken bell ?

Is it swimming thick in mystery,
Does it crystallise in hindsight,
Does it mind its table manners,
Or is it tugging on your sleeve ?
Is it defined by shadow,
Given depth through tonal ranges,
Do the angels sing its entrance,
When the rent's due does it leave ?

Where does it come from ?
Where does it go ?
Don't ask me,
Because I don't know.

And can you drink it into focus,
Is it face down in the mud,
Is it thudding in a headache,
Or vented from the spleen ?
Does it delineate a figure,
Can it trigger something bigger,
Is it loaded in the memory of a madeleine ?

Do you see it in perifery,
Or in the eyes of monkeys,
Do you think of it in reverie,
Or pick it out your soup ?
Can you grow it, can you shed it,
Can you pay for it on credit,
Can you shuffle it or skip it,
Or is it stuck on loop ?

Where does it come from ?
Where does it go ?
Don't ask me,
Because I don't know.

And are these cracks on our media screens stimulating,
Intellectually sexy or sensationally frustrating ?
And if we penetrate these gaps are we warmly enclosed,
Or exposed, defenestrated, initiating collapse ?

And does a lapse in our memory
Make space for concentration
Create a place for recreation,
Open up the room to test ?
Or does it hamper forward movement,
If we ignore trial and improvement,
Do we just scrawl another phallus on the palimpsest ?

Where does it come from ?
Where does it go ?
Don't ask me,
Because I don't know.

I can't tell you
Where you might find it
I've been asking
And I have no answers
Now

And can it love you like a daughter,
Then demand of you a slaughter,
Does it take you out and buy you drinks,
And get you in a fight ?
Does it present itself in visions,
In a blinding flash of light,
Or does it creep into your bedroom,
In the middle of the night ?

Do you take it on vacation,
Or find it at your destination,
Does it patiently await you,
Or hurry on ahead ?
Can it be read between the lines,
Across the forehead of your father,
Do you gather it in bundles,
From the cities of the dead ?

Where does it come from ?
Where does it go ?
Don't ask me,
Because I don't know.

credits

from D​é​mo 2, released May 9, 2018
Rob Miles : Words, Music, Voice, Guitar 
Julien Bettoni : Electric Double Bass 
Alice Gauthier : Clarinet
Solène Doually : Musical Saw, Vocals 
Loreleï Martinsse : Diatonic Accordion, Vocals

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Rob Miles & Les Clés Anglaises Paris, France

Rob Miles is a visual artist and songwriter who grew up in Brighton, UK. Moving to Paris in 2015 he put together his band Les Clés Anglaises, performing his songs with a unique energy and style, blending influences from a love of blues and gospel, country, soul, and rock & roll. ... more

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