James Vincent Mcmorrow

A young man wanders along salt roughened Irish cliffs, returning to a cabin teetering over the sea. Over a season's change, he writes lyrical prose of ghosts and loves, towering trees and keening winds. He recalls times of great change and scrawls their desertion in rushed strokes of ink, spatters bleeding through the paper's fiber.

He returns to Dublin and squints into the glare of a life lancing forward, rushing past him as water breaks around the rock. He holds in his hand a humble EP, nothing much but a man and his words playing instruments in a solitary room. It is February of this year.

once i had a dream
once i had a hope
that was yesterday
not so long ago
this is not the end
this is just the world
such a foolish thing
such an honest girl

James Vincent McMorrow // If I Had a Boat