WITHOUT A LIE
There's a hole in the ocean where the water falls through
into a machine that makes the sky turn blue.
And it runs on coffee and cigarette highs.
What would I do without a lie?
Everything is perfect in a package brand new.
And its mother is a store located near you.
And its never been touched by children's hands.
What would I buy without a lie.
My country tis so sweet. Sugar coated kisses of liberty--
its of you that I sing.
Where would I live without a lie?
Where would I live without a lie?
Oh where would I live without a lie?
There's a hole in the ocean where the water falls through
and it runs on the promises given by you
who would I love without a lie?
oh who would I love without a lie?
Words and Music Ben Shannon
Welcome Abraham Publishing
A Story about "Without A Lie"
Or "The Coming Age of Reliable Credibility Assessments." Each day we walk a fine line between deception and discretion. "Everybody lies," Mark Twain wrote, "every day; every hour; awake; asleep; in his dreams; in his joy; in his mourning."
Recently, I
read an article in NYT Magazine about recent advances in brain
imaging and research into lie detection. At one point the article poses
the question, "What would happen if we couldn’t lie anymore?" I thought
it was a good question and I started in on it from the angle of
lying as storytelling. My mother is a storyteller in the tradition of when a
story is told enough times it becomes true but more to the point she was
a frivolous and wild storyteller. So, as a tribute of sorts to my mother, this song starts
off with a wild and frivolous lie about a machine in the ocean. It is exactly the kind of one-off riff my mother would use to kickstart a
bedtime story. As the song progresses, with each verse the question of "what would I do without a lie" shifts, deepens, and gains some weight.