Selected lyrics from our forthcoming EP and the Various Moms LP:
Death of a Hologram:
Let old age strip all vanity, let werewolves wander home.
Scalp-sick cowboy traces are rays of light in the setting sun.
By starlight bare feet blaze a trail to Holy Shit Sublime.
A wedding band 'round a mountaintop, until the end of time.
Failed and tiny planets, collided into one, birthed a warring people who kept books and took notes.
Baron traces become words, dying of old age and rotting in some Xanadu where coins melt but never go away.
They erase.
Erase.
State Flowers:
I.
By the ground grew a poppy, from a shotgun shell
civilization is a wishing well
throw away that old fear that you'll starve to death...
you'll die from all the boredom you submit to ingest...
sick and discontent from all the roles performed
but still were pushin' boulders through the eye of the storm
quiet grows the poplar and the olive tree
Heaven is a pearly Lexus factory,
a broken branch
a breaking heart
a bullet in a soldier's skull
soldier's skull...
II.
Phantom limbs like empire and forefather's filth
will itch in the company of the law and it's ilk
on the earth under mansions,
the wretched could sup
in their bellies, these gardens could grow
it's the run-off from the palace, fountain to tap
when they cry open wide and the sun beats inside,
their chests will swell with seedlings of pride!
flowers grow!
coda:
I am, today, the wheels that drive away
sweet sky of slate
for dreams of your state
it's ash ennui
who bombed these clogged streets?
with imposed shards and pictures of your peace
awestruck and shocked with guts aglow with disbelief...
but "i can't go on. i must go on."
The Dance of the World:
The dance of the world in masse
the sound of a wave full force...
a kettled borrowed black, crack and bruised,
brought back....
when we got it, it was broke
and it was broken when brought back
a kettle borrowed: bruised and cracked
it was broken.
it was broke.
The Hay Wain:
I want a cellphone in my grave when I die...
I want my savings in my grave when I die...
There won't be no one to cry for me
so I'll hire some men to mourn,
but the more that I pay, the more they smile
I drag my fortune into the tomb.
Storm Windows:
We ran a little to wake up
storm windows passed us by
a corner brick, kicked by my foot
lost mitten swimming in the brook
we'll take the train but will not pay
the train stewards have gone away...
we will get lost on the tracks
we will forgive ourselves and our families for what we have done.
you've got cigarettes in your bag that you can smoke
they'll last until tomorrow
my ears like when you speak
but my eyes like when you don't speak
they'll listen forever
we will go around the whole world
we will learn all of the languages of gypsies and queens...
Washington County:
My body is a gated community
my eyes are private driveways
in this degraded space for flags:
exceptional men & cenotaphs
the burden of ownership in this day & age
the usury bound emit their nervous laughter
can broken forms find themselves new matter?
as muscles burn for slush fund cadavers
in winter tracks we trace our own way back
to those murdered alive in the sprawling progress
our calling is digital tongued transmissions
through rotting, old fibre optic cable
my body, an island
my body, a temple, insured
sacrosanct, we're children of Wall Street
sacrosanct, we're children of the World Bank
we the sons and daughters of inherited estates
bent oughta shape and we're bent on a bender
we project our values onto legal tender
we project our fate and we won't surrender...
Completely Still:
gnarled and whorling, tree branches reach to the sky
slum sums of snow made mountains in an empty parking lot
his lament was: back home
a grey brown, and bruised old ghost town
he knew not: the difference 'tween twig, arm and root from the ground.
are we holy if we're full of holes?
are we empty, if we're full of ourselves?
do we keep going, knowing what we know?
do we keep going despite it all?
we dance for amnesia
forgetful in all our free time
our legs shake, we're nervous
atrophied in sleep
don't envy the manatee, swimming in unknowing glee
who has no need for the things that have you and me...
There is no end to the making and selling of things!
There is no end in sight!
Camels:
Last night at the flair
she said she liked hair on my face
you said that when you heard this
you "skidded and swerved on the streets"
to make another one for you
I'll draw some camels with chunks out
but you won't remember
I miss you but if I were there
I couldn't be here
you're happy that I'm like this
I know you miss me, miss me too
Like I miss you...
you face has changed
it's got new bones
but not like mine
& who's that friend of yours?
I think I knew her for a little while
I guess that time has a way of changing bones
but you won't remember...
Slow Train:
a slow train, some train tracks to a factory
the smoke through the light of industry
there's people riding to work an honest day...
well, he took all his money and then he left town
he left no trace, not even a sound...
but all that remains, all that's left
are his unpaid bills, his unpaid debt
we're paying interest while we sleep, it never stops
and that's the only promise he'll ever keep...
Specter of Ruin:
Have you seen the specter of ruin?
iniquity from a TV lit room
our footprints are stains
the earth spins and it moves
a shopping mall, like life on the moon
our money is bound up in these traces and loops
our livelihood bound up in these traces and loops
have you seen the specter?
an "X" on a line, for history's sake
like some blood on some parchment
shaking hands with a snake
have you seen the specter of ruin?
the end is near and it'll be here real soon!
our money is bound up in these traces and loops
all movements are bound up in traces and loops
have you seen the specter?
Shall We Laugh?:
We've been waiting, hanging on to your diatribes:
your rants like ants in the history of insect kind
the joke is over, but you tell it all the same
we live this horror, though it bears a thousand names.
forever followed and forever tailed by the winds of change that are in my sails.
History is blowin' back, it's blowin' back
as we move forward on this stupid broken track.
We start to laugh, 'cause there's ain't nothin' to laugh at, or are we just laughin' at ourselves?
Shall we laugh, dear?
Shall we laugh?