1. |
Witching Hour
04:27
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The midnight calls take their toll. In the witching hour you feel like the meaning’s gone. When all you have and all you know melts into the air and you find it gone. Try to make sense of your loss with some way to atone. But it’s a creeping realization when you’re alone; we’re all doomed to grow.
We’re all born into trouble like sparks that fly upward and burn the neighboring town. It’s all just a matter of knowing how well you can speak with blood in your mouth. Well you talk like a martyr on judgment day while you leak like a sieve in a storm.
When you implicate what you love (walking backwards out into the void) Try to resonate with the source (walking backwards out into the void)
Biding your time - you said it yourself - until you feel whole
Biding your time - you said it yourself - until you feel whole
All of the anthems we sing are just drowning out the thought
Like we’re all waiting for somebody’s ghost to make us feel known
It’s a cold cause.
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2. |
Death Drive
03:05
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Calling aloud, “just burn the fucker down”
Like some strange prophet, hurl curses at the dark
You wonder how it came to certain times
To bear the weight of all the indignation
Beating out the light
I feel it,
the catch on every single breath
No reason to keep illusions
No hope for second wind
Can’t stop the shaking in your chest now
You fall asleep and dream of certain death
From mass consumption or societal collapse
No possible future to leave for children you will never have
I feel it,
the catch on every single breath
No reason to keep illusions
We watch the time collapsing in our hands.
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3. |
Out of Phase
03:56
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You plunge your head into the water
and feel it in the wake
Of all you left to be cut open.
It’s insufferable now, how this all just comes untied
Our settled borders on fire, the corners bending out.
You want to feel like a chorus underwater
Slipping in and out of phase
Calling out some secret meaning
How plausible to find me
Choked up and astray
My ear pressed to the glass
An intimation of longing you can’t fill
Faces you no longer hold in your hands
You want to feel like a chorus underwater
Slipping in and out of phase
Calling out some secret meaning
All in the way you keep it close
Holding your own
While we’re kept out on the back porch listening
Now and then the voices raise
You would’ve known how it felt
Like you’re losing all the air
How it felt just like the world’s indifference
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4. |
Black Lung
03:37
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Desperate miner clawing yourself out into light
But there was a moment - a series of motions - when you could almost taste the night
With all of our black lungs, singing our hymns up and waiting for God to come outside
While there is a rot inside of our houses. It will consume us all in time.
Stay desperate and full of lack
If I feel out of place will you come?
Tired of the artifice, the seeming and suffering
Tired of the way you suffer fools
You ache for the feeling of being insightful
of drawing a line and keeping it clear
What do I move to make you need it, calling like a child.
All of us waiting for you the make yourself a light
Just to get even, all of it broken by desire.
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5. |
Tangled in Wires
04:37
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You can’t take your life behind the woods and leave it muffled for days
Like a watershed poisoning all you drink
The silence seeps into noise
Keeping elaborate records of all our failings
A chorus of accidents
Who did you fear that you be?
A whimpering, resonant heart, calling the cops?
I know who you are
All of us tangled in wires, our faces blurred from the frame.
We know who we are but can’t give it a name.
How long will it keep coming back?
The noise of the crowd like some gathering darkness
You want more than a song in your throat
Create some new obligation to fill your days with purpose
Ritual repetition
But I am still through the thrum of voices trying to hear you speak - are you calling out now?
All of us tangled in wires, our faces blurred from the frame.
We know who we are but can’t give it a name.
Will you tell me yourself?
You’re always moving in and out of light
Take all you can back with you in the night
Considerate thief.
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Bad Hand Durham, North Carolina
Austin Wilson and Steve Anderson met in Durham and loved similar music. They decided to start writing and eventually convinced Eric Ungberg to join in to recording 5 songs before Austin moved to Providence. These songs were never played live.
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