1. |
||||
|
"Remain close but stay away. Keep your distance, but be careful how far you stray. Don't forget where you were born. Don't forget this moment. Don't you understand, sweetheart, that we love you but hate the ugly sin that you are. It may be best that you just leave. Get some help and find some sympathy."
Seven years before the drought, you looked around and said, "This is what prosperity's about." Pointing fingers until they were sore. Wasting time. Waging war. And there's something kind of wrong when you're forming arguments with lines from every old-time gospel song you heard when you were young and just cannot forget. The closest thing to god is being next to you in this rusted car. I'm never going back and I won't forget this moment.
|
||||
2. |
Reunion Souvenirs
02:51
|
|||
|
We watch our farewells circle the carousels. Draw a distance, draw a border; it's just another barricade. With these connection rates, it's too easy to separate and every time I see you I'm convinced that your accent has changed. There is nothing in this distance that I fear because there is one thing that will draw us all back here: reunion souvenirs. I'm sorry that this border draws a line but I swear that I'll ignore it for the next time. I can't wait to calibrate all the things we find have changed since the last time when the distance wasn't greater than the connection that we had. It's too easy to separate when you've held us all back in 1968 (when you were standing on that beach). You always came at the worst times possible.
|
||||
3. |
Burns Much Brighter
04:43
|
|||
|
You arranged your remedies in colour-coded piles. The blue ones suppress, the red ones treat, while in the throes of your denial. You and I, we love popping pills and taking drugs. I'm listless, but stable and young. Don't just stand there, make it numb. Holy water covers me, it burns us from inside. Twenty cents, as cheap as free, but it hurts our bottom line. You and I, we love taking names and firing guns. I am having too much fun, so don't just stand there. But you burn much brighter. You owe yourself a lazy afternoon. You've learned all you know from daytime radio.
|
||||
4. |
Underground
03:06
|
|||
|
Your hurried footsteps sound as if you're packing up and leaving town, from beneath the creaking floor (where every sound is exaggerated). This November snow makes it hard to see the open road. It seems the seasons change exactly when you're desperate for things to stay. If you call, I will always answer you with words that ring with broken dreams and are seldom ever used. It may come to you underground. I wrote a clever song. I always dreamt the crowd would sing along to my empty thoughts and kill the poets to save their dying art. I have never been a comfort because no one ever taught me how to grieve. We never quite remember, so I'll carve our names in every fence and barely living tree. It may come to you in a dream or vision that you have while you're away, and underground.
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
I know how your house is built. I know where to place my guilt so you cannot rely on me that way. You talked of losing your political edge. I said, "It's hard when we're in such a mess of sand and oil and red and white and blue." And while we were searching through the chest your father made, we found a paint-by-number pleading with a print of early Monet, "Cover up my shameful eyes." I asked what we should do. You said, "I just don't want to think." So we met on Sunday at the curling rink, but you had never really learned to play. So we threw rocks around, not caring where they'd fall. You said it reminded you of Operation: Shock and Awe. We just laughed about the irony. While you stood out on the ledge, you looked at me, then placed my hand over your face and softly said to me, "Cover up my shameful eyes." And while I shrugged and said, "What difference could I make?" the thought occurred to me that you were one who I could have saved. But you just smiled at me and said, "When you're ready, I'm waiting for you."
|
||||
6. |
A National Anthem
05:53
|
|||
|
So you've been haunted by your history. We hope your horrors find their comfort in the cold. And if Jesus can really walk, then let him carry his own cross, because I'm letting grace absolve everything it can. You're seeing ghosts in your hallway mirror while you wrestle flesh and blood, and you, you've let your hatred rhyme with love. If you can hear me then don't let go. You can't always mend, but you can hold. And sober isn't everything when you're searching for a door that opens in. Hope hides in the smallest forms. We're paralyzed by all your love. You're singing, "What a beautiful stranger I've become," and I'll stare until this reflection is overcome in your hallway mirror.
|
||||
7. |
Capture and Develop
02:57
|
|||
|
Only the boldest admit what they can't defeat. Every liar says what they really mean. It takes a conflict to agree and the darkness before we can ever truly see (that this is all there is to see). I'm not convinced so I leave with my camera in my backpack. You confiscate my proofs, but I need them back. If these buildings could only breathe, I'd tell them how much they'll never ever mean to me, with their permanent stare. In my mind I have a desire, but it's devoured by the flames in the fire. I tried to exist like I was anonymous but it just wasn't worth it. Only the strong will say I'm weakening, but the weakest ones can't speak or request anything. And if a criminal needs a cage, then I swear we're only ever really half awake. So close those weary eyes. Capture and develop this.
|
||||
8. |
The Height of Land
02:57
|
|||
|
I still can't decide how I should say, 'I meant all the right things. They just came out the wrong way.' To miss your vintage smile, I wear this weathered frown and not much has changed since you were last in town. There are still no new buildings where the old ones aren't, and no one much has really gone that far. While I'm waiting for you to save me I'm listing all my convictions that I haven't followed through. Somehow desire and affection are still too stubborn to move in the same direction. The same bad jokes make the same people laugh, like: 'If I never leave then I'll never have to come back.' As I signal on to our gravel road, I'm sick of the dirt, the dust, the ice and snow. I fear my content like I fear my loneliness. These parts and labor are too fragile to persist. All of our conversations trickle down the line and they gain more details all the time. I'm writing this from past the mills in the St. Cyr hills while I contemplate the smoke that always floats in the same direction.
Can we move in the same direction?
|
||||
9. |
Demons/Heathens
02:51
|
|||
|
Let all the demons devour these heathens; let all the saints say, "I told you so!" Behind a motel, another blade sinks in; someone repairs the tear to their own skin. I said, "I might swear twice as much, but I no longer smoke." You said, "Those two even out, that much I know." As she measures the distance from the branch to the ground, she ties the rope and laughs, "If I'm lost at least I'll be found." We'll raise our glasses and toast to your demise. We'll let the alcohol purify our lives. You said, "Here is the truth and the light, and here are the words to say, but this is my last stop so find your own way." Let's raise our glasses and toast to your demise. Let's raise our glasses and let the alcohol divide. I'm not convinced you didn't come up with this on your own. This night train rolls like blood through the city's veins. It makes a constant sound, if you're listening.
|
||||
10. |
Floor Plans
02:39
|
|||
|
I've painted all these walls back to the way that they used to be. Those renovations always meant more to you than they ever did to me. I've chased your demons with soft whispers and ushered them up to the door, but they only ever return with more resolve than they have ever had before. We all need a black sheep in our grey families, someone to look down on and say, "I'm glad that isn't me." But I don't think in those terms anymore, or lean back on history. After seven years the only thing that's different is that now this is nothing new. They're paving over our favorite stretch of gravel road and leaving us this empty parking lot.
|
||||
11. |
Hit Parades
03:40
|
|||
|
You stormed the gates; you boys are at it again, yelling things like, "Don't mess with Texas!" and "Freedom always wins!" So I close my eyes, and say a prayer for you unsuspecting victims; for you souls of innocence. But when you're holding me, the world seems better. I name my drinks, they're my only friends. Bourbon is Billy, whiskey is Jim. Then I walked a block to cash a cheque. You see, there are million dollar price tags that come with my million dollar friends. But when you're holding me the world seems better. Around and around and around again goes my mind. You must have known what I was heading for from my eyes. One last chance for hit parades, millions of records, and buckets of fame. So I close my eyes and say a prayer for you Teen People boy-punks and for celebrity marriages. But when you're holding me the world seems better.
|
||||
If you like The Details, you may also like:
This Could Be Texas
by English Teacher
The UK upstarts' debut veers from sunny, psychedelic folk to bristling post-punk with reckless abandon without ever missing a beat.
go to album
Walk Thru Me
by The Folk Implosion
Lou Barlow & John Davis return as Folk Implosion, with 10 more songs that are sweetly tuneful.
go to album
The London band's new album is a vibrant postcard from southern Italy, boosted by brass, strings, and pizzica percussion from local players.
go to album
Terns in Idle
by Rain Recordings
This collaborative project offers a fresh twist on classic indie sounds of the early 2000s with hooky choruses and quirky instrumentation
go to album
Underwater Over There
by Unwed Sailor
This Tulsa group's shimmering, classic dream pop has the sound of iconic touchstones like the Pale Saints and New Order.
go to album
One Million Love Songs ♡
by Bnny
Jessica Viscius's second album as Bnny explores where life goes after devastating loss.
go to album
Wrapped In Cellophane
by Vessel
Crisp drumming cuts through the tangle of interwoven instrumentation on this cerebral yet groovy post-punk record.
go to album
