1. |
Calling All Sirens
04:26
|
|||
|
There'r no enemies. Only adversaries. Of potential opportunity. Converted to comradery. This family tree. Driftwood & dead hanging. Branches to those who took chances. Some who sold out & those who bought in. Avast & ahoy! The scarlet river Styx. A boat buoyed by the blood of bloated bodies. The stench of fear is floating & rotting. The fountain of youth is flooded, embalming. If money makes this world go ‘round. Burn it down, burn it down, burn it down to the ground! Join us in savoring this sultry sound. Or stay in bed, don't make no sound. On your own personal burning burial ground. This hanging tree. The gallows never looked so friendly. As crimson crows gather in murder. Our hearts won’t be torn asunder. Our hearts won’t be pulled under. We set our compass onto Olympus. But every lighthouse was out of order. We wet our lips on vinegar & piss. Did we miss? And we threw are parties overboard.
|
||||
2. |
Annville In Ashes
05:08
|
|||
|
No prize advice from the late John Wayne. Before the white man came to the land of the Indian brave. To break my guitar and steal my heart. Is to shoot a cowboy’s horse so you don‘t have to starve. I ain’t ever seen no bones weep for beauty only skin deep. I wish this here city were beautiful underneath. I’d like to introduce the side effects of emetic vanity. I regret to inform you simply can’t afford their luxury. The crowd shouts out we need a hero cut by silence then screams. A crusader can carry our inner desire and our dying dreams. A martyr willing to be crucified. For the cowardice in men’s eyes choke birds like anvils from the sky. Sown your seeds to cut grassroots. Sold them for forbidden fruits. Traded my chips for the one on my shoulder. And my soul for two worn out shoes. I’m a fool just not for you.
|
||||
3. |
Dining Dante's Inferno
06:08
|
|||
|
Sit & enjoy the entertainment. Sip on this cliff note conversational piece. Of sensational art, palpable shit. Absurd extortion in a sublime abyss. First the hor d'oeuvres. Main course, last nerve. And for desert...Picked dry Shakespeare's skull. Shreds of analytical shrapnel. Tryin’ to pickpocket ocular sockets. Retinal rohipnol, how droll! Romanticize a recipe for disaster. Enchanting everly unknown after. Extremes are arrogant & so imposing. Dancing this mood swing. We don't make tragic comedy from nothing. And when we feel it's always real. When we're grim it’s not for silly whims. We revere sincerity our Achilles heel revealed. And there ain’t nothing elegant in a room full of elephants.
|
||||
4. |
Bottle Of Sunshine
08:32
|
|||
|
Watch the dishes build in the sink. To the tune of tension too much to think. Dust settles on shelves of wood antique. When it don’t look good, with any & every reason to drink. I bet on any horse named, “Last Fucking Chance“. I knew the risk and that’s the artist in me, I guess. If lovers remain undiscovered, does love exist? Only from lack there of or by the emptiness? Teenage romance in mid-twenties is childish & silly. So I’m singing like a dog in heat, with no action in the back alley. A deaf drunk swinging in the memory of a beat. With every story there is an epiphany. These muscles collapse, this heart is concave. The sound of silence is something to be brave. I’m alright on the kitchen floor. It’s cold, it’s comfort & dismal & grey. The last cowboy from yesterday. No river or ritual to bless me baptismal. These sins are stains for a reason. I’m lost & it’s the only thing I intend to stay. No wretch like me actually wants to be saved. I’m better off in this familiar sway. The last cowboy from yesterday. Will someone do the dishes and take out the trash? It might kill me if my demands are met suddenly. Living in the filth of humanity is tiring. But as the saying goes about cleanliness and being holy. We’re common folk and peasants performing. Serving with fear & trembling. I find your whispers deafening. And the salvation of lovers remain undiscovered.
|
||||
5. |
Old Testament Wrath
03:12
|
|||
|
Found a photo of our father. Locking lips with the devil’s daughter. Money burns in a church on fire. Will ascension a sacrament acquire? All are sinners, weak & feeble. So what makes one think saints are regal? When the puritan spew, “The few are purified.” It’s the lepers & shepherd’s flock who are cast aside.….And every pew became a genocide. Color me impressed, countess. She of Babylon inspires duress. Cover me in crimson. Cremate. Confess. In pity, in penance in dire Sunday best. An altar boy taught me there are two ways in life. Passionate red or Dorian Gray. Everything that feels good is wrong in some way. It’s a curse to thirst but to err is human. Hibernating or on wounded knee, honestly in humility? Signed with out reading any actual arrangement. Comfort in hubris. It’s the fine print that consumes us. Attention, condemnation! Meet me at my favorite mistake. Dabbling in your wake. Oh, For heaven’s sake! Judas, I’ll still take flowers to your grave.
|
||||
6. |
Salem Witch Trial
05:15
|
|||
|
This was supposed to be a sonnet. We were royalty now we’re Soviets. We were lovers now we’re opiates. If I am to be perfectly honest. My ambition & intention were far from modest. Seductive foreplay in boxed wine. A dress lifts unveil in pale moonlight. Inside glistening hips & purring thighs. Exodus a priori sunrise. Cupid the charming. Eros was a liar. Amour, she was. She was a mercenary for hire. We’re both so horny & thankful, easy. For starry-eyed sedition, intimate if only in appearance. Not looking for a savior or an answer to all of our prayers. A crown of thorns & a burden too big to bear. I have my own homemade cross that I wear. Temptation, you were my favorite weakness.
|
||||
7. |
Hearts Are Engines
03:26
|
|||
|
When we feel forsaken we bury it in friction. In sweat soaked sheets, whiskey rose cheeks redemption. Appointing seasons in charge is dangerous juxtaposition. When we live next to a parts yard our hearts are engines. Shake your shit or cut it up. Have good sense not to be good enough. Remember what might have been had & try to leave it at that. Some tricks are specifically kept a secret. Reality is a course of varying pain. Oh, how you’ve been so shallow, naïve. Narrow dreams & passing interests. As if ambitious. Adjust the angle, angel. Playing victim is so temperamental. When in rape don’t scream help, yell fire! No one likes a novice liar. Will she win the academy award? For most time spent on the cutting board. Or for a debutant on the killing floor. Deadly in contempt, she’s incorrigible. If knowledge is sin, this fruit is rotten. A slippery serpent in red satin. An actress on your mattress. And in the backseat of a taxi she was a documentary. And in the back of that taxi was the Garden of Eden. And in the backseat of that taxi she was my Eve.
|
||||
8. |
An American Tale
02:18
|
|||
9. |
Our Better Angels
08:06
|
|||
|
We went west to claim our dreams come true. Where we met the poverty I already knew. Diamond shards in those roads traveled. Them rose petals are just painted gravel. Whistling wind kicks dust dancing in face. Swinging door soliloquy, “This is the place“. In search of divinity, with little to anticipate. Stalemate. Tumbleweeds race. Mixed with sulfur & stench of Death in Salt Lake. This only ends one way, inevitably, this only ends with your last breath‘s final escape. Set them spurs or place your marker. My future looks bright while yours is darker. Any last words, pardner? What will be read on your epigraph? Saint of Killers or sheriff? Hope you can see the symmetry. The town drunk a descendant of Loki. I’ve seen many a drifter in many a saloon. Running from and running to. A story to tell any listener to. Best of luck and advice to you. Just saddle up and stay on the move. There’s a drought out on the horizon. Doubt desert blue. A pale horse carries a pathetic whore who harvests sores and swallows truth. Pestilence. Famine, Bereavement. War. Remember that a white dress suggests forever & more. Rendezvous, me & you. Sunrise. Make it vintage. Holding an anxious revolver. I’ve nothing left to holster. My white knight days are far from over. Up to you to misinterpret this. Savor every second rate kiss. And every moment after that never lives up to this. You will never recover or catch your breath. So reach for the sky. Reach for the sky.
|
||||
10. |
Sunset After Armageddon
04:22
|
|||
|
The party's over. The show is done. We threw the fight & no one one. The circus left. Curtain drawn. With the airwaves bought & the stereo on. There're no more rebel songs. So pick yourself up before the floor is touched by the morning sun. Dead men don't have dreams. So start living or accept your eulogy. Any thoughts dying atheist? "The apocalypse has been cancelled due to a lack of interest." How long can we keep this up? Working well into the dusk. Darkest darkness before the dawn. Then we can sing all day long. Stop drowning, kick your legs. Let go of the flaming floating keg. Roll over, shake, play dead, & beg. Spend every summer sweating by the peg. History is best left handwritten. Are we really waiting for Armageddon? Darling we must die to be reborn every night. Retire to reincarnate, new sparks ignite. Brightest flames burn so quick. And you've been burning the candle at both ends of the wick.
|
||||
Winchester Rock Island, Illinois
If you like Winchester, you may also like:
The Australian band, featuring members of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, pivot to country.
go to album
South Philly band Grocer has all the sly disaffection of classic ’90s indie rock in their wonderfully unruly songs.
go to album
A slow drip of Tropicália-infused psychedelia from New Orleans rock outfit Blue Basin: balmy one moment, aggressive the next.
go to album
Everything, All At Once, Forever
by RAT!hammock
The lofi-garage group returns with an album filled with rock pop jams.
go to album
Garage punks from Portland lean into their pop-rock side on their new EP.
go to album
I Don't Wanna Die but I Wanna Die
by Kevin Nichols
The third studio album from self-proclaimed "prunge" artist Kevin Nichols; delves into the perils of depression and anxiety.
go to album
No Arts, No Crafts
by No Crafts
Catchy and upbeat Spanish garage pop with new wave flourishes and English lyrics.
go to album
