1. |
Loose Ends Kept Untied
03:53
|
|||
|
I don't know how much I can trust a man whose work all falls into the same hopeless romantic woe I want no part in,
But last December all his thoughts held my head hostage - I couldn't stop ruminating far too much on who meant what when.
And everyone says "if your grip is too firm, let it go."
But everyone says what everyone says, how would I know?
I'm a ripple trying to carve my way through a frozen lake bed in the midst of winter.
As you might've guessed, I will fail.
The year I came into this world, a four-piece band from Mesa would go on to emphasize how static tends to prevail.
And "loose ends kept untied makes better friends," they said.
You may see me around, but don't say "full ride" yet.
I don't know how much I can trust a point of view with no regard for what the future self becomes as long as now's good,
'Cause every action in the past has led to this but will the next one lead to somewhere better off or just straight backwards?
And at the time, I thought it might do good to let go,
But with no attachments, how will I last when the wind blows?
I'm a ripple trying to carve my way through a frozen lake bed in the midst of winter.
As you might've guessed, I will fail.
The year I came into this world, a four-piece band from Mesa would go on to emphasize how static tends to prevail.
And "they'll take you where you won't come back to me," they said.
"Nostalgia is death, this is all in your head."
I chased the light. I chose star bright.
I left home today, but couldn't escape the region.
And after rest and chance, I finally fit my pants again, but can I slip into somebody else's shoes?
'Cause though I'm back with a little more stamina and confidence, will I stay 'til the end or jump the fence before then?
Like a big one ready to shred my way through high-tide volatile Fundy Bay, eroding every slab of clay I sink my teeth in,
You can't see the big picture when you lack both clarity and sense, head racing like a Shinkansen en route to pure despair.
And "we can't go back for the seconds we lost," they said.
I've just been thinking, that's all, but I could stand to stop, I guess.
|
||||
2. |
Gusts
04:33
|
|||
|
All I ever wanted was to clutch the present tightly to my chest and hope that aging spirits wouldn't pry it out,
Like the eroded walls of granite crumbling in this chapel where the sermons spewed from parrot reverends ushered people in with an agnostic hymnal yet declared they were baffled by declining rates of membership.
But when you preach the word in a stream of consciousness locked in California drought, don't be shocked when they figure out that all this talking's just going nowhere fast.
To make the world a better place, your faith in it has to last.
And the gusts blew mine out years ago to who-knows-where and back.
All I ever wanted was to keep a promise and mean the world to someone with no correspondence that a peer had forced or desperately encouraged.
Sustain the broken narratives in unwritten fiction, climb on the garage, but trip on toy bricks, every mite an obstacle when you think so small but dream big.
But now like Polaris which never appears on a cloudy afternoon or in the Southern Hemisphere, all this empty rhetoric led us nowhere fast.
To make the world a better place, your faith in it has to last.
And a gust blew mine out years ago to a demilitarized Tornado Alley to be received in Morse code by those who loathe deciphering anything.
Save me.
If you're so good at saving and progression, then why do we repeat the same mistakes?
The same mistakes...the same mistakes...
And when you claim that life is just a customer service phone call with a consultant you can't understand but don't want to offend, what would hanging up and pressing luck for someone clearer represent?
'Cause I loyally clung 'round this shrinking pitiful pulpit,
(No one ever wants to hear a sound this grating.)
Where a red pill met its brother and sought out something tougher to combat,
(Either isolate or let cross-pollination break you down.)
While the pews of pundits with me among them, distracted by the covenant, got swept up in abundance, vowed to change our habits then screamed "fuck it" when the aisles cleared bare.
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
Laid new foundations, tile after broken tile.
If only I'd no obligations to uphold, I'd head to the woods for a while.
But everybody's guesses what true success is are as good as mine.
Kinda miss the company, but constant congregation never suited me fine.
Now I'm just feeling frostbit in the middle of August, nerve sensation corrupted.
Memories not worth the effort tossed to the wayside.
And you called it, I've broken each promise, and I've no true excuse to confess, no remarks for the audience to digest, resigned.
So bid this adieu and wish for better luck next time.
Replacing the base with quicksand and avarice, torrentially flowing from the center out to greet the circumference.
Nowadays all I'm trying to do is find grounding while everyone around here's taking flight towards some obscure exotic target.
Never minded travel as long as I kept a cautious eye on the map and a stopwatch ready in hand to track my time,
But on them someone's scribbled in permanent pen a false route marked with no 'X' and cryptic cursive that lends no hint of where the treasure really lies.
It's illegible. I can't read.
Ineligible. Not for me.
I think this is what that one guy Mull said, but you can't cite a quote with a source this debated.
On this waterlogged, thrown-out cigarette from the river, "NEVER KNOWS BEST."
Ain't it rather typical the way we always reel in someone else's garbage?
And now I can't seem to make the most, once again the poor lost ghost who discovered rhythm in abstract verbosity, the only objective: concealing subjectivity.
And now I've got nothing left.
All motor function was spent on preparing sentences completely lacking relevance to moving on ahead or scaling peaks the height of Everest.
Dancing with the architect and stepping on his phalanges.
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
If ever there were a creed to abide by - the kind of genius only a fool could devise,
No R&D or satisfaction guarantee, just a desperate marked-down price,
But I'll buy in.
The last time I had a point, it broke right off and stabbed me,
Gentrified the block and evicted the misery, but I lost the main idea, had me questioning everything.
There were answers in the dark, now I'm blinded by the light I really have.
It's more evident than I think I'm able to admit.
There's not a path from here that steers to somewhere stable.
It's a terrifying rut, when you only have your gut and the caveat of a purposeless idea, but a damn fine one.
We can gag the talk of promise, the plan Bs and alternatives, but there's something to be said for the grins in silence.
If reality's a mold of endless trivialities and there's comfort in the distance,
Resist it or all you'll really have is a broken cobweb, swatted at, palm-struck by unwashed carmine hands and the sight of pale ones building up dust.
It's a terrifying rut when you only have your gut and the caveat of a purposeless idea, but a damn fine one.
Let me off. Let me off.
Let me off, so I can start, or all I'll really have is a conscious effort to make things brighter with shades slumped over my nose, stumbling around, searching for where they've been sat down.
It's a terrifying rut when you only have your gut and the caveat that something feels equivalent to nonsense when you're born with it all.
And as for the rest of us, we're waiting for somebody to come up with a worthwhile idea.
|
||||
5. |
Spender Gallivanter
04:34
|
|||
|
Of every "what if" I espoused when repetition seemed a fashionable concept, if we can call it regret, I guess I was hesitant to slam on the gas.
I still find love in rotation and revisiting, reattempting to win, but I've grown used to defeat and those speeds ain't for me now, or at least that's all I've told myself since I came back.
Because admitting you were wrong is such a self-fulfilling method of regress when there's no evidence to justify a claim of greatness either way.
Though it's all I've had my eyes on every weekend three times, now it pains me.
Kept one foot out the door so I could run and set course when the alarm hit, but the silence after held sway.
And I see through myself now.
When it's all about results and I can't read the scoreboard, a little extra push to get out first can do a boy some good.
But I didn't heed the lesson, ignored every inflection hidden in plain sight.
I couldn't recognize the time and care put into every word.
But this is a business, not a dream.
It has been, it is now, always will be.
To give up a shot at your subject of love with no pressure to supersede is to give up a fleeting indefinite wish, oh, I'm fine with this.
Most certainly...
...aren't I?
If it's all about results, then I DNQ'd the Showdown.
A little extra shove does nothing if your head's stuck in the ground.
And I didn't heed the lesson, ignored every inflection hidden in plain sight.
I couldn't recognize the sacrifice within.
And now that so much time's passed, I know I'll never be the hero circling counter-clockwise, fighting chickens on the concrete, gaining nicknames by the minute, moving up the ranks within and always there in sight for someone else to not make out as I blur, always passing by,
But I'll be by their side.
|
||||
6. |
Postmaster General
02:41
|
|||
|
You can parrot the reasons for supply and demand,
Process delivery to every command,
But you know what you're doing isn't all you had planned, don't you?
You can ship things from scratch in less than a day,
Glorify movement though standing in zugzwang,
But surely you realize how hypocritical it is, don't you?
So bring me my shit just the way that I asked for,
Fend off the yard hounds yelping for war,
Drop it right off in my box at the door, and then go.
You're no hero, but who said you'd have to be?
You'll be well, you'll get there eventually.
Eventually...eventually...
Day in, day out, it's a skipping tape soundtrack drowned out by traffic and the fear of a crash which never transpires, so get off your back, won't you?
|
||||
The Heist Revenge Waterbury, Connecticut
The Heist Revenge is Zack Lorenzen and any collaborators who appear on his projects.
The Heist Revenge recommends:
"Band" with high-school friends. Take seriously at your own risk.
go to albumIf you like The Heist Revenge, you may also like:
Mot, the Valuator, Incredible God
by Ox en Mayo Alto
A heavy blend of post-rock and shoegaze from Argentina's Ox en Mayo Alto rides big emotional crests and contemplative valleys.
go to album
Death is Nothing to Us
by Fiddlehead
Boston band featuring members of Have Heart and Basement take their earnest, motivational post-hardcore to thrilling new heights.
go to album
Before The Day Has Gone
by Bellini
Ten years may have passed since the last Bellini record, but the math rock group sound as fierce as ever.
go to album
Their name is misleading: Nebraska group Uh Oh deliver delightfully raucous, guitar-driven rock & roll with rootsy hooks for days.
go to album
The Gainesville emo band work through grief and mental illness with honest, empathetic hooks and dynamic guitars.
go to album
