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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of The Tragic History of the Sea, Walpole Here We Come, Harvest Verses, TERMINAL, and DEMO.
1. |
All Purpose Cleanser
02:36
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I have thirst tall and deep, large enough to cast a shadow. See the company I keep whittles down to no one else. See the light through barren trees falling straight and cold as arrows. I do not rest. I do not sleep. I'm a hunter and I seek all-purpose cleanser.
All day and every night, all-purpose cleanser. It's my God-given right.
I have had and I have lost. Watch my cat collect a sparrow, leave it twisted in the moss, while he grabs a dozen more. I have measured out the cost with a needle and a vial. Spreading ashes at the shore. My heart just needs some more all-purpose cleanser.
Let the whisper form a roar, all-purpose cleanser. With no points up on the board.
Once I wanted only air and water clean and pure as heartache, but it had a faded luster, and it had a funny taste. Now I finally have a purpose and a laser sharp devotion. Hunting out all-purpose cleanser. Not a drop will go to waste.
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2. |
Transatlantic Flight
01:57
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My father died on a transatlantic flight. They ran out of fuel, so they never made it down. Now, day and night, they fly round and round through the dark and the light, never touching the ground. They finally starved after 27 nights, skeletal there in the pressurized air.
If I'm in flight and we run out of fuel, I'll find the window and I'll push it through. I'll shimmy out like paste shot from a tube. Rain down in a spray of red instead of circling your room like an awful joke that lingers in your ears, or the stupid light of a stupid moon.
It's enough to make you want to scream.
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3. |
Demolition and Salvage
02:33
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I don't dream of diamond or ruby, cut prisms that shatter light. These aren't the things that keep me up at night. I'm not looking to bloody my hands, for every victory has a cost. I'm just looking for everything that I've lost.
The summer sun and the humid air could suffocate me, I wouldn't care-- if I could turn the clock back from now to then.
Day breaks on walking cadavers, heart filling my veins with frost. I'm just looking for everything that I've lost.
But nostalgia's a bitter taste. My time is short, and I will not waste my hours pining for years which have been erased. I take these blocks of my memory and stack them high. I climb them to see, with new eyes, a new unfolding tomorrow.
On knobby fins, with bulging eyes, we labor in the surf. With moistened gills and straining tails, we finally reach the turf, and we inhale the sky.
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4. |
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Spring is here. The ferns are unfurling: delicate, stubborn and reaching for light. Paint splashing, flowers exploding, leaves are unfolding like fires ignite. A sweet singing of water on pebbles in streams dancing down from the woods to the sea. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I have to be honest, so hear it from me: I never signed up for this, oh no. I never signed up for this.
No invitation sent, no consultation on the day they pulled me forth with bloody hands. “Respondez, s’il vous plait,” was not enclosed in any way. Born standing up in fertile land.
Summer now, the sun beating down with succulent heat in the ocean of air. Bronzed bodies down by the beach slipping into their sleep in a desert of care. Smooth sensual tactile and sexual waves are there lapping as sand meets the sea. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I have to be honest, so hear it from me: I never signed up for this, oh no. I never signed up for this.
I wind the gauze around my head until it’s three feet thick. The light sneaks through but in a haze. Lay me down in fresh cement and make my bed a solid brick, I’ll still hear the chorus when it plays. And I’ll sing:
I never signed up for this, oh no. I never signed up for this.
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5. |
Eels
02:53
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The hook tied to the lure, the water's surface broke, but there was nothing there at all. That night we had to eat cold stones and boiled leaves. There was nothing there at all.
Old yellowed photographs cut down like blades of grass. Declarations writ in snow. Trapped in a tomb of glass that lets the sunlight pass, a stunted red and golden glow.
The finest china set. Reusing paper plates. There was nothing there at all. The song presents itself. I've had to exit out. I was never here at all.
A snare to catch the wind, an arrow for the moon. A house constructed out of sand. A jar to catch the words of promises we made. An eel slips quickly through our hands.
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6. |
Collection
01:46
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I had a song to sing but you threw it in a fire. I had a song to sing but you put it in a hole. Enter the grieving friends, enter the mother. Enter everything you left behind. I had a gift to bring but it fell into collection. None of the payments made, the bank took it while I slept. Enter the empty plans and too much discretion. Enter the empty hands you left behind.
I had a song to sing but I held it to a candle. I had a song to sing but I put it in a hole. Exit the grieving friends, exit the mother. Exit everything you left behind.
If you pause and wait for the right time, Death will get there first.
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7. |
Think of Me
02:20
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Will you think of me after I am gone? No more writing words, no more singing songs. Will you think of me? Will you think of me and all that I got wrong? Every broken promise, all we built undone. Will you think of me?
And will I watch you when my eyes aren’t there? Will I hear you without ears? Will I smile when my mouth is gone? Without arms to hold you near?
I will think of you after I am gone. I hold onto things that don’t last too long. I will think of you.
We build the ones we love in our broken heads, and we embrace inside of our dreams. Applying gold leaf to a mound of lead, the truth is bursting at the seams.
And we are drinking water from broken glasses again.
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8. |
Gouge Away
02:32
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Judges 16:5-31
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9. |
Eraser
02:31
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Hang on, the program ends with the changing hour. Hang on, plots twist in ways we can't anticipate. This field of blackened clay gets paved in iridescent flowers. Hang on. I cannot harvest if I cannot wait.
I grab a hammer when a spade's required. I find I'm sleeping with my head against an unlocked gate. I cannot die because it hasn't ever happened. Tomorrow's promised but tomorrow's always late.
Hang on. We'd give you anything that you wanted. Hang on. Our hearts fileted upon a golden plate. You chose annihilation served upon a silver platter. Hang on. The bile fails to satiate.
I wield erasers when I'm asked to make a statement. Half-empty glasses knocked from tables in the hall. You had to die because that's all that's ever happened. Tomorrow's promised but tomorrow always stalls.
We had to die because that's all that's ever happened.
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10. |
Like a Cat
02:38
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If I could take back all the things I’ve said, I’d put all the words back inside my head. I’ve long fallen over you. I’m still falling over you. Tomorrow I’m falling too, until I am dead. As sure as the field cannot be the sea, it’s hard loving you when I’m stuck as me. I do all the wrong things first. I do all the best things worst. When others are blessed, I’m cursed. Autumn leaves hit the ground.
And if you keep me around, I’ll be sure (like a cat) to fall: feet on the ground.
Love is a word I find hard to know,
And I still think of love everywhere that I go.
Under blankets of endless rain,
Rain is cold, but I feel no pain.
Ever sure of my sure refrain,
Never letting you go.
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11. |
Swing that Scythe
01:38
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You rise from bed with good intentions and a clear and balanced mind, find your keys and your favorite shoes, toast bread and check the time. Make way in your car to your work, then the bar; your purpose plain to see. But the hours pass like breaking glass, and you have not beaten me.
I’m in the air and the food you eat and the words of every prayer, and the sheets on your bed where you lay your head with sweaty matted hair.
I swing that scythe with an iron fist. Get used to it
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WIRE LINES New Bedford, Massachusetts
Wire Lines channel their urgent, hook-laden brand of alt rock through the lens of the hardcore punk on which they cut their teeth. That sensibility shines through not only in the brevity and ferocity of their music, but in their blatant disregard for convention. Each new sound complements the last, weaving a remarkably cohesive musical tapestry that is as inventive as it is refreshing. ... more
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