1. |
1 (Prick of a Thorn)
02:28
|
|||
|
a song is for all those dying of thirst
in puddles of mud, blood, meat and dirt
there is no time
to put to trial
the crimes of clockwork
ticking finely
to the pounding drum
heart beating hum
and the call of the deep and menacing wild
i’d then wonder which heaven we’ll go
when we die
which heaven wakes when I close my eyes
this love is for those who stir and bloom
breaking down shaping bright blue dorm room
composing the sound of open air
in bright black dark with fare
momentary cause
dizzying spells through mirrors and glare
incantation of open air
|
||||
2. |
2 (The Wheel)
02:47
|
|||
|
Symbiotic in creation Jason, hears the rippling waves leave the stage, as blood runs down his face, he feels a crippling abandon cause he can’t grieve for age, he’ll take his 40oz and sip it on caldwell, there’s a tickling inside his feathered chest, tethered by thoughts easier unexpressed
The alley slowly lost its faint warm glow, as a giant emerged from the sewer system down below, says “I missed my train, and all the good eggs were cracked” she stood there shivering, her dress torn down the back
The memory may be a fantasy, I still long for her to dance with me, as Abel Gance shoots impressions of our silhouettes, marionettes for his majesty, we’re fallacies without intention, a benevolent infection, hamburger kids, smoking newports, falling further, acid, irrelevant decay, snorting sawdust, in a cosmic disarray
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
white puss, open
wounds unclosing
ozone floating
far over me
the auburn colored chair, there
next to me
will not be there
look away
there is an action between us not in the wooden frame/grave
there is a colorlessness around my vision but what i see is clear
|
||||
4. |
||||
5. |
4 (Sad to Sleep)
03:06
|
|||
|
Collected cards, baseball and pokemon, neglected guards, pace in their aprons, erasing with grace, the chalk etched in the pavement,
patents, stretched their arms, with drenched foreheads, their patient, they wet their beds and confess to ignoring their, forsaken foreskin, comfort is a commodity, bodies misshapen, their slumber reduced to sweaty dreams
A red haired child spoke of the last morning, “before our tummies were aching, and our faces deforming, papa was a drunk but I still miss him snoring, completing puzzles and ignoring the ancient retreating muzzle fire from the architect misleading the lonely choir”
|
||||
6. |
||||
7. |
||||
8. |
||||
|
i cannot measure the distance between the red light and the tower
and the telephone wire
according to my vision from where i sit in the cold light in the cold evening
they are nearly parallel, slightly askew
to that they would meet at one end
and diverge eternally on the other
the buildings collected their sharp angles to bundles for me to calculate
i will never calculate them
i'll sit by the trash cans
bathed in honey, cold light
waiting for mo to call
the big ship plays on my phone
i'll wait patiently and alone
|
||||
9. |
6 (In Care Of)
03:05
|
|||
|
oh fleet fickle autumn
your bite has left its mark on my handwriting
in orange ashes, from trash cans, I write to you
fighting and trying
baking in batches
living through tragedy oh no
in grandfather’s garden,
the clay you pressed your thumb in is waiting
by the roses and chives
in ashes, I cry
oh fleet fickle autumn
your bite has left its mark on my handwriting
in orange ashes, from trash cans, I write to you
|
||||
10. |
7 (Small Talk)
01:45
|
|||
|
Rhonda was a wine drinker, only heard half speech, the physical is consequential, her spine contained, a soul too bored to save, on Valentine’s Day she’s out at the pictures, a sprinkler wakes her up, then drops a coin into the cup, the man with one eye says “I’m prone to forget yah but the reverend says it’s a crooked road, if it’s a never ending story it’s already been told, that’s just the sound of an open window” she kissed his forehead, became obsolete, instead of looking upwards, he stared out into the street, she had missed the dread of a lover
|
||||
Wyatt Davis & Scott Mcrae recommends:
Thank You, Left Foot
by Ishroyale
Scott's other project
go to album
i was happier when i could see you
by ellis bell
Wyatt's other project
go to album
The Frown Sessions (ft. Foxbee)
by Gram Ash/Foxbee
Dear friends who Wyatt has done all artwork for
go to albumIf you like onethrewseven, you may also like:
A vibrant vision of "Central Americana" from the Costa Rica-based artist, blending heartland devotionals with playful Tropicália grooves.
go to album
The freak-folk collective's debut is full of rich, haunted vocals and experimental melodies derived from more traditional idioms
go to album
grow your hair long if you’re wanting to see something that you can change
by Field Medic
The new Field Medic LP is the indie rock project's most vulnerable, using sharp humor to make self-reflection emotionally resonant.
go to album
