album name

Wrestling Moves

band name

by Native

Wrestling Moves Cover Art
  00:00 / 00:00
1.
04:04
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2.
05:25
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3.
01:15
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4.
04:47
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5.
04:43
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6.
03:39
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7.
02:15
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8.
03:00
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9.
04:59
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10.
04:21
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about
Bobby Markos - Vocals, Bass
Ed O'Neil - Guitar
Dan Evans - Guitar
Nick Glassen - Drums

Produced by: Chris Common @ Red Room Studios - Seattle

Artwork by: Adam Vass
credits
released 23 January 2010
www.facebook.com/nativeIN
twitter.com/nativeband
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www.myspace.com/nativein
www.sargenthouse.com
tags
tags: alternative rock math rock post hardcore Valparaiso
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All rights reserved
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Track Name: Backseat Crew
From winter to summer the climates like costumes.
We paint them depending on spirit.
With calmness we push on revealing the boldness we’ve disguised with blankets of distrust.
We sleep through the tension.

Take reign and strive, we’ll hold you close.
Our years grow long; our patience short.

Daybreak; the light brings encounter.
The arms shake, the trunk stays unbroken.
It holds mood and drive.
The arms lull, the tree holds.
At nightfall the city brings discord.
The blood halts, the muscles keep motion.
With motive we surge.
The blood flows, the eyes close.

Remember the late nights?
We both watched the same lines unfold in the light.
Track Name: Legoland
This glass is a safe holding my age.
Rip off the fake nails and follow the tracks of deer up ahead.
Barley preserved the age of my skin.
Pick up your feet and follow the steps of sheep up ahead.
Your mindset is read like a forecast in newsprint.

This fiction is your purpose, existence.
Our age group exceeds us; our efforts prestigious.

Writings with the lead of legend, changing all the fact to fiction (why can’t we sing?).

Breathe a night without gray light?
Brag about a sober moment?
Hold a hand with honest intent?
Walk a line with great preciseness?
Remember our thoughts and promises?
Take a pill with honest reasons?

Twelvemonths waiting for new light of sight, eyes blurring.
Pictures giving eyes of insight new context.

Artists in lead fight for ink while writers at work smudge the page.

Fathers bleed fairly insuring their senescence, mortality.
Daughters reap rashly.
Track Name: Ponyboy
Wake up! Our limbs are shaking in face of a probability.
You arms reaching through miles to rest the unrest, to quell the darkness.
Wake up! Our hands are building a bridge of complete immunity.
Our words breaking through blindness to change the face of the word of friendship.

Last night I wrote a new fable based on the vigor of lions.
Last night I ate at the table and listened to stories of courage.

We strive to seem impassive but this newscast has shaken.

Arms stretch for miles and miles.
Our blood has been thin and this day is cutting.
Our thoughts reach out like a phone line.
Although hours break us we still bleed the same.

Books soaked with the words describing the nights that we rewrote time.
Drives where death was cheated, roads turn to thoughts, we hold them.

Letters sent hours late; We bleed aimlessly.
Track Name: Five Year Payoff
The August sun’s heat held closely.
We set out with minds aligned with time.
Our bridges were fresh and sturdy.
With kinship our story has written itself.
September brought leaves and distance.
We set out with arms conjoined like chains.
When one fell the motion kept forward.
Blank chapters now filled with verses.

October, we broke all our verses for conflict.
A conflict that steals the heart from the mind.
We branch out like birds that have fled from the nest.
A week’s miles has power to destroy a bond.
November brought cold air but wheels kept moving.
Another concrete trail with lines moving west.
Arrival is late but in time for learning.
A new bright light breaks out from the fog.

Months fly by without much conversing.
Our mindsets assured in our words.
July’s sun brought new warmth to shoulders.
One late night has mended our wounds.

Seasons change with hours.
Climates are brave in towns.
Voices ring like church bells.
Our words stand with time.

In winter our arms form new links made strong.
Blank chapters now filled with verse.
These verses show readers the pictures of history.
Words will age but never will fade.
Track Name: Shirts And Skins
To write with eyes painting a picture.
Our minds are tapped with finest of wires.
Our time becomes a clone of the public.
A match erases the last of fingerprints.

In cellars we’re printing while ears laced with carbon watch closely.
Our minds are tied tightly with strings held like kites.
No rescue is seen without loss of comfort.

Wind chimes warn us of northern intruders.
We can’t see land that is lost in the distance.
Wars are raging in pastures beside us.
Doorways that were once left open are closed.

Rise, take thanks for creation.
We side with those who are humble.
Nights where handshakes were fluent, with knives we’ll study the blueprints.

Rise, take thanks for creation.
We’ll side with those who are humble.
We’ll hide our knives in cloaks made out of smirks.
We plagiarize thinking.
Rise, take bows for conception.
They’ll side with those unassuming.
We’ll breathe the air of another one’s lungs.
We’ll hinder the growing.

Words twined with spite have surfaced despite grave endeavor.
Windows give insight to our hope, not what tongues deliver.
Nights spend riding behind the wheel of travels.
Lines are magnets that hold us to shores of composure
Track Name: Members List
School days augmented by visits from public.
Week days enhanced by surrounding bodies of kinship.
Sunday morning awoke the sun, bright bedrooms and kitchens.
Scents fade with growing years, pictures stained on my eyelids.
Late at night, we lie awake to talk of heroes and distance.
When alone and minutes drag, I’ll rest assured we’ll walk again.

While years run and dry up I’ll swim in days of sun where legs walk on trails.
We’ll explore, we’ll break thoughts of boundaries.
The years slow and run out, we grasp for a last night where days are remembered.
We’ll let go, we’ll take on the distance.

Our distance has broken.

Ruins collected like trinkets will hang calmly from mantles.
Like tombstones they’ll sing.

Mourn for those who move on and leave us behind.
We’re past lives, we’re memories, we’re ghosts.
Wear black for spirits who leave here and move to new hives.
We’re past lives we’re memories forgotten.
Track Name: Marco Polo
Laying in beds, beds that we’ve made.
Spaces will quell, we’ll quell the shades.
Track Name: Wrestling Moves
From basement to basement attention’s neglected.
Thoughts of livings based solely on incomes from hunting our interest are discussed.

All for one agreed cause, nothing can change the former.

Winds bring new tidings, old words are stale.
Voice brings new versions of concepts turned promise.
(Mind brings new consequences, we stand uncompromised)

We’re blind to singing songs; we’re deaf to sarcastic tongues.
Handshakes that were once warm are covered with gloves of fog.

Our thoughts and miles erased by the ink of a pen.
Let’s buy stock in ourselves it’s thriving.
Branches and footsteps blown over by wind from a lung.
Let’s invest in libel we’ll progress.