Daniel Evans - Guitar
Edward O'Neill - Guitar / Vocals
Bobby Markos - Bass/ Vocals
Nicholas Glassen - Drums
all rights reserved
- Track Name: Alpacastan
That winning smile, there’s nothing to hide.
Going down, but sweeter coming up.
Look at those eyes! Those ears! that mouth!
If third times a charm,
why not the fourth?
- Track Name: What Are You Dylan In My House
What Are You Dylan In My House?
With friends, come contracts.
This fame is boughten.
Patrons are unripe, a year’s what keeps them.
The trees with same rings, grin with their limbs.
Approval, like satire, the roots are unread.
The trees, with same rings, are turning their heads.
Hand me statistics! (to keep my worth warm)
Make me a medal (concocted with falseness)
It’s building the firmness.
Can’t fool the wise, this crowd is transparent.
Sharp on, the outside.
Close off, the inside.
- Track Name: Ride The Tide
Ride The Tide
Face meets a face, and hand strains the throat.
Vocal chords sway like the waves on a boat.
So write down a lie, and dress it with care,
As slander burns red in your face like a flare.
Gunshots fly, blue bleeds red.
Coroner’s breath, rip out the page.
If third times a charm, then why not the fourth?
Let’s broadcast these lies from the south to the north!
Hand strains the throat,
Utter the words,
That make you (him) the same,
that make waters rage.
Drink the, ivy.
Break the sound with hammers.
Wake the deaf with picures.
Now we pause for silence,
Now we pause for affect.
- Track Name: Something About Swordsmanship
Something About Swordsmanship
Eleven; folders filled with
paper, green will flood.
Thirteen; coal black nights with
laughter, trusting tounges.
Fifteen; cement ponds and
car rides, pathes have crossed.
Nineteen; boxes filled with
IDs, green is lost.
I’ve been, exchanging, thoughts with, a new wind.
(this is, growing. this is, changing)
This basement confides my end of the rope.
Wave at the cancer, it’s hiding in gray smoke.
The red glass spills, and brings forth the ghost.
The gold on this bracelet’s as true as its host.
(the ink on this hand’s as true as its host.
We’re planted, we form together and bloom.
It’s green lives, with shades of blue, resign.
We grow up, and then we change,
and then we’ll explain, and then we’ll change, we die.
Lakes gone dry, basements filled.
Pathes gone dark, car rides hault.
Carve the hole, place the box, lids down.
- Track Name: Hey Mon, Hook Me Up 'Do
Hey Mon, Hook Me Up ’Do
These lips are chapped, distorted words.
Excuses, oh my, my conscious!
Acceptance. My sorrow’s their humor.
This face, that face.
The paint has gone dry but I’ll still paint.
This blank canvas wins the spotlight.
Buy the attention, sell disposition.
How can’t you see, that there is a curb?
Auction your weapon and call it a year.