1. |
Terror Lines
01:18
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Open time for a wasted rhyme
This house was built with the softest pine
Burn it down when I'm tired
They'll return in the spring
Burn it down with the heavy terror lines
December fights in the winter hive
Those haunted birds have reached inside
Burn it down when I'm tired
They'll return in the spring
Burn it down with the heavy terror lines
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2. |
Folk Art
02:38
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The murmuring times, spoken so slowly
We met them outside
The folk art of phantoms
And most of the time, haunted by headlamps
The cameras we hide
The folk art imagined
The missions we wrote, written for soundtrack
I could never decide
The folk art abandoned
The mountains collide, repeating airlocks
Bombs in the backpacks
The folk art of phantoms
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3. |
A Tiresome Language
02:16
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Once there were no sounds
I died on the sea
I'm tired of stories and writing them down
Once there was nothing
But wires and stones
A tiresome language
And an old-fashioned tuneless drone
Once I had sickness
And murmuring hands
I tried all the records, the homecoming bands
Once there was nothing
But wires and stones
A tiresome language
And an old-fashioned tuneless drone
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4. |
Country Sound
02:24
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We've been thrown
High out and often stoned
Hours in our fall
Ring the bell and burn down the hall
We were spaced
Blackened out of place
My kind of a hole
They're almost gone, tunnelled through the floor
We're so thin
When we smile we feel so cold
Like porcelain snow
The past is deep, I freeze as I breathe
We've been down
Mark the traps and map the ground
A country sound
They're almost gone, the gunner won't look back
Through the floor
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5. |
Filing The Months Away
02:26
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Flight plans, murmuring hands
Filing the months away
Sound dust for the rest of us
Where are you now?
Fight songs, magic wands
Filing the months away
Let them down outside the lines
Where are you now?
Summer day the fireplace is dragged and shaped and cold
No sound at the academy
Take photos as you leave
Flashlight, juniper plans
Filing the months away
These facts emerge in time
Where are you now?
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6. |
The Golden Pilot
01:23
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The wilderness and the golden pilot
Charted high across the snow
Leaving burn marks and trapper lines
The atmosphere of the reversed north
Head back inside and report them both
Don't forget the days we've lost
The wilderness and the golden pilot
Magnetic camps and wreckage sites
Stolen poems haunting little homes
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7. |
Local Society
03:02
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Dark are the months in the local society
Where the air is too cold to breathe
Surgery fails and the birds have circled
Back to the days we used to work for
We're not going back again
We used to winter there, never again
The clouds filter light and the ships lose their meaning
Try so hard to lose the feeling
We're not going back again
We used to winter there, never again
Burned at the site where hands pull the switches
Radio waves break the dusty stillness
A station of minds, a foreign airspace
A time of the signs, signalling mistakes
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8. |
Soft On The Swallow
02:10
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Everyone is gone
They're only playing the tapes
They only had some plans
I see all the whitecaps
And old sort of ice trap
Everything that once was mine
Humming a strange rhyme
In the harbour they lost us
They only had some news
They only froze in place
It's lonely where the waves sleep
They only held on to that
Everything that once was mine
Hovering for lifetimes
Light from empty hollows
They landed soft on the swallow
Another time is creeping
To feel it all beginning
The silent end of living
Everything that once was mine
Hanging from terror lines
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9. |
Silence Will Outlast Us
02:32
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While I'm still warm
And still out on the loop
The silence will outlast us before we know
The sound removes it all
While I'm still warm
And still able to breathe
The silence will outlast us before we know
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10. |
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Have you seen transportation?
The lowering positions
Shattering all conditions
The rotting evening heat
The storms, the roads, and hills
Another spotlight creeps
Barricades and broken drills
Reasons the words were spilled
I've seen rivers deepen
The houses are sinking
The bruises are released
No movement on the street
The tumbling future days
The lumber yards were razed
The motors laced with salt
Do you remember me at all?
I've seen transportation
Mountains we placed our caves in
No movement on the street
The rotten evening heat
And the years have hit before
The planes have hit the shore
And from this height the land looks small
Do you remember me at all?
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No Museums Edmonton, Alberta
No Museums: A homemade hybrid of creaking pop and basement rock, using an array of textural devices and hummed
noise.
Echo boxes, delay pedals, soft distortion dynamics and guitars with buzzing strings. There is drift and there is direction. Enjoys the sounds of The Fall, Guided By Voices, Velvet Underground, Wedding Present, Television Personalities.
... more
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