Heard you sold your friend, got a good price at the local store, you know he could’ve turned you in, could have been you on the concrete floor.
Jefferson roll over and tell ol’ Stalin the news, they got ‘em locked up in Castroland redefining abuse in shades of gray.
Torture advocate. Got his dick up in a chickenhawk, life is what he’ll get, war president is a criminal.
Still the years they go by, no charge or trial date, you’re accused of whatever you confess to, until then you won’t see the light of day.
There must be another way.
The weathervanes are charging down the hill, in some quixotic cavalry and the war is shaking in its sleep and the homesick ghost of Geronimo, I fear is taking all the absinthe, there must be another way. Since Geneva’s nearly drowned, since the tinsmith was gagged and bound, since the rich boys got away, two shovels and a skull of the widower brave.
Another indefinite detention, anther tradition saved, all hail the line of crooked white chiefs, whose father stole the bones from an Indian grave.
So much searing honesty in the most beautiful arrangements of words and harmonies. Storytelling and first person narratives in the songs that I resonate with deeply.
jill t kimelman
Dreamy indie rock a la Duster/Sparklehorse with interesting with dynamic shifts and subtle hooks to keep things moving along. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 23, 2024