1. |
This Is The House
02:55
|
|||
|
So this is the house
Where the two lie against the wood grain
And they never go out
Only roast in the heart of a flame
From the sear of the sun
From the brick that obscures the big blue
And the brick, it goes "thud"
And now the rest of the world is in view
The two play tug of war
Over which placemats best suit the table
But they never feel floored
When their domestic lifestyle is labeled
A fluke and a fraud
And a conflict of interest for others
When your friends think you're dead
I mean it's probably best not to bother
So they both stretch their hands
On the stairway, examine their fingers
All calloused and cold
Still it's better this way than a splinter
So I'm moving out west
Or at least until I have recovered
So I can be more like them
On the road, on the verge of another
Nervous breakdown, I never thought I could ever be needed
But the voices are loud through the walls of the garden of eden
|
||||
2. |
Love of Ages
02:26
|
|||
|
Anne was an aspiring actress working in a cafe called Muy Aquario
She got a face tattoo of her social done down in the spokes of the barrio
And by the time she turned 20, she'd been hired to ghostwrite the autobiography of frozen rain
She went through so many insomniac poet boyfriends, and all of them surrendered to themselves just the same
So she said, "Love isn't fun, and love isn't free, no one in the universe will ever love me"
Pain of ages
I can hear you
All wrapped in your linens
Yeah, I know
Pain of ages
Now she's sleeping in a hut in the country working in a city built from steel guitar pride
See her smoking a cigar on the old back porch, and all smiling and triple-fried
She gives way to no lovers, no, it isn't for her, and she will never feel sorry for herself anymore
She just watches Evil Dead 2 on DVD and builds small clay models of the earth's inner core
She's into igneous rocks, she likes 70s socks
Her friends all took care of her when she got chicken pox
A love of ages
I can hear you
And all crushed in your pillows
Yeah, I know
A love of ages
I can hear you
All wrapped in your linens
Yeah, I know
A love of ages
|
||||
3. |
Body of Water
02:51
|
|||
|
A marriage of seagulls and saltwater, fabric and lace
Befell me at 12pm, I remembered that I had a face
And enveloped in ocean, encrusted inside a suitcase
When you're in bumfuck nowhere, it's tough
Not to feel out of place
There's no sign of the city admidst treated ash water fuzz
Just a vague recollection of who I am and where I was
In the studio apartments where lines and shapes bicker and buzz
And I let the gulls have at my ankles
Just because
If only my wife knew I was captive to sea, she would start up the car from the shore
I'm inclined to break out in a song or a shout
But I don't have free will anymore
No, I don't have free will anymore
At the height of the trip, an invaluable thing that I've learned
Is that water, in spite, stops for no one
And in it, my body will burn
|
||||
4. |
Forgotten Boot
02:44
|
|||
|
A cold streetlamp-lit parking lot, a remnant of a long forgotten boot lies to the center left
And it's thinking of its travels, the rest of it that unravelled, yes, a cavalcade of buddies then subjected to cruel deaths
And the wind that screams inside its face abides by no apparent pace, defaced as an arhythmic din, adjacent to the rut it's in
At mass, the shadow of a crane will manifest in frozen rain and take it through the parlors and the parks
It got dark
And then it never got light again, I'm drawing pictures in the condensation, and you can't be my friend anymore
So then hanging by a velcro strap, the boot resumes its passage past the purple grass and yellow trees
Carnations in a windowsill which leave it feeling lovelorn still will wilt approximately in the span of seven weeks
And when the businessmen go out to drink, our hero wonders what they think of hovercrafts and flying cars, the crane's grip loosens at the stars
A misfit star spike pins the strap, impaled, the boot's heel flails and flaps
Its journey meets a sudden end, we'll never hear from it again
God never had a plan for it, its life reduced to piss and shit
A comedy of errors still is mine
|
||||
Matt Ellin New York, New York
Singer-songwriter, guitarist, bassist, Theophobia member, performer
If you like Matt Ellin, you may also like:
Dope indie leaning, folk inflicted, pop record, pieced together in 5 bedrooms spanning Brooklyn to Chicago.
go to album
The London musician recorded the dreamy psychedelic pop songs on his third album in churches, bedrooms and kitchens.
go to album
If you have a fondness for expertly wrought roots-rock with sharp lyrics and aching vocals, look no further—“Strangers” is for you.
go to album
Prologue: The Farmer's Daughter EP
by We Are Baker
Baker is a new project from childhood pals Mishal Moore & Richard Cortez with a lo-fi, bluesy n' soulful southern vibe.
go to album
somebody had to
by phoneswithchords
The gentle lo-fi songs on the latest phoneswithchords LP develop their granular sketches of childhood and coming of age into full portraits.
go to album
Not A Party At All
by Lambs & Wolves
Charming German indie pop with the keen melodic sensibilities and melancholic undercurrent of some of the style's best practitioners.
go to album
Virtual Heaven
by Infinity Crush
Despite its themes of isolation and loneliness, Caroline White's latest batch of folk-pop confessionals is an LP brimming with confidence.
go to album
