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All the Songs Sung Wrong

by Chalmers

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    Two color screen printed sleeves. Includes print, insert, sticker, and, of course, your very own copy of All the Songs Sung Wrong on VINYL ;) Out of 200.

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1.
20 Years 03:24
Grinding your teeth and you can’t stop. Feathers replace you and they drift each and every way. You know the history, and you will never listen to Songs about Leaving again. You will never write this song again. (Yeah, right…) You walk, but it’s freezing out and you keep slipping as time is frozen. Steps backward are dangerous on ice. But still, you numb your feet with every step until feathers replace you once again. You know the rest. Float away into the sun, undone, little one. Anxious lies you will accept in time, wintering. Rotting teeth with empty hope. Smoke’s been rising longer than you’ve known. She’ll breathe the air that you breathe. You’ll watch her choke on it and be relieved. Whispers smoked, not spoken, and blowing. Roll your eyes now. Leave before the words repeat. The rhyme is wrong and struggling. Roll your eyes back. Leave before the song repeats. The sound is off and deafening. You will write this song again.
2.
Dead Sweat 03:14
Am I awake? Am I not awake? Must be asleep, but who drove this far? Passed out in back, waited so long (too cold). Empty shells, dead and gone, spread on the dashboard. Am I awake? Am I not awake? Retain. Language of the empty fails by design, and I can’t understand the meaning behind photographs and memories – they make you live a lie. Language of our romance fails through lost time. Photographs and memories can’t make you more alive. Do you listen in your sleep? When you wake up you’re moving. The seatbelts are broken. The windows are frozen. Your breath melts words unspoken. When you wake. It’s 3am. Fever burning. Plane departing. Mind warping nothing into something. Walls (that) start to shake when you’ve slept two hours in the last forty-eight. Waking dream, exiting the open… Seams (of) brainwave sheets folding into nothing worth saving. Stuck between, entering the closed off… Barriers holding the line between what we’ll say and what we can get behind. Barriers holding the line between what we have done and what we will leave behind. I never thought about the things that you thought about. Now my thoughts are alone. Stay awake. You know it’s hard when the motor hums to sleep. Stay awake or go to bed. Nightmares of going home. You’ll never be afraid when the seatbelt’s tight again.
3.
Figure it out and put it on a map. Trace it with your finger – throw it out. It’s time you know it’s time to forget. The things you knew, the things you won’t it’s all relative. What once were markers on the road now numbers on a screen. In a box and in a hole, the lights above they burn soft/slow, beneath years cemented in defeat and worn on repeat. You won’t. You can’t. You’ll never leave again. You lost the sky above to blue-screen hums and stable ends. Numbers add up the same. You’re so vacant. Every hour digs your grave. You’re so wasted. Lost in history. You’re so vacant. Past makes it hard to breathe. You’re so wasted. Everyone wants escape. It’s like you never want to wake. Trading life. Overtime. Dreams erased. Training exercise. Debt’s alive. It’ll bury you. You stay awake for now. You’ll let go, but you know you’ll grab on again. In the end, you’re too wasted. You know the road remains unwavering but whispers sing, “Will you throw it all away? You couldn’t possibly deny the figures set to see you through the day peacefully.” You say you can’t make up your mind. Well, I’ve never made up mine. Scares me too much, don’t think I’ll ever try again.
4.
Crowded head drowning in a sea of blame. Light and dark – shadows never seem afraid. Rest your head deeper in the well you made. Replicate the feeling that you’re finally awake. Made a mistake – been fighting back reason every day. Sucked into defeat – listened to the same record on repeat for months. What would it even mean for a shadow to be caught? Passive, defeated, your hairline’s receding. Total exhaustion – unsure of direction. Buried in the television screen the ghost speaks in style disguised as truths risen from his grave. Dirt thrown on the living, blinking lights keep humming you to sleep. Blinking lights humming. Nothing solid, nothing landed, disappearing in a blank stare. Face is burning, palms are sweaty, shadow lurking – you can’t see him. Swinging blindly, but keeping steady, it’s all or nothing but you just leave it. Something solid, something landed.
5.
13 Years 03:24
Forever Young. Inside these walls plastered with torment I cry and grasp urging forgiveness. Ropes of relief, I climb above and look down to you. A promise of serenity. Soothing the fantasy. Bent down on my knees. I could have stopped all this. But now I've ended it and I fulfill these walls. I'm dancing in your dreams. I'll look so perfect here. I remained in my room, while you unknowing waited downstairs. The darkest room I could find. Filled with lights haunting to other sides. (We feel the walls. We feel your face.) Did we see your face? Did we feel your shadow? Mirrors paint portraits of animosity. And we will be alone homesick in our own home. We curse the surprise. Cursed with no goodbyes. Left with but a note, found in little hands, hanging/swinging from a tightened rope. The ghost we make, our minds create, the one that brought us pain. See the walls, They're closing in. The way we sleep is on our feet.) The lights we see echo the mind's eye The lights we feel design energy Should we close this closet door to trap the screams that haunt this house? Burn it to the ground. We can't stand this home. (The house of disconnection.) Gather the ash and over take the abyss. Follow the moon. Scatter the sins in bright glowing light. Choke on the air. With memories burned in our lungs there is no letting go In time these wounds will heal, but the scars will always show.
6.
7.
Now you run, you run, you run away. Another pushpin fills your empty space. New tennis shoes – you’re running loose. Golden boy he’s on an endless move. Stay gold and I’ll stay black and blue. Sore loser keeps setting himself up to lose. I quit, I quit, I quit, I fucking quit. Eternally broken lines fulfill no wish. But I keep running, you keep running from this shit. One more time – I’ll fucking say it one more time… I quit. Guarantee I’ll never want to revisit this. Sins absolved by some asphalt mistress. Face down in the dirt you left behind you will find missing pieces unwound by time. Put them back, burn the map forget the loves and photographs amassed. Easier to get away when nothing lasts. Asphalt breathes heavy like a thousand dogs begging for a story. He’ll get a taste again. Lines break and highways split away under sun overwhelming. He’ll get a taste again. Cities sweating something sweet on the skin to the bone – dreams of forever. He’ll get a taste again. Headlights burn away “ordinary,” stealing your affection. I’ll get a taste again.
8.
You make believe the water’s not dirty and you bathe your lies in it unconvincingly. You speak in lightning silhouettes as loud as thunder clapped between god’s fists. Trick candles in the sky never let you catch your breath. You wear your halo much like horns.
9.
Tongue’s off the razor’s edge. Split in two, the pieces hiss. Every word falls and bends from crooked teeth and broken lips. You snake your way into space, only it’s obvious. So many self-made mistakes – there is nothing else. You build your walls with stories twice as tall, slithering between. Your city is built on fiction. Stumbling in and out of streets paved with doubt – nothing’s what it seems. Your city is built on fiction. You make it up for me? A coiled history. A ghost’s words to make amends when heaven falls from broken lips. Circled cities, highways between warped and turning, waiting to be erased. North, east, south, west – compass spinning, but always pointing away. The lines you drew – well, they all lead back to you. When the highway splits, you’ll choose no truth. You stick around like a pushpin on a map forgotten.
10.
Follow back east before the storm becomes your home. Get yourself lost, Midwest, find yourself alone. To the west coast, you know, your faults are getting torn. Break away! Oh, wake up! I’ll shut up. Always give up. You’re just losing something that you never had to lose. Could have made history. Could have made something worth saving. Nothing’s worth saving these days. You can’t believe the lines scratched from a record’s turning. You just can’t move away and forget this place. You just can’t open the gates and let the water in. You just can’t take our song and sing it the wrong way. You just can’t. You can’t… Well, I guess you can. Split the records or keep them all. Flood the basement. Set fire to my soul. With no goodbyes, just want you to know. When I lost you, I didn’t lose it all. Well, the road remains faithful to me. At least as faithful as concrete can be. But all the cracks are rotting from inside, and the water rises even if you shut your eyes. I’ll wait. The flood is here, choking us. We lost our words.

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This album is available on Vinyl. Contact us via e-mail or facebook if you would like to purchase a copy.

credits

released September 29, 2015

Chalmers -
Matt - Drums
Justin - Right guitar, Vocals
Dee - Left guitar
Josh - Bass, Vocals

Recorded at Apocalypse the Apocalypse in Clearfield, Pa. by Fred Weaver, August 9th & 10th and September 13th & 14th, 2014. Mixed by the very same.

THANK YOU:
Greg Knowles for releasing this this LP (on vinyl) & supporting us. Fred Weaver for putting us up & putting up with us. Nissley Household & Boy's Meathouse for allowing the noise. Hunk Bunker for the first gig (Garrett Price for recording it). Bunghouse just because, Known Pleasure Records, Meatcude Label, Josh Graupera & Left Hand Printing Co., Ryan Davis, Josh Allamon, Justin Lutz, Raf Diaz, Everyone at The Seed that is not Dee, 100 Year Ocean & Ruben for York, Philly shows, Johnny Utah, Zurdo (rip), Placeholder (rip), QUIT, Dead Flowers shows, Johm Charlton, Brad Beamenderfer & Quips Pub, Alyssa Giannini, Capacities, Mike & Mr. Suit Records, Tyler Taglieri, Fisticuffs Busansky, Patrick Swayze (rip), Drew Eckert, Kids, Joint Chiefs of Math & YOU, the album consumer.

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