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Winter Beard

by Touch Committee

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1.
Sunshine Suit Start new, in a new room Your breathing’s good, and your pulse stays where it should Some things, once done, you can’t undo But if we move, there’s a chance they’ll forget soon We buried you near a cliff face in early June Deep as we could with the tools we had to use We buried you with a whisper, wish the best for you dressed Dressed in your sunshine suit Spokes of light shine through you Keep your grave bright. It feels good to drive another route, my sunshine suit lighting up the avenues Dark streets extend and set an edgy mood By my side, I keep a little piece of you We buried you near a cliff face in early June Deep as we could with the tools we had to use We buried you with a whisper, wish the best for you dressed Dressed in your sunshine suit Spokes of light shine through you
2.
Gold Coast 03:07
The stink begins to slip up off the ocean’s scummy skin The goddamn wind has left, and we’re adrift Content to sit and spit, drunk above a thousand leagues Sharks and waves both have ways of ending things. (Red) Red stains on the beach (Grey) Grey waves thundering (Black) And the black clouds are threatening And the tide sucks from off the beach A dark tide that starts to creep And it’s pulling itself to sea And it’s leaving what’s worst in me on the Gold Coast’s long beach.
3.
We broke it, so we’ll rip the rest apart and then try to make it into something else. Bellow if you will, but know that by the end of things, nothing’s really changed. The butcher’s fingers are thick with scars, his knuckles raw. His heavy apron spattered now, stained by the past. He cuts the guts out and throws the rest away, piled in a Rubbermaid. And down the hallway, a flight of stairs. Out the back door, filled with weeds and rocks: a parking lot. A dumpster sits there waiting for us to catch up. We broke it, so we’ll rip the rest. Try to make it into something else. Bellow if you will, but know that by the end of it, nothing’s really changed. Hollowed out, the antiques shout; hollowed out, the antiques shout: Things age, and leave the stage, introduced to dust, eaten up by rust. Things change and rearrange, forming from the junk left behind by us. And even you will join the rest of us, still and silent.
4.
She took him, down to the place. She kissed the smile from his face. Cracked open his head, showed him what she would have said. She said, paint by numbers put the colors here. Please take them, away from me. Please tell them, that I don’t want to be, a friend to myself and nobody else. She said, paint by numbers put the colors here. When you learn to stutter, you make your thoughts unclear. I think I need a new friend, to celebrate the day. I think I need a new friend, to chase the old away. When the old ones are always talking at me and I’ve got nothing to say.
5.
Lanterns lit the way back home, I can’t believe you’d go. Burning up the clothes you left it’s done I’m drunk you’re free. My new life is sparkling it’s brighter than it seems and if this fire does its job I’ll finally get some sleep. Sliding down the panhandle rolling with dead leaves, eyes are stung with peppermint from the eucalyptus trees. My green bottle is sparkling it’s brighter than the streets and if the sky stays friendly we can stop somewhere to sleep.
6.
Blue Glass 02:51
Recline and find a space to lay down and breathe out, tell us where it hurts. Blood shot eyes crooked spine, lips a pained line; we agree you’re sick. Everything you’ve ever tried failed, but this is guaranteed to work. Let the light, let the light wash out the earth. Nothing is working, swimming and breathing, daily, paper believes you, but I, do not wish, to go too far from how this are meant to be. Shadows cast, from the sunlight through the blue glass, spreads doubt about the cure. And if we’re lucky now, blue glass will cure your sicknesses and everything you heard last night. And if we’re lucky now, blue glass will spread cool light all across this hot night. Whatever it is, whatever it does, it’s not as bad as what we’ve already had. And if we’re lucky now blue glass will cure your sicknesses and everything you heard last night. Whatever it is, whatever it does, it’s not as bad as what we’ve already had. And if we’re lucky now, blue glass will spread cool light all across this hot night.
7.
The brownstone reeks of age and the wake was in full swing The sound of drunken gentlemen hovered somewhere south of deafening Mouths full, laughing, they’re singing: Light up! Light a million votives for, for the union dead! Let echoes of our fathers shade the night, the night a bloody red, and lest we forget: the dead don’t rest. We went into the kitchen when the conversation stalled, a pocket sea of silence but footsteps bounced along the hall. Those outside burst in, tearing up our world, singing: Drink up! Empty out your glasses for, for the Union Dead! Stay drunk for decades, keep the memories where we want them to stay instead! And if we forget the dead will rest. Old men bluster, making choking sounds, wolfing their supper, silver flashing all around. The past is over, pinned like bugs to cork, our fathers’ fathers holding tight to what once was. Light up! Light a million votives for, for the union dead! Let echoes of our fathers shade the night, the night a bloody red, and lest we forget: the dead don’t rest. Drink up! Empty out your glasses for, for the Union Dead! Stay drunk for decades, keep the memories where we want them to stay instead! And if we forget the dead will rest.
8.
Young Turks 04:03
The call comes down and the news gets out: Skinny things unfolding down from the evening sky. And through the night, these old bones hold together, these old bones forever. All the city’s windows, reflecting halogen. Ring the rusty bells, a warning: the young ones arrived. Sidewalks plot a border around the weekend’s wars. Groups of toothpick men, again, drinking up a storm. And as the night sky opens, coughing up white smoke, the young ones stumbling from doors: screaming at the sun. The call comes down and the news gets out: Skinny things unfolding down from the evening sky.
9.
Go to her side of the car and climb into the seat. Pull the seatbelt to where it clicks and meets. Touch the dashboard where her head hit hard. Imagine the impact when they saw the other car. That day the sun shone and the road was calm from sunset on. Without talking, they drove with smiles, with just paint between the lanes. The van’s tires squealed when the light finally flipped to green. That was the last time either of them ever felt a thing. And when they hit, it was the strangest thing: the splashing windshield displayed a scene: a hundred million people crossing the street in relative safety. A piece of glass, spreading out and gaining mass. Wiped out the rest of the traffic jam. The wreckage, it spread like wine; spilling out, it stained the light. Remembering the day you died.
10.
Spit straight up and send a message to the ones you trust, misting everywhere. We don’t speak because we shout to get the words out Angled south, heading down into an open mouth falling deeper now, we don’t speak because we fight to get the words right. Spit straight up and send a message to the ones you trust misting everywhere. We don’t speak because we shout to get the words out
11.
We don’t, we breathe in close, in love with roads traveling along your body. We don’t eat, in love with roads, but we don’t go, traveling along your body. By yourself, aside: harmlessly in sight. Stealing scenes: a bedroom door, a covered lamp, a blanket crumpled in the corner. Everything you’ve touched and owned: skin and bones mean nothing without will to use them now. By yourself, in light, fingers slip down your spine. Your body’s nerves, they spit fire. Shuddering in time. And on and on with nerves and veins and everything from the edge of we don’t eat, we breathe in close in love with roads, traveling along you body. Everything you’ve touched and owned, skin and bones means nothing without will to use them now.
12.
The Loop 05:49
You remember this spot from the last time you were here: A long, lazy circle, spanning lazy years. Something’s different this time, like overlapping maps. Everything looks vivid, and all you want is to fall asleep. The bars slam closed when they want to, and we’re kicked out to stumble back home. It’s briefly there for a moment, but we’re pulled back in the current. The pendulum swings in the summer and loops on back touching winter. This city’s call haunts the rafters and bounces back to the lovers. March melts what February gave. Dark nights spread into brighter days. The train home gets more packed with every stop. And all you want is to fall asleep. Flickering off and on, sunlight streams into the car. you're still sleeping; you're still sleeping. hit it at the breaking spot, older things start to slide off. old ways always; always old ways. The bars slam closed when they want to, and we’re kicked out to stumble back home. It’s briefly there for a moment, but we’re pulled back in the current. The pendulum swings in the summer and loops on back touching winter. This city’s call haunts the rafters and bounces back to the lovers.

about

Debut album, several dozen months in the making.

credits

released April 1, 2009

Engineered / Produced by Jack Shirley at Atomic Garden 2008

Guitar / Vocals / Lyrics - Seth Miller
Guitar / Vocals - Michael Bracamonte
Bass / Vocals - Justin Martin
Drums / Vocals - Jerry Andersen

Additional Vocals on Elephant Seal - Eli Drabman
Acoustic Guitar on By This Axe... - Jack Shirley

Cover art by Jordan Mello / 09.

Thanks to Jack for the fuzz.
Thanks to DuWayne for the extra gear.
Thanks to You for your time.

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