Ephemeral

by OLD LOVE

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credits

released August 25, 2014

Recorded (29/06/2014 at Aesthetic Studios) by Dan Stork & Mixed by Dan Stork. Mastered by Garry Brents.

Thanks everybody.

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OLD LOVE Melbourne, Australia

"Thanks to your gloomy music, they've finally stopped dreaming of a future we can't possibly provide".

www.facebook.com/oldloveband

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Track Name: Summer On Nunawading
* I can can taste the salt on your palms seeping into my innocence. You said "you're all cold bodies to me". The shade of grey is the sign of a body that time will wash away, to be feed to the soil. To be set free. You're all cold bodies to me. But I can set you free. One day I'll slip up and bid consensus reality the best of luck. Wrap a scarf around my throat to keep my lips from spilling my regrets. You said we're swimming in evil. I told you we're just stroking our egos. Just going where the air goes, pretending we're heroes.

*** Dead skin, barren, lying cold. Wind gust drying, dying mould.
Track Name: Plagiarists & Revolutionaries
* She whispered softly in a dream you'll feed on those in need in search of the miraculous. He said "I am, and I will always be but you must know, that I may never learn to grow". I wish I could swallow your disease, take part in your release. Someday shed this skin to show the coal that is in place of bone. We give to our brothers what we stole from our fathers and sacrifice martyrs who could be our mothers. And for what? To show there's no shame in being alone. Burn on the glass of vitrified beaches. Glowing tans to impress our leaders. This is the sound of making friends with those who have wronged us and then made amends. There's a pause every evening to make sure I'm still breathing. A hand on my chest to ensure that I'm still beating and a split on my lip from all these lies.

** Open throat with dying organs.
Track Name: Cancer Dump
* Falling through the cracks of a white-hooded saint sanctioned by the state that claims it's for the great. We're soaking in the waste of the criminal negligent. But we don't even smell a thing. We don't even give a shit. We're too busy with our Gods. Rewarding those who stayed with rust. White bars on our windows to keep our children safe from harm, but God has always been on the side of those with the biggest cannons. The great tacticians breath the air of stolen lungs. The greatest mothers feed desperation to their young. With these opiates flowing through me it's hard to be as miserable as I should be. A sour taste, not just from the extract. I want to fucking love tonight, but the maggots on the street are too busy feasting on deceit.