We made a short run(200) of these CDs, completely DIY...from the CD case to the hand-stamped cover to the lyric booklet, we put lots of time, love and Go Die TLC into making a neat, personal introduction to our band via CD. We've mainly been slanging these things at shows, but if you like the album and want a physical copy, we'll send you one for just a couple bucks.
Includes unlimited streaming of Nail House Rock
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
ships out within 2 days
edition of 200
Purchasable with gift card
$2USD
lyrics
Getting distant, getting obliterated.
Getting high on sci-fi fables told through curly white cables.
Making money. Making art.
Making time with the corpse of an abandoned mythos.
Kissing all the hands and feet
of people who cut through sinew to make ends meet.
Let’s worship at the altar of our moral exemplars.
There's no better living through chemistry, it fuels our tempers.
Getting sunk, getting drunk, getting ripped to shreds.
On post-human timelines and theories.
Making threats, making bets, making formaldehyde soaked cigarettes
in strip malls that used to be cemeteries.
It's a dour mood for a rancid and sour brood
Young minds see bloody money, they want that power too.
Set out to lay waste to expectations
of a world teeming with cancer causing agent.
Getting caught, getting shrugged off,
getting buzzed on cheap beer and grain alcohol.
Pretending we're barely getting by.
Knee deep in post-whatever manufactured lo-fi.
Getting sunk, getting drunk, getting ripped to shreds.
On post-human timelines and theories.
Making threats, making bets, making formaldehyde soaked cigarettes
in strip malls that used to be cemeteries.
The screens in my face tell me I should be scared of this place
but I know that they’re just missing out some laughs.
They’ve got no appreciation for inanition,
or bombastic applause for riots and chaos.
No tributes to being near death and destitute,
or fondness for pain and despondence.
If you find beauty in ugliness, which if you're like me you do,
this world's a treat; a sick, sardonic fucking dream,
that's getting more perverse with every turn of the screw.
You hear crazy things; you feel the urge to repeat them.
That shit becomes gospel, that's how you get programmed.
Next thing you know our lives become bullshit art schema.
Pretending we're barely getting by,
manufactured, knee deep in post lo-fi.
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