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
The pavement bakes under a hot, holy sun that nobody worships any more.
Bikinis and shorts subbed for rags and dust masks and vacations under the floor boards.
The tract homes decay in the same way they were made: on the cheap and almost overnight.
The freeways you take, your job, the state; all incrementally devaluing your life.
The remnants of the Space Age. Beware of falling satellites.
This used to be our bright future; a paean to microchip life.
Everywhere that you look you see burned out tech, ghosts of a tomorrow that never came to pass.
The schools have long been burnt down by the kids, an artifice on the meaning of class.
The beaches used to be a bastion of fun, the boardwalks flanked by refinery smokestacks.
Now mutant teens have traded in their preening for sandy, drug-induced brass knuckle attacks.
The remnants of the Space Age. Beware of falling satellites.
This used to be our bright future; a paean to microchip life.
Tomorrowland stands, the future it told was a lie. A night in urban sprawl hell, illuminated by fireworks in the sky.
Fun in the sun and fights in the nights, heroin is the religion of the people.
Disturbing street scenes backlit by burning things in the shadow of the Crystal Cathedral.
I get the feeling everybody’s broken, just like the communities that our fathers tried to plan.
But you can’t get a good reading on someone unless you put a few bucks, or a gun, in their hand
The remnants of the Space Age. Beware of falling satellites.
This used to be our bright future; a paean to microchip life.
Stay in your homes unless you're fine in the grime, and get stoked on interminable brutality. Your future is here, and it’s just as prescribed: a lonely augmented reality.
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