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High Highs, Crashing Lows

by Southpaws

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1.
New Hell 04:00
feels like the last time we played house it's another you vs your conscious self---- hit your veins, it's like cracks in the sink like the rain and it's all those, Machiavellian novels, it's in the way that you think we get stuck thinking about how we fucked up your blood and guts and all the in between that you love you swear that it brings you down you swear that it brings us down you and your new hell it's every single thing that you felt and every single way that your heart melts nights where you can't sleep your guard is down Nagarjuna weeps for all your western medicine in 20 years you'll lift your eyes from the page you'll think at least we were happy feels like that last time we played house you're another, shaking as your lover rips through your name, and that ephemeral south it's a game, you scream with every shape of your mouth and it's all those, Machiavellian novels, it's in your throat when you talk. your space-age wants the galaxies between all our thoughts your demons trust your habits and the things that you love you swear that it brings you down you swear that it brings us down you and your new hell it's acid in the way that the synths swell dripping like they got to get out nights where you can't sleep caught up in the physics of dreams and all those words you taught to me in 20 years it'll come and go like a plague at least it was just a phase. thinking lots about they way you're wearing your hair it's been different now, since the fall thinking lots about the way you talk when you're scared you get cynical like your mom it's just a year til it's gone
2.
your ego-depths the believing--- I can't sleep staring at the steps to you folks beach and you wont speak to me unless you know that I talk cheap and I give, in covered in clothes, covered in stains you, grow up look at my eyes, the cuts on my face I am nothing, (in) the physical sense that's what all your best friends said your punk ass friends, and their scheming your sunday best resin on the shirt that you got pressed your lungs collapse or something like the feeling of young death and you wait, just wait. covered in clothes, covered in stains you, grow up look at my eyes, the cuts on my face I am nothing, (in) the physical sense that's what all your best friends said the face you make it's the same thing I know the way that you're sinking hope you're not afraid of the rain like you used to, hope you're not afraid of me hope you like the taste of the sand and the soundscapes hope you really needed a friend,
3.
thinking a lot about the way you move your pretenses, and the Foucault in your murderous hues you get so down you fall asleep in the sound but I'm so sure you're feeling it now thinking a lot about the fears you choose how they tear you up and the nature of that postmodern cool you get so stressed but it's all in the sense that Borges, and Kafka, well they were saints my girl, I know you care about the names, and the numbers on your cigarettes on your cigarettes you're alone, and the smoke sits cold in your lungs and the books, on your breath separate your face from a hornet's nest you're alone, and the smoke sits cold in your lungs seeming a lot like you're in love with a bruise it's a perfect shade but it's only around when you think of your youth and I guess it stains, all your clothes and your frames of your reference and the same ones you wear on your face sleeping a lot I guess it keeps you soothed it's your afterlife made of cloth, your decisions and blues and I'm so out well I'm so out, but I'm so sure you're feeling it now my girl, I know you care about the names, and the numbers on your cigarettes on your cigarettes you're alone, and the smoke sits cold in your lungs and the books, on your breath separate your face from a hornet's nest you're alone, and the smoke sits cold in your lungs -solo- *it...can't...end like this!-joe* my girl, I know you're scared, but that doesn't mean you cant live with it and my girl, i know you care, but that doesn't make amends for your lividness you're alone, and the smoke feels cold in your lungs.
4.
Backporchers 03:08
teeth, there used to be fangs my god, you're getting lost in the wake of your surrender and it makes me think or it makes me pray feeling all the smoke hanging on your breath you say you're so sick of the rest you get so stuck feelings that you know you touch know a thing or two about it that porch, cigarettes on the couch my front door, to keep the bad women out you take the pictures I'll just stand in them or out there asking all the questions Oedipa gives the paranoid sticks to your lips but you're in luch lonely dreams for lonesome us fuck with me you know I got it that pain calling out your name catching you in bed clothes scratching up your bedpost
5.
Rest Easy 03:16
ross killed a rat
6.
Settling 03:22
living by the interstate the cars don't burn the same way that they did when we were kids and afraid of your winter asking where your heartache went it left itself on beaches where you said you'd never breathe or be speechless again don't find out what you already knew the answers to all your god-fearing questions I hate to ask, but I just have to know of course, of course, I know your name like 15 years, and your soul, and your home never ache, and it's been great, oh it's been great of course, of course I feel it babe it's glass in my feet, its the bones that I know you'll break on nights where you forget your decades don't find out what you already knew the answers to all your god-fearing questions I hate to ask, but I just have to know and you shake you'll feel great when it all settles in, when we're all settling and you'll break, it's the way that we're all settling and it's the way that you settle in.

about

Written and recorded from June-August 2014, about two weeks spent living on a back porch in Kensington, MD.

credits

released May 5, 2015

Conor Brodnick- guitars, vox, bass, keys
Greg Chipkin- drums, bass, vox, guitars

mastered by Chris Rehm in New Orleans, LA
drums recorded at Mystery Ton studios w/ Kenny Eaton
produced, engineered and mixed by Greg Chipkin

Great big thanks to Ross Koby and Austin Loman, who are also a huge part of Southpaws.

This record was inspired and affected by a lot of people very close to us; the young boys and everyone we met on the road, everyone who came out to show love and made the effort to keep up. We love you, this is for you.

Cover shot and designed by Tyler Pure
Banner photo also by Tyler Pure

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about

Southpaws Kensington, Maryland

just to get you thinking about that last time your eyes got real wide

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