Oh failing sun; the verses stole the taste from our tongues
carved in stiff board motel beds
where we wrote our resolutions
in lonesome rooms across the land
I kept my distance from the fights
put my knuckles through the plaster
and said farewell by beacons where
the city glowed like dying fireflies
and when rest didn’t find me
I no longer sought it
spending nights with the moon
waiting on a rose to bloom
round and round it spins- round and round again
vicious words bounce off of the walls of that room
I’m kicking curses into the ground again
to give and live and yearn to lose what I gained
from the miles tucked into the rearview
And I know that you’re afraid of the haunts
those ideals lost, kicked, and mocked
by the abuses in American Nights
the same songs, the same fights
and I’m afraid these words don’t mean a thing
and I’m afraid this distance is everything
and I’m afraid I will claw my whole life just to hear your voice in the night
and I’m afraid this distance might be nothing.
On their debut record, the London hardcore upstarts cross-up mosh-ready fare with melancholic ambient passages, weeping guitars, and virtuosic vocal harmonies, but its romantic veneer is much more complicated than it seems. Bandcamp Album of the Day Jan 30, 2019
The Minneapolis band add a horn section, a running surrealist allegory about walls, and an occasional nod to the elegiac to their electroshocked post-punk. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 4, 2024