Fevers few, and I’ll ache yet - where summers wait for aging men. They’ll all be waiting, the friend and the foe, huddled ‘round old fires. Wait until the burying, and never go, like blood that parches on the tine of rust and gold! There couldn’t be brighter one, but they’re all gone, and I’m alone. This land, of aging men - that silly boy’s club, it’s all they have. Such ailing arms hang from aching hands, but they’re all they have, they’re all they have. Life is just a ripple down a one-way brook, where mothers will weep upon the rocks - “So far he’ll go!” oh, but there he stands, in another land, it’s all in his head. Long and tired, bled by desire and despair; cloaks over diffidence, such regulatory ways. Speak out, speak loud - I’ve lived in shrouds, that old frilly fold; but no one’s too proud to be strung along by guile.
Across their second full-length, the London post-punks offer up thrumming motoriks, industrial tones, and sullen sing-a-longs in abundance. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 17, 2024
Its exquisite sense of order parallels that of a physical theory. Science is the organization of our knowledge in such a way as to command more of nature's hidden potential. Likewise do these notes command our coldbeats in step with our heartbeats. The Human Remains