Oh, my ghost it glows like a super-8 projection!
In these piles of things of which I cannot recall the function!
A face cut deep in wood, oh I do not know it's muse!
A tiny, paper man in a clownish kind of suit!
Right and just desserts, like a penance for the sinner!
And I put it all in rows
And I laid it out in grids
And I've catalogued what's known
And made a note of what is hid
And eternally I've slaved
For the meagre things I've done
In pursuit of some acclaim
Or of something else to come
I"ve looked into the future and I can see that it is bleaker than it is right now
In this tortured room where time is meant to suture
Here I dreadful stare as I look into the future
And I hold back my cries
And I squeeze back my moan
In the grip of this place
That I now call my home
Which has sheltered my mind
As if buried alive
A sleek take on paisley pop and 60s-by-way-of-the-80s garage rock from this Detroit three-piece, equal parts fuzz and sparkly sugar. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 16, 2024