1. |
Disengage
02:10
|
|||
2. |
Six Years
03:00
|
|||
|
At the end of the world I turned back to see a dried out mass of clay and stagnant water at my feet. At the end of the world I turned back to see burnt black, torn out pages of a book we'll never read. Six years feels like a lifetime. Fighting rain, fighting weather, these things we'll never see. Corrosion, predicted leaks, mop the mess with chemicals. And a video doesn't fucking cut it, this is no accident. A symptom of rising demand, tear off the facade. Six years feels like a lifetime. Is there a place where we can start before it swallows us whole? The giants just shed their skin, it's the same content in a new mold.
|
||||
3. |
Guano
03:38
|
|||
|
That long without it sinking in, water for wine and firearms. Deported, indentured, let it whither on the vine. Fell from the sky from the drop, long before this mess. In a press release smiles dominated. Left undisturbed, slabs of earth spill into seas. To lands unknown. It was an island, it was a home. Strip the earth from beneath their feet as you save them from drowning. Move them to new builds in the suburbs, plastic chips and broken bottles. For the next few years it's all coming up. Never thought of the actual cost, piss away the foreign dollars. Exhaust what's left. No ships on the horizon. From lands unknown. It was an island, it was a home. Runoff and silt wiped out the hope of turning back the clocks. Dirt spins endlessly, you struggle to mask the trail. Nothing more than a client state, handouts to its detriment. Imprison victims of policy, razor wire, events repeating. Was there a different fate to a thousand jagged columns? A few years of exuberance left behind from this dirty fix. Was there a different fate to sickness and crushing wealth? There was a time before all of this, when they set foot and smiled.
|
||||
4. |
Credit Meter
04:18
|
|||
|
It didn't take much to turn the tide, think tanks, the real or perceived. At the right place at the right time, paint yourself as a lucky one. As if it wasn't all some toxic crusade, whitewashed with rhetoric and slogans. Stood counting in the wings, waited for your moment. When the four thousand came to light no-one blinked an eye. There's a double meaning to these endings. Nail down your priorities, the means are never there. So line your fucking pockets, cut the cord to reality. Insulin spoiling in the fridge, parasites in the credit meter. Waiting on an empty stomach, letters piled up at the foot of the bed. The ward was overcrowded, the staff were overloaded. Iron lungs and life support, another mistake in the paperwork. When the four thousand came to light no-one blinked an eye. There's a double meaning to these endings. Nail down your priorities, the means are never there. So line your fucking pockets, cut the cord to reality. As the numbers rise you shake happily, you should be sitting in a box at the ICC. Courts an ear to your fallacies, through a revolving door you disappear.
|
||||
5. |
Comb
03:02
|
|||
|
Sitting in that square stretching out a twisted back, slept on rocks. Hiding in those hours. Words in French, words over coffee. Told me of the money he made in Switzerland, half a smile, staring forwards. There was a sadness, a quiet acceptance. TV blaring, drink through the weekday mornings. Life in that room was shooting by and sporadic. We sat, and laughed at the lines. Laughed at the lines. Judging by appearances I was tired. I couldn't translate the words and the taste it lingered. A lot lies in those gestures, the incidental. I couldn't translate the words and the taste it lingered. Squinted through the dust and light to see life stories on park benches. Woke up on warm concrete. Out of the anthills, between the cities. That coast was noise and traffic, nosering and smiling, I hope the capitals were warm. I didn't quite take it as an invitation. Judging by appearances I was tired. I couldn't translate the words and the taste it lingered. A lot lies in those gestures, the incidental. I couldn't translate the words and the taste it lingered.
|
||||
6. |
Surplus
04:38
|
|||
|
On the home front, hauled in from the East. Arms and boots were sheltered, you call this warfare. No concessions for global influence. An accumulation of conflicting ideals, of lead and trade routes. The storms that you ordered. Count the bodies by the shells covering the ground. There's a straight line between here and there. Seal ourselves in murderous nostalgia. These notions of empire. We need to admit was lost, we need to admit what is lost. Through the only open exits they ran unarmed, undeserving, a day of a celebration. The steps you told yourself had to be taken. Returned to roaring applause. There's a straight line between here and there. Seal ourselves in murderous nostalgia. These notions of empire. We need to admit was lost, we need to admit what is lost. A century passes underfoot. Surplus scars the other side of the globe. Slums and dirty water, dogs running in the ruins. Slums and dirty water, dogs running in the ruins. Captives of a web events, holding the position. Holding our position, our proud inheritance. Slums and dirty water, dogs running in the ruins. Slums and dirty water, dogs running in the ruins. Our proud inheritance. Our proud inheritance. Our proud inheritance.
|
||||
7. |
Gulf
03:58
|
|||
|
Over troubled water they were promised something brighter. Into this cryptic merger, the excess and the cruelty. Never questioned your standing, you're a believer in free will. Twelve to a room and open sewage, how could you ever understand? Air conditioned you float down six lane highways. There's things you can't escape. And we'll build golf courses in the empty quarter, snow in the desert in the summer heat. Until it all collapses we'll feed the myth. And we'll bask in the shade of these greenwashed ruins. Repeat your dogma, encircled by walls propped up by bodies. What a place for the kids, what a place for the family. The conflict runs deep, you're happy to reap the benefits. Despite the sentences. Locked in camps and barracks. Take me anywhere from here, where the oil meets the sea. There's things we can't escape. And we'll build golf courses in the empty quarter, snow in the desert in the summer heat. Until it all collapses we'll feed the myth. And bask in the shade. From a podium you couldn't spot the rust. There's an iron curtain in every home and workplace. What will remain of this tyranny? Smothered by its own hands.
|
||||
8. |
Fading
02:56
|
|||
|
From a passenger seat it all unravels. A long list of wake-up calls, knowing that the accounts were draining. Some consistency, an image of running out, grinding by, no permanence. Running back from reality. I barely left a dent. I barely left a dent. Fully aware of its nature, this time I'll let it all expire. Choke in traffic and wait for something more, fading, fading, fading away. A circle of churches yeah you laughed, lit up as the city darkened. Between designer shops and cardboard signs, we're always keeping quiet. Waiting rooms and bus stations, an unfamiliar light filters in. We're always keeping quiet. I barely left a dent. I barely left a dent. Fully aware of its nature, this time I'll let it all expire. Choke in traffic, it never breaks its grip, fading, fading, fading away. Fading away.
|
||||
9. |
Ant Mill
02:37
|
|||
|
Without a sound, without gunfire, or rolling convoys, monopolise the pinnacle of invention. No fire-hoses or toppling institutions. Against the figures you feed disinformation. Yet everything is beyond recognition, the culprits pushed out of sight. Shout down the chain, shielded by confusion, the structures remain intact. Weaponise emotions, with swarming automation. For all our instincts we didn't project beyond our doorstep. It's never the here and now, we scream into the void. Spines and titles on empty shelves, appearing full. When they came for us it was the easy answer. When they came for us, it was the easy answer. Emotions and analytics, the factors we couldn't predict. Yet everything is beyond recognition, the culprits pushed out of sight. Shout down the chain, shielded by confusion, the structures remain intact.
|
||||
10. |
I Can't See It
03:31
|
|||
|
The limits sweep towards the right, who to target. As if no-one had predicted it. No sense of scale, insulated from the negatives. Carve out new boundaries, all ties severed. The difference is monumental. Maybe we'll never know the paths we could have taken. How short is our memory? Is this all that it takes? Show me anything that might give some purpose to our lives, an inch of this country that exists outside of profit motives. I can't see it, and it's getting worse. I can't see it, and it's getting worse. Maybe we'll never know the paths we could have taken. How short is our memory? What happens next?
|
||||
11. |
Matches
04:22
|
|||
|
Words resurfacing, the ones we had forgotten, crept out of headlines, and hung around like lice. And in your mind you saw the future in that order. There was always a rogue, the poles just changed face. An empty box of matches, eyes water at monitors. Each side waits for movement. Nothing's foolproof. Huddled in basements, target schools and hospitals. waiting for a crush, you brush off the prospect. The one sentence that no-one could utter, you did it smiling. The human cost is secondary. The human cost is secondary. An empty box of matches, eyes water at monitors. Each side waits for movement. Nothing's foolproof. Some sick, sad determinism, adamant that it's necessary. Scrambling for a string of numbers, erase every last one. We could be wrong. We could be wrong. We could be wrong. We could be wrong.
|
||||
Deadlines Cardiff, UK
Aggro pop-punk. Formed late 2013.
Deadlines recommends:
Emo/indie stuff, 2/3 of Deadlines, with a much better guitarist
go to albumIf you like Deadlines, you may also like:
supported by 4 fans who also own “End Of History”
go to album
Scared of Everything
by The Run Up
supported by 4 fans who also own “End Of History”
go to album
Another perfect release from contemporary emo powerhouse Run for Cover records.
go to album
Taking cues from Midwestern emo and early ’10 pop punk, this Leeds, UK outfit are full of heart— not to mention hooks.
go to album
