Vinyl of the full-length, limited to 100 copies on black vinyl with silkscreened cover art on chipboard sleeve with obi. Manufactured by Softwax Record Pressing in Philadelphia, PA
Includes unlimited streaming of Gold Dust
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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Limited Second Press LP
Record/Vinyl + Digital Album
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A second pressing of the vinyl of the full-length, limited to 100 copies on purple vinyl with inverted silkscreened cover art on chipboard sleeve with obi. Manufactured by Softwax Record Pressing in Philadelphia, PA
Includes unlimited streaming of Gold Dust
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
Sold Out
lyrics
Write it down, read it back, and start to second-guess yourself
The words that you wrote out no longer seem good enough
Seemed profound in your head, take a breath & cross it out
A book full of nothings in their impermanence.
Things I know (& some I don’t) start to make their way to page
They’ll sort themselves out, or else stay loose ends
Trace the dots, string the lines, try to find a thread to connect
These half-thoughts & fragments, buckshot ideas.
It starts to feel hollow
As words fall lazy into place
& maybe tomorrow,
It won’t seem so stale & meaningless
Want it to be profound,
I don’t want to seem so down.
Eternal sigh.
Keep it vague, blur the lens, & know just where your limits lie
& you can face up with whatever it is that terrifies
Know by name - at least by feel - those self-destructive tendencies
So you can let go of them, or truly lean in
I’m not proud of how close I’ve come to some everlasting dark,
Some strange culmination to countless songs unsung
If you spend your time under clouds, eventually you’ll end up right,
Wrong and misguided, and numb to the end
It comes for us all, though
That hard rain seems bound to fall
& maybe tomorrow
What words come, if they come all
It’s always some stupid line,
It’s always sung out of time,
And true to form
Cross it out, turn the page, maybe start on something new
With every passage, a growing disconnect
Write it down, read it back, attempt to understand myself
Like some apparition from some other time
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll work until I get something right
& maybe it’s not my fault,
I’ve been up all night
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll wake up somehow better at all this
But likely tomorrow,
I’ll put it off, more of my same old shit
Don’t wanna leave alone,
Can’t help but feel let down
Oh well, one day.
supported by 38 fans who also own “Maybe Tomorrow”
I really liked "Cosmic Cash" a lot but this album is even better. Eight out of twelve tracks are on heavy rotation in my playlists. Papa Jay (Radio Smorgasbord)
supported by 37 fans who also own “Maybe Tomorrow”
If Wooden Shjips traded their sails for a prairie schooner, this is what you might hear them playing around the campfire at night on the Great Plains: homespun country-rock with a hint of psychedelia. Wonderful stuff, from start to finish. neu-mann