Night Years

by Cut Teeth

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credits

released 28 October 2014

via Topshelf Records
Recorded by Matt Jordan @ R3 Studios / Emaciated Raiden Studios
Additional engineering by Pete Grossman @ Bricktop Recording
Mastered by Jay Maas @ Getaway Recording
Cover art by Leslie Herman

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Track Name: The National Throat
put your ear to the ground
the city is a symphony
put your ear in the clouds
the livid ones are listening

as the factory siren sang the songs of future tense
Arseny bowed the sighs of the working dissident
and the people played the war cannons like flutes
imperfect present could stand to make his machine a muse

we must clear the national throat
night years on this rational road
have wound away from our control
we must clear the national throat

bound by a sound
get down get down
bound by a claim
stake down stake down

as the factory siren blared the bullets stopped and listened
Arseny strummed the strings of a thousand violins
and the people played the war cannons like flutes
imperfect present could stand to make his machine a muse
Track Name: Sea of Id
each and every breeze will come to know the coming
the coming and the passing of accumulated cumulus
there’s an incoming fleet, a familiar fleeting movement
defeat is everlasting, like accumulating cumulus

tie down your lines
and parade
perfumed and draped in a lie

each and every wave will come to know the ebbing
the ebbing the flowing of the ever-turning tides
the ides of Marches past have seen and sown new seeds
the needing and the knowing of the ever-turning tides

there may be a novel in the margins
the novelty is paper thin
there may be a devil in these details
but these trains of thought de-rail

the beaches became glass
and we blew them into bottles
which we used to catch the rain
where the acid left the stains
the moon became a map
but we blew that shit to pieces
there were no more tides to tame
so the sun showed us the same

“they swim in the Ego Ocean
but they drown in the Sea of Id”
Track Name: Christmas on Easter Island
the gulf of our guts
saw no hurricanes coming
but the levees of our livers
broke and left us running
the running of the bulls
in a Cajun china shop
revelers revealing all
two Caligulas in Camelot
we got ripped with the reaper
we were hot for the creature

we want to suck the night dry

cacophony, cacophony, oh come on and sing
the entropy, the entropy, oh come on and see
euphoria, euphoria, oh come on and sing
hallelujah! hallelujah! oh come on and see

conjoined at the mouth
making mirth out of mire
we’re christening this place
with hedonistic desires
level all the temples
for new libertine altars
and flood all the senses
with all that we can squander

the ecstasy of misanthropy, oh come on and sing
the remedy, the melody, oh come on and see
such nausea in utopia, oh come on and sing
hallelujah! hallelujah! oh come on and see

we want to suck the night dry
Track Name: Between Death & Taxes
where’s our acid
where is our free love
between death & taxes
all we get is fucked

I’d rather grind the axe than bury it
in fields of blood and bone
waiting for it to bloom
a storm of shit and fires barely lit
to clear the streets
we roam naked to fill a room

pointless circles sing
“close off, close off”
tear these clothes off

we hide and we seek, reveal and retreat
create a distraction, retrieve a reaction

we run the ride, we run and hide
Track Name: Rehearsal Dojo
*numbers stations excerpt
Track Name: Night Years
we trusted the tape deck to flip the cassette
now we only trust our ever-turning tongues to beget
nothing
our hollowed-out refrains have got us running up the rungs
got nothing to say, so at the top of our lungs:
we all work for nothing
“nothing!”

we’d rather while away the hours
playing “marry, kill, or fuck”
than heed self-serving movement
or tempt our dumbest luck
we’re kept busy basking in the haze
stoned and popping sugar pills
we’re kept busy

with the wind wearing all our sheets
and our lines left lacking
how can we find a place to sleep
with no secrets left to keep
flapping our vacant tongues
how can we find a place to sleep
vacant

I don’t believe the world is coming to an end
this year
this year
but let’s live it like it is
it is
Track Name: Gunshots or Fireworks
the kids on the corner
are playing “gunshots or fireworks”
light the fuse on last year’s ruse and watch it burn
they’re betting on the former
against the latter’s old lying word
drop the act - avoid the trap and watch it burn
the camel and its back were barely born intact
the tin horns clapped for the last straw to distract
you and me

don’t you point that gun
don’t point that gun at me

every summer is a double order
a double dose, doubled over in pain
oh yeah - trouble, trouble
come huddle over the flame

the hustler’s town got smaller
and its cracked smile stayed the same
every gun’s worth a golden dollar
and every kid curses the game
Track Name: Laud-mouth
Tastemaker. Hold steady. Paint the skies with turpentine.
Spoons frozen. Applied to the eyes of gods.
You cast a rope of sand
Laud-mouth. Blind sermons mounted nightly in city streets.
Empire. Desk dynasty left to rust.
You spit into the fan
Costcutter. Why bother? The ship is sailing the sea of ink.
A martyr climbing mountains to plant a flag.
You cast a rope of sand
The river of commerce is flooding the banks of our
Fair culture with promises painted red. Why?
You spit into the fan

Do your time. Dry your eyes.
Victory is just beyond that rise.
Paint the town. Write it down.
It doesn’t count unless the whole sphere knows.

The magic here disappears into the pockets of the last to know.
Write and wrong. Ride along into the twilight with the last to know.
Just make mistakes and lay them in the laps of everyone below.
How could you be the last to know?
Track Name: King of the Mountain: A Romance Novel
you’ve drafted up this contract
I’ve contracted this disease
rise up
I hereby declare
that I consent to compete
rise up
the kids who climb this mountain
have a history to repeat
arrive on time
fuckin’ carrot on a stick
a hypnotic fantasy

the roles we play
the roads we leave unpaved
the bets we place
the debts we leave unpaid

I’ll fuck my way up this mountain
I’ll have a history to repeat
rise up
I hereby declare
that I consent to compete
arrive on time
Track Name: Ashtray Sonata
my boy was only just born, and he’s already bored
so he took my guitar and wandered off with my chords
through the downtrodden expanse, past the up-ended structures
“you can do the crow’s line dance, but can you circle like a vulture”
he may have been born well behind his time
but contentment’s not in tune with his contemporary mind
so his friends, they all balk at the futility of it all
and press the permanent marker to the bathroom stall

and he says:
“would you rather die with your eyes closed
or close your hands around this noise”

this love is a cockroach
lift the lid and spit in it for measure
“suburban scrawl is gospel”
tear the bandage off
nigh times, they did approach
dig until you a see a sign of pink skin
but the band played on and on
blow the houses down
high tide, it did roll in
dampening the distant hum of dischord
yet the band played their song

today it may be the ambulance, tomorrow it’s the bill
go renew that prescription - someday it may get filled
busy basking in the haze, stoned and popping sugar pills
plainsong was a passing phase, a bouquet of wire daffodils

I let the past lay
in the ashtray