s​/​t 7"

by pageripper

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about

released by sex sheet records
500 copies on black & mixed color vinyl
order here: www.sexsheetrecords.com/store

credits

released 21 September 2013

home-recorded in the bombshelter
portland, or - 2013

mastered by robert bartleson
and ryan remains @ haywire recording

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: you don't wear a dead man's pants
she was done before her body hit the bathroom floor. he was throwing his phone to the road. it’d never done him good before. both sick of waiting for something more to strike an off-chord. he was sick of being clean; he sullied too fucking hard. she was dancing with disease trying to break the only body she’s got. i’m sorry all, but i cannot catch you in freefall. it’s hard for me to relate to these fucked up problems that i don’t even got.
Track Name: collarblind
some days you’d kill for quiet. say “fuck it”, tuck and roll and let your ride fly headlong, southbound straight into traffic. cause i’d rather be scab-kneed and free than get this feeling all the time: that blue or white your collars never bothered to be untied until you’re 65. til your 65? no, that can’t be right. i’m a breakdown away from burning down this fucking place. can you smell the sulphur? bring your fire and i’ll bring the gasoline. we’ll have a picnic burning ants. magnifying glass. a toast to our dreams.
Track Name: rex goliath
she said “walking the streets with a bottle of red in between you and me were some good days.” so that’s the last image i keep in my head when i think of that godamned shithouse. aren’t you glad to be out? you’re cookin’ up in the desert down south. i’ve been braving the weather for a while now. i just wanna sit and listen to elliott brood with you just like we used to. and I’ll remember your basement room (I got one too!) things are better since I last saw you.
Track Name: patrick swills
hung up on hangups. i’m hung up on tethered lines. how do you bide your time? seething with your fingertips? muttering with muffled lips until the day you die? breaking molds and mending rips. bleary eyed and selling shit. how do you bide your time? are you drunk with discontent? chomping at the stalest bit until the day you die? i’m jumping ship before i drown and breaking out of this confined life.
Track Name: real eyes / real lies
a gunshot never heard painted her world in sepias and grey. the blood stained her skirt as her body fell between her bedspread and the floor and magazine spreads selling shame for being ugly in an uglier world. but those lives are all lies. all right: destroy yourself all in some fucking lost cause and burst at the seams trying to patch up your flaws. but you are not what they’re selling. carve away at your face and your legs, but i hope when you carve through the gloss on the page you see that you are not what they’re selling.