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Tree

by Mess

supported by
Jim Cooke
Jim Cooke thumbnail
Jim Cooke I heard them play at the Milestone in Charlotte. They sound great! Very nice guys, too.
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1.
Lean 02:26
Why does the shadow lean? Walk through and will you see. What does the soul throw? No shadow into itself now. Itself now, how? We will all grow old! This movement becomes so cold! Our bodies will sag and fold! Oh what will hold?
2.
Left here at the edge does something love our tiny little planet where the quiet of the grave sings ‘you don’t have to be that brave?’ May the Aliens sing their Neptune tunes! MAKE the orange fuzzy flower swoon! A lion’s mane bloom on the window pane! OH LET THE SONG BE THE SONG WE SANG out in the dust again when the sky begins to rust and drain. I want to taste the sweat on your sunburnt shoulders and get so high in the sharp heat of July where we can quip when we slip all the way down to the graveyard and only our names are left scarred into the ground. And we can cry about it and we can laugh about it.
3.
Blossom 05:47
What do you need? What do you have? If the dirt is our song, let our mouths fill with mud! Let’s sing so loudly we lose the tune tonight and into the day things will be okay. What will we will? What we will, will it fill? You got to get out of here away from what you fear? You will carry it, you will take it there and there is no escape, only this great weight—the shuddering change, the garden we’ll create. Out beside the hum the locust drummed. And it moves so slow. Let it go, let me go. A shining slide will grow! For the time of time being, make yourself something to break yourself now and make yourself into something that can break.
4.
I’m feeling alright. Tonight in this air we’re wrapped skin-tight and out of you something pulls us from us and up again. Into the trees we float with the breeze and oh here and there can now everything everywhere freeze. And let’s go where the weather is nice, where the Mangroves are rooted in the mud. Be the bright lurch of ending time and be the fruit and become the rind. It’s not the path of bliss, but the blisters you can list! And let’s go where the weather is nice and where the sky is empty and full. I can hold your hand and I can kiss your cheeks where everything dies and nothing weeps.
5.
Aleister Crowley in the Taco Bell Parking Lot with young punks in a band that become sand beneath his feet. Tear out your tongue, scratch at your eyes, cut off all your ears! Arrange them in a pentagram you can post on Instagram! Where are you going and where are you from? What can save you from what you’ll become? Twist what’s there into his stare, what will come when you eat their cum? What great growth can spring from you? Out of the mirror you will yourself! And will you shine so bright? Know this first and fill your thirst! So…777 equals 21 that is the age you found another chosen one. Not you, another him, and another place you’ve always been.
6.
Today is the last day of the rest of your days to be spent so present and there was was a time, there was a ghost (of course), and there will be time. I don’t want to go! I want to stay! I want to spend another day dipping our bodies into the golden hay! So be gentle, be so soft with me when I’m tossed back into this gasp of energy. Melt into it. The lush pretty sidewalk in bloom. The movement continues washed in and out again and pushed into and out of again.You are the uncarved stone. You are the mites inside the forgotten bone. You are the web of mountains laced so high. You are the blood in the wing of every fly. You are a bird stuck between the window panes in the hot rush of spring. Your little feathers are fluttering, pulled into something else out of the pouring rain.
7.
How the flies rise around something that dies as we travel by feeling so high. They are going up and they are coming down and everything goes around and around. Why wait for something that will always come? Fuck it! Let’s have the MOST fun! Grab this breath and we can now make it! And then we will not take it together! What is left by this great death going up and coming down? The worms in the dirt, the fish in the tide…let’s sit back, wait for the ride! Why wait for something that will always come? Fuck it! Let’s have the MOST fun! Grab this breath and we can now make it! And then we will not take it together! Together how? Together now! And the only light you’ll see is from our house by the sea where our children laugh merrily. And we can hang out happily and we can hang around.

about

All songs written by Mess
Engineered and mixed by Travis Arterburn at Big Mama's Recording
Mastered by Ryan Schwabe
Artwork and layout by Sam Cruz

credits

released December 22, 2017

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Mess Maryland

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