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Orchard EP

by The Monologue Bombs

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Son of a first shifter You were born to run in place Or lean on your bike outside the Dairy View Where the graduates and wastrels shotgun in their cars Recover from work is all they seem to do But it beams down from the towers So you patch it straight into your veins: 30,000 watts of expectant fantasy You hear the rumbles and the backfires Echo down seventy-one Disciples spreading the gospel of revelry And these songs that sear your senses As you're floating past the houses Stripped of their defenses And these moments momentous, leave you shaken and breathless It's a sky of sparks from Brookpark to Story Road You're blessed & cursed & catered to You second guess & troubleshoot As if you've known regret But your best mistakes still lay ahead Does she march with the percussion Or slouch in some arcade You pedal miles to find out every night Someone to cool the fits and fevers Or just to hold your hand Someone to run with you when you run for your life In the land of the losing season It's just something that you gotta go through Hear the cheering fade from the bleachers to the bars Maybe the valley's got it in for you Like the kids in detention say Bracing for the oncoming death of the heart But just dial up your station Arms out and fairly racing Towards a holy hallucination And these moments momentous, leave you shaken and breathless It's a sky of sparks from MacBeth to Orchard Road Blessed and cursed and catered to You second guess & troubleshoot Like you're so tight with regret But your best mistakes still lay ahead
Hands still stained with newsprint Ill-met in hand-me downs The flats all rolled out faceless As the upheaval came around Shoulder still aching with a phantom weight Hot visible breath in the cold The curve of the denim, the stretch of the neck An innocence that just won't hold As I fall, no navigation Plummet through the atmosphere Controls go dark with the north star O David, why'd you leave me here So Gordon and the boys join me in hiding With lots of red-eyed blues to spare Controlled fires licking oxygen Aching to spread in the air One morning I thought the friction broke me There was no one I could tell about that Staring through the steam in the mirror Couldn't tell what was staring back As I fall, no navigation Crashing through the sheets of grey Dead silence on the intercom O David, why'd you drift away You should've been there, your left hand steady Talked me down from the thundering skies All these nights of full-blown May Day Pulling ripcords and closing my eyes Jackie of the powder blue shadows Flicks a finger through the shimmering waves Gordon laughs as my guts get knotted He says I'm too far gone to save Some nights I can still smell the chlorine Still feel that retinal burn Still hear the staccato distress signals Floating out; they're not returned
Lana didn't need saving, but the good son tried just the same Quixote on a ten-speed, running the tracks of toy trains When the money started pouring, couldn't tell who was feeding who a line Yeah but Lana showed the good son what really makes the trains run on time And how the North Shore winds did moan O'er all the mattresses out on loan Such an enterprising flair A little trick they picked up somewhere Lee was the first to smoke, she masked her Salems with some Rose Noire One night I tried to save her, cracking wise in some sophomore's yard She said “I feel so damn rounded, but the boys like me to keep it nice and flat” She made some sick wet sounds by the bushes and came limping back And how the moon rose bloody in the sky How her smile could not reach her eyes Steady hand out for display A little trick she picked up along the way Invest in the surfaces Learn to equivocate before you learn to kiss What's upright gets upended Time of your life, huh, kid Things were different after that, I got some cliffs notes and a thrift store vest Started rotating the father figures, kept the poetics close the the chest I got some sodium and sugar to bury my synapses alive Needed saving more than ever, but it'd be years before I'd even try Cause the dream just couldn't be the same Glitter washed out in the rain So I traded it away A little trick I picked up No the dream'll never be the same Once it got so soiled and stained How we give ourselves away A little trick we pick up along the way
The Clamors 04:31
I shuffle out for a cigarette Why pretend to sleep Bless a stove light & a radio For the vigil that I keep Son, you never gave me a reason To sigh or to despair Never came home drunk or even late Still I'm deep in smoke and prayer Cause I know you can hear the clamors Deep inside, a frightful sound Just like your mama can hear them Lord what am I passing down David left by the time you hit thirteen We might a dodged a bullet there He would've kept you from your canvas Would've made you cut your hair But I let you take out the Buick To meet your friends, the wraiths and clowns And I took out that second mortgage So you could leave this brick wall town And maybe leave behind the clamors Such a gray, defeated sound Like the pull of one more Winston I hope I didn't pass it down Oh bring some noise Oh lift your sounds Oh raise your voice Go drown 'em out Oh bring some noise Oh lift your sounds My serious boy Go drown 'em out By the city of the burnt river Something beat down fills the air But our lungs keep sucking it inside Makes a body suspect and scared But you walk in just before curfew And tell me how the rag tags are By the glow of the buzzing stove light I muss your hair and thank the stars
Lorain Road, how it could lay us low We'd race sundown through the valley Stars above, an infinite scroll And we'd scream into the median As Elijah made his dad's car lunge and swerve With dark lands & strange ways & the head on the door Moaning back who we were, we were Tripped-up and tangled under gossamer skies Every God-forsaken Friday night The sorrow gets synthesized On a black-streaked sugar high Beads clicking under stadium lights Mock processions, autumnal rites Ann says, “hold yourself tight if no one else will-- And no one else will” So we'd roost in some pavilion until curfew came Duck away from the cops and sway in the rain And swear on the Necronomicon that come commencement day We would commence to get away Tripped-up and tangled under gossamer skies Every soul-sucking Saturday night The sorrow gets synthesized On a black-streaked sugar high Faces pale and burning, thrust up into the falling snow Shivering vandals, too nestled to know Smoking cloves on the swing sets, jumping hedges through the back roads Oblivious to the oncoming cold It's a cold more persistent than any on the North Coast Shot of Elijah in a jeep, top down Newly wed and crunching numbers out in Portland town A clip of Ann out in Boston clowning with her baby girl Two distant worlds On the roof of my apartment here on Lorain Road I'm drinking with my tape deck as down below Death kids start shuffling toward the promenade I toast them all as the sun slips away Tripped-up and tangled under gossamer skies Just rehearsal for the rest of our lives And the black-streaked sugar high Fades a little every Sunday night Fading out of earshot and sight


released August 28, 2020

Written by Scott Phillips
Produced and mixed by Matt Douglas at The Shed
Mastered by Greg Elkins at Pershing Hill Sound
Released by Potluck Foundation


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The Monologue Bombs Raleigh, North Carolina

Solo music project of Scott David Phillips. Raleigh, North Carolina.

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