1. |
Coax
03:00
|
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|
Pale gods at your shore
kissing corners, rebranding deserts.
Cold pressure at your temples and your hips;
I've brought shiny things like your own
trophy skin.
Just trust my cataracts,
they'll overthrow your hollow heels.
And dancing
your engine burns -
sewing up your hollow heels,
your hallowed ground.
Inebriated, the milk has shown
straddling your lines.
Blonde strands,
quotidian,
ambassadors define.
Oh, my sweet colony
standing on your toes.
Lure your pillar knees,
crumble on top of me -
spread.
We sweat the land,
drain these virgin shores.
With loosed belts at the signing over,
shivering with boredom.
With loosed belts at the signing over,
staring down off the edge
of a bridge.
Stare down.
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2. |
||||
|
Would you be the same if this grip starts to fade?
When you're laid bare and north isn't so clear?
Because there's a fever in the arctic circle,
so I'll lock myself inside
hunched over like an upside down cadaver.
There's this constant howl
ballooning at the mercy of
these watchdogs
announcing soma, prophetic infection.
We're spinning in the mud.
So let the northern lights disappear us.
Backseat interim,
this isn't what it was.
Just breathing it in.
Doctor, we've not got much time -
this isn't what it was.
Melting to a mold.
Bankrupted.
The courier's lost,
outrunning frostbite.
Their rations can't reach me anymore.
Sweating by the junkyard fire.
Watched the birches burning,
ignited on their own.
Felt the yellow surging in.
I kept my doors closed.
Backseat interim,
this isn't what it was.
Just breathing it in.
Doctor, we've not got much time -
this isn't what it was.
Melting to a mold -
and it won't separate.
Would you be the same if this grip starts to fade?
When you're laid bare and north isn't so clear?
Because there's a fever in the arctic circle,
so I'll lock us both inside
hunched over like upside down cadavers.
Hang like upside down cadavers.
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3. |
Tethered
02:53
|
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|
awayed
engine aimed toward thieves
tying knots
pulling string taut
backs turned
through the mirror
sweet talk
apostle nestled on the schism
denied without question
the ties are unraveling
the aftermath is fastening
relayed to sprawl
testing sinews at both ends
we’re waiting out this parallax
letterpress leaving a trail
a dotted arrow pointed both ways
yeah, you saw it
god, I’m so ugly and pixelated
phasing
in this dated machine
spacing dilettante
tease it
pull it apart
invite inversions
to these wooden heirlooms
tornado mattress
beyond repair
|
||||
4. |
30 Second Song
00:32
|
|||
|
I shouldn't have done that
|
||||
5. |
Phil and Phyllis Philler
02:30
|
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|
installed like a butterfly
she's at home knitting three parachutes on her own
green spots where the claim has been absorbed
she's barely breathing down under his compulsive blanket throes
I wanna hold your hand
burn your new name in my land
I wanna wear my head
I can't see your hands underneath the table
breathing and fanning arthritic grip
just grinding bones
just grinding bones
I can't see your name under my umbrella
breathing, exhausting arthritic grip
but we stay here
living in this double-barrel fear
shoebox companion,
pinching nerves
I'm breaking down the path we'll tread
to annex a threat that's forgotten
she holds her breath like it's rotten
and locks our door
pretend our story isn't
chambered
stolen
broken
misnomered
you can't believe we're under the gun's reprieve
just grinding bones
a man just wants a home
|
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6. |
Swing Flesh
03:05
|
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|
Betamax magnet
the screen warps with your pelvis
in even tempered waves
fermented lucid, pregnant dreams
of holding hands with a cannibal
reformat reach
pressing and moaning
they're in our insides
and it tastes like propulsion
their trails are knotting and knotting
amounting to something
they play with their hems
ask if I'd like to sing along
hey, leather insides
I can't see past today
toe the tine - throw
oh, I'm swimming alone
show me the antidote
they keep telling us we want more and more
but mother is calling us home
our eyes recreate what they replay
and I've seen things that your tendons
could never replace
they're in our insides
yeah, I wanna sing along
sing along
toe the line
and we'll wake up on whatever side
|
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Lower Automation Illinois
Noise-adjacent mathpunk from Illinois.
Lower Automation recommends:
The Banality of Menu
by Glass noose
You might have seen Tristan fill in on drums with us, but when he's not coming in clutch for us, Tristan makes music that is sometimes mathy, sometimes mellow, and always incredible.
go to album
We've played a few stages with WWWK, Highly recommended for people that are into proggy metal with weird time signatures
go to albumIf you like Lower Automation, you may also like:
An Exercise In Discontent
by Under the Pier
supported by 14 fans who also own “Shoebox Companion”
No humans involved, except for the consequences.
go to album
supported by 13 fans who also own “Shoebox Companion”
The Molten Larva is one of, if not THE MOST, pissed off track(s) I've ever heard thus far..
go to album
Zasługuję na istnienie
by Melisa
Polish trio Melisa combine elements of noise rock, grindcore, mathcore, and sludge with lyrics that balance between poetic and political.
go to album
Before The Day Has Gone
by Bellini
Ten years may have passed since the last Bellini record, but the math rock group sound as fierce as ever.
go to album
