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about

Everett Deams, displaced in time, attempts to come to terms with the distance that grew between himself and Jane as her artistic and biological infertility drove her into an irreparable depression.

lyrics

When we arrived at a home that was forged out of metaphors
(Go marry a writer to author your masonry)
Spaces as mortar, letters kept pouring in
On the days that you woke up to a breakfast of Sertraline.

Paranoid paragraphs plugging up the postage slot,
Sticking to the sickly stairs and the weight on the welcome mat.
If none were worth reading, at least we milked the wasted ink
Into the wishing well that wished for opacity.
Away!
I thought you might like to stop by,
That is, unless you are previously engaged.
Terra takes patience to tear open her males to see
The girl has been wishing for some kind of shot at autonomy.

But honestly, I never understood your overused ellipses
Elliptical transitions to a quick restatement of what you'd just read.
But honestly, to pick one thing unsaid for free, did you wield your syntactics at me?
You aphrased it all, you picked your diction beautifully.

I found a feminist and a feminine fox
Who fucks for the fun all you could fucking want,
But she charges you hourly, minutely.
The days accumulate into years so quickly.
I found a feminist in a patriarch's flock--
A fox snatching sheep off the street just to eat her.

Walking around your abandoned neighborhood,
Accordingly playing accordion,
A chord gets caught in the mood's modulation.
Things in me your pen would consider, illegally,
Yours and mine.

Will you be there when I need? When I die?

I see in your grip you're awaiting the postman impatiently,
Dew drinking up your face like the water in every christening you've seen.
The methodist method of submerging children...
The baptist has barely put in his feet.

I see on your lips that some salt has been waiting collectedly.
Seems that your hips are tired of swaying abnormally, honestly.

So bathe the writer who wades in the Water
That won't have broke. Coauthors codependently
Drink from the sink fills the Cup full of soil and
Oil is found beneath the dry-boiled stream.

Fox eats the feminist, and the feminist frees the fox
To walk through the wood to the site of the Baptist scene.
The phallic enabler that fed you the Water,
The Methodist method of preaching, the Father
Slicks down your body for christening—
For unknowingly listening to his belittling conditioning.

I found a feminist and a feminine fox
Who fantasizes freely as long as you want,
But she charges you secondly, minutely.
Our legion daily thanks the weak lean-to
We lean to monthly for covering.
Twelve times a year provided motherless certainty.

Where is my doubt?
(It's locked behind the cradle door!)
I found it outside with my bed near my bedside table.
Oh, and are you able?
(Drop your pen into the well we hide beneath the stable!)
Back when the ghosts and girls had got the gout,
I figured up the figure that threw your figure out.

Oh, would you rather the sun were the Father's?
His communist costumes caused selfish and bother.
Your body, rise dripping and glistening.

The River to vapor! Three float in the Water,
With floaters' folly forever, the Mother's
Reluctance announces the clouds found another,
Another use for the Jordan...
Yet another stoned view of the trickling Jordan.

credits

from The Light Brigade EP, released October 14, 2013

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The Light Brigade Little Rock, Arkansas

Somewhere between the inherent, quiet Arkansas isolation and the swelling mass increasingly pressurizing the headspace, The Light Brigade is an experimental/progressive rock band with ties to electronic and avant garde art music. Ryan Gaston, Jonathon Lewis, Landon Turner, and Drake Simmons illuminate the experience of fear and loathing in the American South. ... more

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