The sun has come up, and look! the punks are dancing.

by tomorrow night's

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about

There's a foreign word that means a look shared by two people, with
each wishing the other would start something - they want the same
thing, but neither dares to be daring. And here I thought that
starting wasn't even the hard part. The hard part should be carrying on.



Don't call me left or right, because
I'm not a wing

steering this metal bird during the night,
and when I say I seek direction, don't take
that word to be literally what I mean.

And when they talk about growth, do they
imagine somehow
that the earth will increase itself
in size, to appease us?
And here I thought the sun was coming up, and
making the things around us more clearly visible.

they are boys in borrowed suits
and we are
sitting on a wild creature's back, watching
its shoulders heave.



*mamihlapinatapai

credits

released February 21, 2012

Andrew: bass, pianos, programming, a hundred screaming guitars
Alistair: drums, accordion, voice, a hundred screaming guitars
We started recording in September 2010, and finished in January 2011

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about

tomorrow night's Manchester, UK

andrew: is living just enough for the city (fender guitars, nick's bass, keys and stuff).

alistair: is hiding out in the countryside (voice, guitars, drums and other things).

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Track Name: A history of silence
There's roads round here that don't ever end; there's rights of way lead me astray - no I won't pretend. There's roads round here you couldn't know, and there's roads to wheres where you wouldn't ever go. I wouldn't want you to know them anyway. And I'm not talking about deception, just how things can get me down sometimes. No I'm not talking about a revolution, just how maybe turning round would be a way to get back home again. These towns are full of ghosts and girls from my less talkative days, and some of them still speak to me like they don't see the change in my face. We all hoped they'd sense my different ways; that boy has left the city where his body still remains. But I guess I want you to know about them anyway.
Track Name: Jigsaw
There's roads round here that don't ever end, and there's paths round here - they're pretty near - I promise you they all know just when to bend. And there's rules round here, I break them dear, all on my own. There's floods of tears fill rivers here, and lots of empty ears that just don't want to know. I thought the pieces of my life would jigsaw perfect into place. Pink eyes and blue eyelashes too - I don't know what to do. We dance into the crowd and they, they turn the music loud and you don't hear me speak to you. Next thing I know, I'm asking "so... can I kiss you now?" You smile and laugh; you say I shouldn't ask, and I just crumble. I thought the pieces of my life would jigsaw perfect into place. I'm filled with fear when I get near to kissing you. It's two thousand and five, and try as I might I can't get next to you. And other girls are wonderful at nothing new - at missing out on my love for you. I don't know what all the other boys are to do. It's two thousand and five, and each time I try I come alive.
Track Name: Direction
Oh, it must be nice to know with certainty: will being lost one day somehow be the death of me? We go out dancing every night like there's still nothing wrong. They always turn the chorus down; you can sing along, while you long for direction. Oh, direction, don't let it go to waste - if I found this thing I would love these slow moving days. It's dark outside at five o' clock as you're leaving your work, and it's dark outside at nine the next day - it's okay but it sometimes hurts. And we all sing "oh another day of helping folks who can't be helped". Why don't you get up on your cross - maybe from there you'll see them cope better than you. Don't you see where we're going? We're headed for hell, still praying with that same refrain: Direction, oh direction, oh don't let it go to waste. If I found this thing I could love these slow moving days. Sometimes I sing songs and I don't mean all the words. I write them 'cause they're clever-sounding compared to all what else I have heard. Can I choose to make meaning? If I can I'm not averse - I'll add it to my other weapon: the audacity of hopelessness.
Track Name: Messageboards
I waste my time reading American messageboards, and when I open my eyes they don't tell me anything that I don't already know. I spend too long trying to tell myself that I still care about the people who - well, any other people who aren't you. And, when I close my eyes to sleep, haloed visions approach me. I've not found anything I would die for yet.
Track Name: Manifesto
When you wake up in the morning and you don't know where you're going to, you're exactly where you're meant to be. When you ache with all your knowing and your textbooks tell you nothing, then maybe what you need is me. Diana's been dead for ten years, and yet you still can't seem to care - you've been working here an age and still you're going nowhere. I understand the uselessness of song; the uselessness of life; I understand thinking it's easy is why I have to try it twice, and so I play my game beneath the turning spotlight and the turning tide of faded photographs scattered around my sides. As of this winter I can travel anywhere, and yet I still can't seem to care. You've been getting dressed for days and still you're going nowhere. Maybe when you wake up in the morning and you don't know where you're going to, well that's not such an awful thing. We all sometimes need to be told that if the compass won't resolve then we're exactly where we're meant to be. I'm not saying that it's wrong, sometimes we just get too involved to see the truth that's far too close for focusing.
Track Name: Pink+Blue
There is a thread - a thread that links me to you - and there's a line in the dark which marks the break between two separate beings. And there was the night, and the sky, and the dirt and the streets, and hands we held. You painted your eyes pink and blue - - you still do, when it gets cold. Thinking “I've been with angels a couple of times; I've held hands with saints, once or twice; But those devils will only make you cry - don't tease with possibilities tonight”. I heard that sometimes a thing can exist without proof, but find me a ring if you like that can tie me to you. Bury my heart in a story, commit it to tape, and make it true - I hear that sometimes a thing exists without proof. Because, yes, I've been with angels a couple of times, and I've held hands with saints once or twice, and darling those devils will only make you cry.
Track Name: Over again
Over and over again I tell myself "I don't write these songs. I don't need these songs". Over and over again I tell myself "I don't live in the dark" and "I am not alone". Over and over again I promise myself that I am purposeful.
Track Name: The other side of the world
I'll not be hunched against the weather - I'll not be hunched against it whether or not your voice is in my head. Does forgetting work for getting better? Is forgetting just forever getting lost, or is forever a-already lost, or is it getting better? A mighty crash of greetings from the other side of the world - I'm in love with you a lot, like I said I was. I'm in love with you, though the weather spins me sideways. Good morning darling, though I guess you mayn't be awake just yet. Today I breathed pure marble air; I'm still not sure that it was there. Confusion's just the brain disguising things you don't want to be true, do you? A mighty crash of ocean waves begs me now please to be brave, and to think what I'm trying to say with all this wordplay.
Track Name: Pale clouds
Pale clouds - it's my first morning in Greece, and I'm thinking of your pale eyes. My brother sighs and then regrets what he's done - even a perfect host can't promise the sun. I sleep through all the afternoons; the time gap will be done with soon, and books and dreams can bring me home to you. This letter is an elevator ride for the tongue tied; on the inside I know what I want to say, but my face remains ashen. Can't these pale clouds carry me away?
Track Name: Adventure
I am a troubled, hopeful soul - ny notes will bend but cannot fold. They wait forever behind blushes, for any chance to betray my troubled, hopeful tongue with words I barely dare to touch. They beg for chances to whisper I-love-yous, then they leave me speechless, with an empty head once more. I tell them "I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want adventure in the great wide anywhere". I made a promise to myself; I make one now to you as well. It's hard to write when you're really in love, but I'll try and tell enough. It's never really quite enough until it all becomes too much - for weeks on end my fingers never shut up, and then they leave me reachless, and drop things to the floor. They tell me "Don't want adventure in the great wide somewhere. We want adventure in the great wide somewhere else". They never shut up. It's hard to write when you're in love, because it's tough to tell tall tales about the kinds of pleasures that feel best when they're secrets. When I try to write it down my smile it looks just like a frown because it's a limited vocabulary that I dare to put on show, so my words all lie below where I want them to go, and my sentiment falls short of the places it ought to know.
Track Name: No name
Hello to my former self, I'm sorry I quit so easy. If I promise to go back will you come back with me? Note to my former self: it's easy.