These are the dreams of an old man...
the dreams of an old man.
This jaw is dust; dust and chalk,
falling off.
They drain my memory from its catheter bag
every night.
This antiseptic hallway gleams
with instruments like insects -
metallic skin shining,
eating my stomach lining.
I've been dreaming of horses
breathing wraiths of foul steam.
And the man with his face in mesh
saying what you pawn, you must redeem.
Redeem what?
What, I said?
Redeem what?
What do you want me to do,
Now that it's gotten so cold?
My shirt is thin, there's things on my skin,
and I'm sucking in mold.
What do you want me to do?
I've pissed on every shore.
The years have galloped far away,
and I'm shut behind this door.
Fuck this nurse with his fetish face,
and his scalpel, and insect shield.
The smell of settled rain over hills:
the only wisdom I've had revealed.
But these are the dreams of an old man...
And this brain is lymph and sand.
And when I'm ready to go,
I'll take his cold, gloved hand.
And when you're ready to go,
Would you take my hand?
If you've still got a gas station jacket hanging in your closet, you may love the '90s Olympia punk churn of Soggy Creep. Bandcamp Album of the Day Feb 10, 2017
Beautifully moody art rock from Virginia that recalls the dark glory of bands like Echo & the Bunnymen and Psychedelic Furs. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 18, 2020