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The Candleman

by The Earth and I

/
1.
2.
In the harbor, the ship had turned to stone. They watched from the Belfry, long bones, and cold and unsound, their skin drawn tight over emaciated forms. When seconds turned to minutes turned to hours turned to days, the silence overcame the panic. In the aftermath, there’s nothing left to say of fear and doubt, the genuine despair, a symptom of an eternity. With a toothless grin, an old god gave me his name. But I laughed in his face, ‘cause it sounded all the same, his skin drawn tight as a man whose time has passed. When seconds turned to minutes turned to hours turned to days, the silence overcame the panic. In the aftermath, there’s nothing left to say of fear and doubt, the genuine despair. They huddled by the church bells, stayed mute amid the frost. Fifty of them starved and slept to feed the fifteen more. When seconds turned to minutes turned to hours turned to days, the silence overcame the panic. In the aftermath, there’s nothing left to say of fear and doubt, the genuine despair. The ship that would take them had brought them here before. We patiently waited in absence of rapport. It swallowed them up just as they’d been birthed. We patiently waited to make anew the Earth.
3.
Hung up on what I’ve done, and so I’ve erased me from all history, consigned to this space from which I can’t escape. I’ve made this bed where I wait, hunted for bloodlust towards a world turned to dust, for which I am accused, a fucking recluse. All I have are unseeing eyes. Faces face each other inside this rusted locket. Desperate to feel it again, (She’s out there, she’s out there.) with each memory I invent. (Replay it, replay it.) I’ve been bound by each little frame, every death condemned to the same expiration date. Iridescent glow, faint Candlelight through the Curtain, thin and worn, keeps me awake at night. Iridescent glow, faint Candlelight through the Curtain, thin and worn, keeps me awake at night. Pull the blanket over my eyes. Tightly spun, woven through the fragile memories of leaving the world behind, we’ve become the severed threads of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray. Lock the doors; I’ve swallowed the Key. They are not men, but wolves who burn on less sacred cleansing ground, like dust. The midnight sun shines through the drapery, tightly drawn, I’m drawn to it: A burning vagrant in the desert haze, who wanders in the sun, lost. Measure me. I am not the answer to your dreams. Measure me: Imperfect soul, imperfect body, a perfect sacrifice for a fool. Lost with no way out, replace this apathy. With the stoic sorrow of an acquiescent heart, I wait, as a moth, drawn to the flame, a soul, bound to the grave. This bed that I have made is a coffin. You cannot mend a heart if it hasn’t been broken, if it hasn’t been broken. Countless tales interred below the sand persist as solemn souvenirs of every frame you’ve tried to mend with faulty tools in hand. I’ve been bound by each little frame, every death condemned to the same expiration date. Tightly spun, woven through the fragile memories of leaving the world behind, we’ve become the severed threads of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray.
4.
She awoke to the acrid smoke, a stringent sting in her throat. As she shed the stupor of sleep, through the trees, she could see the caustic embers stroke the sky. She turned to the king, who observed everything. She discerned his countenance to have been evident of every thought he’d ever hide. The trees, adorned in the dress they couldn’t think to contest, succumbed to turning to dust. The cinders swallowed them up. From them, undressed of the fire, she fashioned castle walls and spires. And hid herself in the halls from the world and its faults. Waiting in your tower for your prince to come, anyone to save you from every thought you’ve ever thought, all endeavors entertained. Why play the damsel if you can save yourself? There’s a world outside I know you’re dying to see. (It never stops, never stops, ’til you take a stand for what you believe in.) She awoke to the static skies, a scene she sought to excise from the hollows of her head, and assign in its stead, an anesthetic vacancy. Had he forgotten her face, outside the flawless little frames? Had she remembered the forest, the ash, or the flames? Waiting in your castle for your king to come, but he never does. Why play the damsel if you can save yourself? There’s a world outside I know you’re dying to see. (It never stops, never stops, ’til you take a stand for what you believe in.) And if you wanted something more, all you had to do was ask. And now I’ll never know, if I’ll see you again. And if you wanted something more, all you had to do was ask. But now I’ll never know if you burn the forest down, ’cause no one seems to care. Do we make a sound if the forest isn’t there? Why play the damsel if you can save yourself? There’s a world outside I know you’re dying to see. (It never stops, never stops, ’til you take a stand for what you believe in.)
5.
Sugar High 04:06
Rest in the waters, gold at their peak. Where are safer havens? Find a place to sleep and dream of a new wave to sweep us all away. Believe in a new day when we are what we say. Rest here beside me, warm and at peace. Wash clean your psyche, and fall back to sleep. Wake to a new sound, foreign and bizarre. Deny the world no longer. This is what we are. We are. Run in the warm wind. Play in the sea. Smile while you still can. Return to reverie. Reverie.
6.
I stand before the most cloudy of waters. I survey the scene with reserved apprehension. There’s something not right here, like I’ve been here before. It’s strangely familiar. It’s almost uncomfortably comfortable. Perhaps it will be fine to feel at home here, hands immersed in oceans without floors, tracing glass with absent fingertips. One kiss separates us from our latency. Words collide, repeat, subside, give way to better things. The water recedes and all that she reads is torn away, away. Perhaps it will be fine to feel at home here, hands immersed in oceans without floors. With every shortened breath, I explore the further depths, reaching out towards the furthest shores. A heart is not a fragile thing, to break a heart is not an easy thing. Through your silver tears, I will comfort you, take you by the hand, lead you home as best I can. As the days wear thin, under cloudy skies, we will stretch them out, fill them up as best as we know how. When the last train home lets its whistle blow, You’ll be left behind to combat the rising tide. Through your silver tears, I will comfort you, chase away your fears, lead you home through the hollow deluge.
7.
Hold the blades beneath a tongue, erratic yet precise, profoundly capable. I have no patience for facades, nor tolerance of gods who think themselves immune to penance, to karma. I saw everything crumble right before your eyes, confessing to anguish no one could reverse. Order subsides below the static skies, confining a body, desperate for the Earth. Life should never be finite, structured and designed, this path a procession for a futile wake. I sought to guide you out of lands divine, so carelessly leading demons to the lake. No, I reach up to the sun where the stars used to shine. Are we drawn to the flame though we know it will set us ablaze? You’ve been drifting through forests, passive as the trees, submersed in illusions, fashioned through defense. I am the wolf who stalks the shifting breeze And the ritual hunt, through madness, I commence. You stood silently staring out at the debris, as the monarch of fable, future cast in doubt. Though you were fragile, through the atrophy, The faintest of smiles danced upon your mouth. Now that I know you wanted more… now that I know, I won’t see you again. No, I reach up to the sun where the stars used to shine. Are we drawn to the flame though we know it will set us ablaze? You were the constant, the anchor. You were the shadow of her. I saw her life in your smile. This is the path she would choose.

about

Four years is a long time for a band to work on music, but it’s even longer for an environmental non-profit organization. Emphasis on non-profit. Despite a handful of setbacks and the advice of several financial consultants, we actually made a record. Thank you for giving it an honest listen.
–The Earth and I

credits

released November 3, 2017

Vocals – Kendyle Paige
Bass / Vocals – Nick Petromilli
Guitar / Vocals – Daniel Siew
Guitar – Liam Zintz-Kunkel
Drums – Suss Mackenzie

Produced by The Earth and I
Mixed and Mastered by Mike Watts at VuDu Studios
Drums and Vocals Recorded and Engineered by Shane Stanton at Architekt Music, Boonton, NJ
Guitars Recorded and Engineered by Daniel Siew

All music written by The Earth and I
Lyrics written by Daniel Siew and Adam Susskind

Artwork by Daniel Siew

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