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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Spring 2017 Demo, Gauze Children Vs. The World, Road To Nothingdome - Single, 44 Seasons - Single, Perhaps We Were Swinging: Collected Unreleased Demos Vol. III, A Life In Finer Clothing: Collected Unreleased Demos Vol. II, Ghosts Of A Different Dream: Collected Unreleased Demos Vol. I, The Complete Together Sensation (Demos), and 61 more.
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Black Coat
04:58
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There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
And it covers up the shadows that are hiding on the wall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
Two doors down from the angels’ bedrooms where no light shines in at all
Yeah they’re sleeping, bleeding, scheming, breeding, but never dreaming
Of a better way escaping all the prodigals they’re painting
No more signs of simplistic redemption
This is war and chaos theory theologians never mention
With faces glued to text so ancient they never stick
As they’re peeling off of things from which they will never admit
I do not believe in benevolence, I never found its relevance
Excuses for transcendence reflect questionable intelligence
The art of high horse riding is blinding in the light
Of a self-righteous pariah never caught inside a plight
I hear voices, noises that evaluate my choices
What’s a boy without a boisterous ego lacking in his coitus?
But it’s simple: brittle as a bitter sleeping pillar
Walls coaxed with a coat of concrete damned to never reach fulfillment
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
And it covers up the shadows that are hiding on the wall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
Right above the black boots muddied by the weather of the fall
Yeah they’re sitting, idle shitty stitching in the breaching
Of the soles so slightly worn but beat enough to stop your wearing
No more chance to dance off the alabaster balustrade
Balancing a chalice off a rapid blasting Batarang
Amassed in a glass case rocks would never break through
When lies tread crooked waters it is hard to find the straight truth
In a vintage aircraft boneyard lies a record player tone arm
Never put to use but laid to rest by haters who berate art
A stoned teen who never learned Giger appreciation
Will get his giggles out on Cartoon Network animation
I feel sickly, succumbing to the Grey Man way of living
Like an infant screaming teething I am angry, I am seething
Could this be the point of the divinest realization?
And if so I bid you everyone my finest salutations
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
And it covers up the shadows that are hiding on the wall
This was something now it’s nothing
And it’s budding slutty touching
Ruddy sucking at the blood we spill
Like cutting funky drumming
From a cruddy record study
Dumping trumpet loops to gullies
Dummies loving claiming running
But they’re gluttons, fucking trust me
Plush is stuffed inside your tummies
It’s abundantly disgusting
In a rush of pumping scum into
Unlucky ugly ducklings
Chumps are summoning their plumbing
Like a trumped Augustus coming
To a numbing sense of wonderment
And shutting off his humming
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
There’s a black coat hanging in the hall
And it covers up the shadows that are hiding on the wall
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L. Mounts Chicago, Illinois
Singer of songs. Abstainer of substances. Bringer of plagues.
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