Put Your Ghost to Rest
Buried by the Buzzzz
Split the Country, Split the Street
Make the Clocks Move
Travelling the Eu
Circle Gets the Square
Split the Country, Split the StreetsClick on song title for lyrics
01. Cotton Crush
02. Afterparty
03. No Time Flat
04. Keep Ringing Your Bell
05. No One Else's Problem
06. Buried By The Buzz
07. Haircut
08. Probably
09. Alabama Acres
10. Yr Damned Ol' Dad
11. The Shift Change Splits The Streets
12. You Are The Daybreak
13. Lord, I Know We Don't Talk
Album Info
Released by Triple Crown Records - May 11, 2005
Recorded over nine days in November and December 2004 at Headgear Studios, Brooklyn, New York and 80-20 Studios (RIP), Queens, New York.
Produced by Chris Bracco, Mike Skinner & Kevin Devine.
Engineered by Dan Long
Tracks 1-3, 5-8, 10-12 mixed by Chris Fasulo at Five Towns College, Dix Hills, New York.
Tracks 4, 9, 13 mixed by Dan Long at Headgear Studios.
Mastered by Will Quinnell at Sterling Sound.
Photography by Nina Andersson.
Layout design by Chris Bracco & Kevin Devine.
Management: John Mathiason
Legal: Steven Nearenberg
A&R: Mike Dubin
Jesse Lacey appears courtesy of Interscope Records.
All songs written by Kevin Devin, © 2005 Wolf's Mouth Music/BMI
THE GODDAMN BAND Amy Bracco - Pianos & keyboards; vocals on tracks 6, 7 & 8.
Chris Bracco - Bass on tracks 1-4 and 6-10, electric guitar on track 7, scream choir on track 1, claps on trakcs 3 & 5, party track on track 5, snaps on track 8.
Carey Brandenburg - Vocals on track 7.
Kevin Devine - Vocals, acoustic & electric guitars; bass on tracks 5 & 11, glockenspiel on track 11, claps on tracks 3 & 5, scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5, snaps on track 8.
Michael Iadarola - Scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5.
Kevin Kolankowski - Inspirado, all tracks.
Jesse Lacey - Vocals on tracks 1 & 2, scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5.
Dan Long - Scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5, claps on tracks 3 & 5, snaps on track 8.
Mike Robertson - Electric guitar on tracks 2, 5 & 8, scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5
Mike Skinner - Drums & percussion; piano on track 12, glockenspiel on track 2, scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5, claps on tracks 3 & 5, snaps on track 8.
Russel Smith - Electric guitar on track 7.
Margaret White - Cello, viola, and violin; scream choir on track 1, party track on track 5.
I don't have the right words to properly thank everyone who gave so selflessly to make this. The same goes for my wonderful family and my firends for their love and support. So I'll just say thank you and hope it does the job. And thank you, too.
Lyrics
01. Cotton Crush
The bricks get laid,
and they get torn up,
and laid again,
but the bricks always get torn up again.
Your friends won't wait,
so don't believe that shit,
when they say they'll wait.
Trust me; your friends will not wait for you.
Then, you'll be stoned in some park,
just nodding your head and pinching your arms,
when a girl walks along.
She's humming your song,
with your t-shirt on.
That's when you're done.
There's a cotton crush
down in the southern states.
But back up here, man, we've got
so much thread and space
to waste, waste, waste.
There's a microphone
picking every word up
and it shuts itself off
when it's sure that's its heard enough.
The quiet can scrape
all the calm from your bones,
but maybe it should.
Maybe we need to be hollowed
to get up and grow,
and stop fucking around;
to kick off our braces and start straightening out.
Let's sift through the static
to find a simpler sound
than the shit that's clouding our heads now.
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02. Afterparty
The afterparty's rockin', girl,
and everybody's dancing for you,
but you're just drinking all my Ballantine
and laughing while your lips turn blue.
Your friends are all uptight
and everybody's in an awkward mood,
so you keep drinking all my Ballantine
and laughing while your lips turn blue.
I'm not really planning on coming back;
I thought I told you that.
I guess I dreamt I told you that.
The streets are slow and silent
and the backyard is a beat parade.
So, I'm just sweeping up the garbage
while I listen to the songs you play,
where everybody's trying but they
just can't get it straight.
So, I'm just sweeping up the garbage
while I whistle all the songs you play.
I keep changing my mind all the time;
I hope you think that that's alright.
Yeah, I hope you tell me that that's all right.
So, I'm just slurring in the shade
when the daylight breaks,
and you and me have got it made.
Yeah, I think you and me have got it made.
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03. No Time Flat
Your skin's in my mouth,
but I'm thinkin' about
thousands of things
That don't got your name.
So, I'm distant and weird;
we stop and you're all ears.
But how can I say,
"I've just been thinking how it's harder every year
to find excuses that'll keep me in the clear;
the arbitrary lines I impress in the sand,
the proof that piles in my trash can
while the skin on my hands is looking older every day.
The lies I've told have turned to leather on my face.
The love I've lost has turned to needles in my heart.
But I'm to blame for all the bad parts.
They're the choices I've made, hey hey."
That's when I turn my face away,
and I watch the debates. Now, I can't see see straight
Take abortion away, and both sides are just the same,
so I'm not sure why I vote,
'cuz I just don't know
what difference it makes.
It seems to me we get the same shit from them both.
Reform don't work; I think it's time we tried revolt,
but I don't got the guts to jump up and go first,
so I just shout until my throat hurts,
and I curse and I curse
at what we fucked up in Iraq.
You say support the troops; I do.
I want them all brought back,
and every building that you bombed raised from the ground.
And pull your contractors the fuck out.
If you really go and reinstate the draft,
you'll straight away just split the country straight in half,
so try arresting everyone who sends their draft cards back.
I'll be returning mine in no time flat.
In a sense we're the same,
struggling to save face.
It's a question of scope:
how far you're willing to go
to make rights of your wrongs,
despite the risk involved.
It's a question of faith,
'cuz if we wait until we've all been burned to ash
to tell the truth about the shit buried in our past,
we'll split a taxi to that firepit way down south.
So, let's rise up and open our mouths.
'Cuz you remind me that it's harder every year
to find excuses that'll keep me in the clear;
the arbitrary lines I impress in the sand,
the proof that piles in my trash can.
And if you really go and reinstate the draft,
you'll straight away just split the country straight in half,
so try arresting everyone who sends their draft cards back.
I'll be returning mine in no time flat.
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04. Keep Ringing Your Bell
I'm counting out dollars while I limp to your brownstone.
I can just barely cover what I need to get back home.
I know we're allowed indiscretions in our lives,
but I've been making mine count every night for a while.
I keep delting your number and name from my cell phone,
but I call every day; that's as far as my act goes.
What you have helps me turn down the noise that I make,
but when it stops it just poke me and keeps me awake.
My friends always warned about living clichés,
but my friends aren't there when I meet you these days.
I count people and street signs from the back of your car
and then skip back excited to wherever they are.
I take risks in the stall while they talk by the bar.
I won't go back outside 'til my memory starts
erasing itself into something less brutal,
some beautiful bullshit I pretend to belong to.
So, as long as the trush tucks itself into bed,
and the beat of my heart and the heat of my breath
keep me hopeful and distant and proud of myself,
I'll keep ringing your bell every night around twelve.
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05. No One Else's Problem
I was consumed with proving you were a liar.
But what good would that do?
We both know the truth;
we were there and we lived it.
But then we kept rewriting and revising it.
Rehashing and repeating
it was bad for us both.
I was passive aggressive--I'm sorry,
I was anxious to let it all go.
You're no one else's problem but you sure are mine.
You're no one else's problem but you sure are mine.
So many words and they all burn like blood on my tongue;
so many songs and I hate singing every one.
I worry that I may never be satisfied. I try and try and try,
but it's there in the front of my mind:
bodies rotting in water into mixtures of color that blur all the time.
You're no one else's problem but you sure are mine.
You're no one else's problem but you sure are mine.
You're no one else's problem but you sure are,
yeah, you sure are mine.
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06. Buried by the Buzz
I got a sweet tooth
sunk in a soft spot
that busts my jaw loose
and makes my mouth rot.
I caught a bad break,
the same one you caught,
that turned your hair white
and choked your breath off.
I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.
I found gossip in the ivy that's been swallowing my house,
And I found bones in the foundation that I'm just picking out now.
So I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.
I've got a fistful of shattered seashells
that scream like soldiers stuck down an oil well.
I saw a bad sign lit up like Broadway,
and I watched my head spin, and I heard my voice shake,
"I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb;
"I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb."
I found trouble in the ghost town I've been building with my hands,
but I found comfort in the snowstorm that I've been piling on my past.
So I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.
So I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.
I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.
I see symptoms of a sickness in every stranger on the street,
and I see danger in the distance speeding straight for you and me.
So I'm buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.
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07. Haircut
I saw your haircut in a storefront:
the choppy sides and perfect bangs.
I loved the way it framed the model's cheekbones
and the blank expression on her face.
So I went inside and tried to buy it,
but I got told, "It's not far sale."
I got embarassed and I decked the sales clerk.
I stole the wig and ran like hell.
So I figured I would come and show you,
and I kept running towards your house.
Then I remembered I don't know your address,
at least not the place you sleep at now.
So I hurried home to get collected,
to let the red flush from my face.
I took out my notebook and I sketched you smiling;
I like to look at you that way.
Then, I put your haircut in my closet,
next to the t-shirts and those cards you sent.
I turned my lights out and I sunk in slowly,
counting sheep and breathing hard again.
When it comes it's way too quickly,
and it busts apart the faith I've grown.
See, I can't stop myself from hurting you,
so I guess I won't.
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08. Probably
You probably can't stand your glasses,
but you probably need them to read.
You probably waste all your downtime,
and you probably don't get much sleep
You probably don't like the movies,
but you probably go anyway.
You probably fight with your mother a lot
when it feels like there's nothing to say.
You probably don't care for punk rock,
but you probably love "Crooked Rain."
And you probably don't talk to strangers like me,
but you wish we'd talk to you just the time.
So I should probably say something to you,
but I'd probably ruin it then.
It's best for us both if I keep my mouth shut
and just stay on my side of the train.
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09. Alabama Acres
So there's hundreds of auburn Alabama acres,
with rows of red roofs over warm farmer's daughters
who've got no intention of inviting me in.
Space shines all above me so I settle myself under it.
When I wake up, I'm back in my crowed city apartment,
with some random men doing work off in the kitchen.
They're stacking mattresses up now from the ceiling down to the floor.
My father's sick in the hallway.
I hear him whistling under door.
I rush to lift him, but you all know I'm weak,
and you know that he's heavy.
There's no blood in his cheeks,
but he's smiling straight at me.
I ask the thickest of the workers,
"Would you please come and help me out?"
He comes ambling over and says,
"Sir, I love how your whistling sounds."
So now we drag him through the kitchen to the living room
and down on the carpet.
He says, "Son, I'm embarrassed,
but the sides of my head hurt.
I just know that I'm tired and I could surely use some rest."
I tear a mattress down for him and I say,
"Here Dad. Sleep some on this."
I wake for real, and it's over.
I'm alone in the acres,
and my dad is still dead.
So if you're underneath one of those rooftops,
look out your window and invite me on in,
'cuz it's cold and I'm lonely,
and I could sure use a friend.
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10. Yr Damned Ol' Dad
We're going out tonight my son,
so bring your flask and bring your cross and bring your gun.
I've been borrowin' lots of cash,
so you won't be needing none.
Just wear your good shoes,
'cuz we're going out, my son.
I got a car loaded up with gas and parked right outside.
I got a city map and a mission in my mind.
I just need someone riding with me, a brother to my right
to keep me company in that big old car outside.
'Cuz I don't wanna think about the world right now.
I wanna go from bar to bar and wash the taste clean out.
And I wanna feel the way I felt when we were kids messin' around
before I thought about the world like I do now.
But don't go feelin' all stuck and shamed for your damned ol' dad,
'cuz I've seen troubles that could kill ten stronger men.
It's just that all this weight from la-la-livin's
been catchin' fire in my hands.
Well, fuck this town, son. I wanna make 'em crawl again.
Tell your lady not to leave on that light.
Tell her not to sit up worryin' all goddamn night.
But if she's awake when you crawl home,
you just shut your mouth and smile nice.
Tell her, "Baby, I'm tired. Can't we please turn off those lights?"
You say, "Baby, I'm tired and I just wanna shut off all those lights."
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11. The Shift Change Splits The Streets
I'm pushing pins through the pavement.
I'm adding days to the week.
I feel the city sidewalk shake beneath me
while everyone sleeps.
I'm spiking Punch & Judy sendoffs
with silver dollars I stole
from Michael's dresser somewhere back in Brooklyn
while he was out digging holes.
I wrote the horse you rode in on a letter
to keep the focus off me, and make it stay there,
to keep you guessing whil the shift change splits the streets,
but I still can't sleep.
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12. You Are The Daybreak
It's going straight to my head:
I think I'm falling in love again.
Such simple miracles have happened
since your steady hands have come and
stopped my unraveling.
Your fingers, built for the piano,
work out the knots that line my back.
The stress I've stored since last December;
now, it doesn't matter.
I've learned to leave it in my past.
And I feel good about the future,
and this clarity I've never had.
You are the bounce in my step,
the burst of blood in my chest,
the prayer I've kept in my head.
You are the knock of my knees,
the swollen sound of each song
I scribble down and tear up,
because they never match up.
You are the words I fumble for.
In the morning, you are the daybreak,
and I am glad.
At night, you are the dream
I fall asleep to have.
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13. Lord, I Know We Don't Talk
In a motel room,
with the Bible out,
combing scripture for answers about
what's happening now.
I can't believe my eyes,
and I just can't trust my ears,
but I've heard a man can always come find
some solace here.
Lord, I know that we don't talk
often at all anymore,
but desperate folks do desperate things,
so I'm stapling this note to your door.
Please: turn the ship around,
and lock the course in place,
and keep the train tracks nailed to the ground,
but pull the emergency brake.
I've lost my faith in man
just like I once lost faith in you,
and I've been covering all kinds of ground
thinkin' hard 'bout what else I could lose.
And I know how I look, to come crawling back,
acting like you owe me proof,
but this is bigger than me,
and I think it's bigger than you too.
So if this gets to you,
if you ever come home,
just know I won't be awaiting the postman.
I will not be glued to my phone.
I'll know a change has come,
I'll know that you exist,
when all our bombs stop exploding and when
all of our landmines are stripped.
When we stop blowing up strangers' houses
and making orphans of innocent kids,
and people stop thinking the world's theirs for the taking
'cuz your will once told them it is.
'Til then, I'm gonna shake my head,
I'm gonna bite my tongue
when people tell me, "Have faith and be patient.
We're waiting for God to show up."
'Til then, it's one more skeptical song.
But I'll be glad as hell
if you come prove me wrong.
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