An old one we did for fun.
Ayethaw Tun - Guitar, vocals

Only You Know (Arctic Monkeys cover)

Stephen often was a fool, but quiet, standing on the porch with no hands on the wheel, that caramel-colored wallet, white shoelaces, and father's spectacles, the lenses both poked out, staring at the faces of them, children aglow, having upbeat confrontations around a hearth. His heart was always holding inside itself. The bright child and his hands never got more warm. Nudges at their shoulders flew, but he would never catch them - spent too much time alone down by the tracks. Scarlet wildflowers filled a page. He sprung up and bought himself a canvas, but could never finish it. He would never let you know how high he could jump. I caught him practicing once; it only made him nervous, concentration always so easily broken by the wall that watched him work. 
After he became his age and threw up, got himself drafted to fight a bloody war - it was only days and he had torn off countless methods and spirits. It only kept him cold upon returning to an earth where beauty is forsaken. Used to climb trees but now he walked on with his head down, the sidewalk more appealing than the blood-red or scarlet colored flowers - for him that was enough. That was close enough. 
Found himself a brand new hat and stammered on, leaving gods and their gospels speaking foreign tongues. I imagine right about now, he'd be sleeping or pacing through his bedroom, questioning his love. To all but him, she's only nothing and breaking with taciturn age - frames begin to fade. 
I want to call him sentimental or unlucky, but anything new and he might just fall over dead, soaring dreamless overhead.

Robert Hamill  - Everything

Stephen the Martyr

It took a year to get back exactly where I started, a couple of holes in my shoes, and friends that parted. Every time, it happens like this - a story, scar, a kiss, but this time I just can't forget about it, sitting here, trying to write the song my brain can hear, but my hands just can't play. My friends are all I have. Why can't they just stay? 
"Don't worry boy, you're only in Illinois", you once told me, but what could you know? You've never had to see yourself go. 
Sitting here, trying to write the song my brain can hear, but my hands just can't play anymore. My friends are all I have. Why can't they just stay?

Ayethaw Tun - Words & Music; Guitars; Vocals 
Alan Russian - Production; Harmonica; Tambourine

Repeating Myself

They say there has to be something there for me to have this feeling of despair. I want my misery to be you, but your words overshadow the traces and I can see you smile, eyes are glistening. You gently brush your hair behind your ears. It's love, the curse - it held you for the moment, but he takes your smile, forces it out. 
It's the smooth caress of a hand placed on your shoulder, but where's this line between sweetness and defile? It's lost. The blood is broken. Enjoy it. It's the ghost in your eyes that set him off or the sound of your voice - it must have been a hurricane that poured around him quickly. 
Die to truth. Death to all purveyors of your innocence, death by all you thought you'd never do. 
God put a hole in the ground set aside for everything we've done. You almost set your foot into the darkness - you're scarred from just the biting sounds, and they're nothing like your voice. What must have been before? I never heard a sound, but I saw a young photo. There was something in your eyes you've lost or something new there - I wish I'd found out before the winds blew. 
But you found out something we should all know: a darker, deadly, truer form of understanding.

Robert Hamill - Everything 
Ayethaw Tun - Witness

A Darker, Deadly, Truer Form of Understanding

Ayethaw Tun - Music; Keys; Guitar 
Robert Hamill - Production

Stare at the Ceiling

There's a price for being born again. Some are losing weight to nervous sweat. It's a fact, regardless. We're always flaking off in specks of dust and anyone with counter-tops or darker wooden shelves admits that what we are is a nuisance. That's about as far as it gets. Babies sob, their blankets stuck absorbing all the screams and spit. Last night you laid awake for hours, nothing close to a graceful wreck. Between muffled speech and slurring words and your swelling, aching head, some sound fled to my imagination. I thought I heard you screaming then, "it's true, so true. We're all a step on a creaking, endless set of stairs from losing traction in our souls and sliding to an infinite mess." I believe we're headed nowhere too, but only that which we can't see, and I doubt myself each break of day when the eastern edge gets sick from nights of drinking, lost in space, watching a million people breathe their lasts. What a reason to want a coma to come, but the vomit's such a pretty color. Horizon swells up like a bruise, illuminating another half of humanity and cruel routine. I've peered through curtains, opened doors, begging the sky for sleep but nothing given in return comes close to the amount I need. The next time you pace the same lines, moving around to fight the time, turn off the clock that's beckoning and dance for the time you've left to live. I'm Harry, close to Marion, and we're dancing into spiderwebs with black bodies, transparent wings, and everything will be okay for now and ever for all we know.

Robert Hamill - Words & Music; Guitars; Vocals; Production 
Ayethaw Tun - Quivering guitar solo

Dancing into Spiderwebs

I stuck myself in a rut 
and I made it far too tough 
than it seemed, 
but those dark places scrubbed me clean. 
I had to go there.

Ayethaw Tun - Words & Music; Guitars; Vocals 
Robert Hamill - E-bow guitars; Production

Afterthought

Ayethaw Tun - Music; Guitars; Vocals 
Robert Hamill - Guitar solo; Production

Buck Williams [Bonus]

On a Lie Today (Robert Henry cover)

On a Lie Today

The vocal cut that didn't make it onto the album.

Colors So Bold (Fuckt Version)

This is a mostly acoustic indie project between Ayethaw (http://soundcloud.com/fansoccer7) and Robert (http://soundcloud.com/rhamill).
Enough said? I think so.

Bluer Murals

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