I'm trying to compile multie playlist of small city microscenes. I'm working on Savannah, currently, and Brunswick's best are going on there. I'm searching now for more, looking at "Kylesa" and "Bearfight!" if anyone has opinions

This song is amazing. I'm yet to hear a better song than this. My favourite. It speaks volumes.

this is my favorite song by you guys ever

been listening to this since i was a wee lad!

ctts

Released on Perpetual Motion Machine Records 2002
Split 7" with Pg. 99
Contains 2 CTTS songs:
 "Patchwork Neurology", and "We're Sustained by the Corpse of a Fallen Constellation"
Recorded and mastered by Anthony Stubelek at Rockstudio in Brunswick GA


"Patchwork Neurology" from 2002 split 7" w/Pg.99

From 2004 full length "As the Roots Undo"
Released by Robotic Empire and Hyperrealist
Recorded and mastered by Anthony Stubelek at Rockstudio in Brunswick GA

Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to mentionand surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to perfection'but the more I turn my face from the crowdthe more I feel my backs' increasingly compelledfor the sake of escape, to turn a knife on itself,a knife of relief, from all the petty insightand finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the night.Bored as fuck on this street corner-cover.study of a face in a figure. surveying this language as a gamesurvielence of this language as the plague.the dimension of persistence condemns.This portrait of karma, crafted in accidenttext book seduction, minus the text in the language of ghostsand so we ran, like the wolves were biting,the inhibitions of their prey kept them from screaming"scratch my back and I will stab you in yours"so I chose to live this life alone, without the teeth marksbut I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone else's heart to heal my own.Just a victim's split, one part for the wolves, one part for you.but I'll grow weary soon, weary of this fractal code,wary of this hallway lined with ghosts.Just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to let them intheir words will cause the sweetest fracture from a stone's throwjust a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to welcome themparasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like spirits mingling in the mistthat we crafted, a starving jury, let them eat shit from our trembling hands.The heat for heat's sake, on this Barnard block of Congressdeductively speaking, the polar of progresswell maybe I put too much faith in the accidententranced, we danced toward the ripest display of escapelet the starving ghosts feats, from this flesh, from these bones,let them all feast. light as a feather, let the starving ghosts feastIn this chess game of language, forced to sit so I play all alone, watch the bathos drip forth like the petals from a wild crafted rose.


"Non Objective Portrait Of Karma" from As the Roots Undo 2004

From 2004 full length "As the Roots Undo"
Released by Robotic Empire and Hyperrealist
Recorded and mastered by Anthony Stubelek at Rockstudio in Brunswick GA

Rejoice, rejoice a noble birth, a prince is born.
Behold the birth of violence, beasts of fang and feather cry for our concrete rapture,
and if we beg to be put down, unto us the most inspired storm.
A princess ravaged by her prince behold; the birth of sex and distance, two frail corpses both were they, his eyes were the first to stray... every tree held fast the earth to sky.
Concrete replaces every branch and twig as they were frayed upon the birth of ambition. The heavens filled our gilded vessel with poison tears, before we drink, I propose a toast, a final prayer.
Here's to the watchers in the wood, here's to the last days, unto us a most inspired song.
Shaper, stop the music.
Halt the harp strings whose chords confuse our histories with textures.
With the disheartened chorus of a hymnal whose choir is the conviction of the starving, artless, tempted by the feast of proof that this body of work has worth.
Uncertain as the fingering of a chord torn prematurely from a piano's womb.
As we fill our precious lungs with concrete, that faithful shade, a shaper's song is stopped short- a dying breath a singing shore.
Then the only movement and the last remains of grace:
Pollen falling off the simple hinge joint leg upon the final breath of a dragonfly.
A cardinal, lost but headstrong in mid flight cries for our concrete rapture, wade...
in the water, wade. Let the flood swell, thank the storm for her tears.
The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will
but the fool knows what the prophets have seen, no salvation's impending.
The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will let the flood swell and the bodies that break we'll just float down the river. Stay tame, soft river, while we weigh our faith, stay sweet, run softly, sweet river, the fool who wades in doubt will float like concrete.
Come and fill your lungs. Come and fill your lungs.
There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy, its the same shade as concrete.
The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will, let the flood swell
on the loudspeaker sermons and a parish descending.
There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy, its the same shade as concrete.
Let the flood swell.


"Same Shade As Concrete" from As the Roots Undo 2004

From Self Titled Demo EP 2000
Recorded and mastered by Anthony Stubelek at Rockstudio in Brunswick GA

The demons swallowed treasures, replaced hymns with evil deeds scribed in chicken scratch compositions in the black halls beneath this filthy city. Laced with shit, this love affair all black hearts, and tragic heights. Keep on listening to our sanguine symphony. We'll keep conducting the color of midnight. When the muse whispers her forked tongue lulls me to sleep. 
You must be mistaken my darling. This is not the prelude to a kiss, this is obsession, void of aesthetics, lacking compassion, a disclaimer to the self, you sought your god in the tempest of self severed strings hammered out in the key of X.
This is the new cutting edge. Sixth sense limitations dragging me down. Your transcendence of nothing has fueled the flames of our choir. This is my therapy, singing the praises of razor wire.
Embrace the sweet sound of self destruction.
Wield words like knives and razor wire. A kiss goodbye is a kiss of death. Conducting our ballad with seven broken strings. A sound so sanguine until our ears bleed. Orchestrating until we bleed. 

"Non Objective Portrait Of Karma" from As the Roots Undo 2004

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