Pre-released album Tessellated Escher, by Lounge on Fire in 2022

Reality

Top Of The World

"I Told You So" from the Radio Boise Live Music Hour, July 17th, 2015

I Told You So - Live

Live on Radio Boise

The air was cold, and I was holding on to the
holiness of her chest, I confessed; As far as the
rest goes, I guess, in certain aspects of this mess,
you could say I'm always looking out for my best.
When it came 'round time to be be exposed, my sights were nowhere to be found;
Certainly not on the ground, but then not quite to her eyes. Oh, what a 
surprise I guess. I'll leave the rest to the imagination of the
best-dressed guesser familiar with the process of fornication.

Her stare was cold, and I was hanging on to the
realization from this moment, so blessed that I wept,
over the message that crept, over the nights that I slept,
and over the tears and the sweat and the guillotines hanging over my head.
With the question left to be imposed, I was so slow to make a sound.
What goes around comes around, sometimes ends up in lost and found,
but that'll be okay I guess; I'll just have to buck up and 
be the bearer of the bad news - after all, someone's gotta tell the family.

The case would fold, but I was going on, just to 
see how many lacerations told the story of great breadth, of a heavy
heart on a heavy chest, of a heavy breast where it rests best -
where the bare-boned denizens invited them into the thin water, hey, won't ya swim?
With my sins still left to be atoned, well, I was frozen to the ground -
Geneva conventions beneath inventions of the sound of a sudden
halt in progress.  I won't be the last bastard to quote the axioms of a dead poet
to justify my actions even though I know that I done did wrong.

The air was cold, and I was holding on to the
holiness of her chest, I confessed; As far as the
rest goes, I guess, in certain aspects of this mess,
you could say I'm always looking out for my best.
When it came down time to be be exposed, my sights were nowhere to be found;
Certainly not on the ground, but then not quite to her eyes. Oh, what a 
surprise I guess. I'll leave the rest to the imagination of the
best-dressed guesser familiar with the process of reciprocation.


Sex Lies Murder

Taking Control

We Are Cyborgs (And That's Okay)

“Tessellated Escher” Song Written and Performed by Lounge on Fire on 01/26/2019 at the third annual Winter Social at the Neurolux in downtown Boise, Idaho 

Want to use your bright, beautiful eyes to watch this instead?  Head to https://youtu.be/s3xvRlnh23U

Nathan Norton - Vocals, Guitar 
Josh Gilmore - Bass Guitar 
Alan Schwaderer - Keyboard 
Wade Ronsse - Drums 
Matt Patterson - Saxophone 
Kevan Ash - Trombone 
Joe Johnson - Trumpet

Live Mixing by Eric Penney Recording Mixed by Alan Schwaderer and Nathan Norton “Magic” and Mastering by Mark Doubleday

Lyrics: 
Remember the tenants of emotion are 
Married to devotion, but are they happy?
I want to make it under pressure: 
Tessellated Escher’s faces 
You’re a starry-eyed incision
Careful in division, aren’t you? 
Want to be cared for and astounded 
Chemicals confounded, eh? 

So leave me here just like you found me 
Tentacles surround me, are they yours, bae? 
Flickering chorus under moonlight, 
Rapid heartbeat insight; please tell me - do ya? 
Warped in horizontal action 
Radical reaction, to your fiction 
And as I fade into you slowly 
Mazzy must just know me, bae 

I’ve got the kind of blues 
That don’t dissolve at the bottom of booze 
Or diffuse by abusing the snooze button on the fuse 
Of a flickering salty bruise 
Or confusing the vendors of my liquor cabinet 
With the shoes upon which I puke up the power to choose 
Exactly which I way I lose It’s so confusing 

I’ve got the kind of chills that you can’t 
Stifle by stuffing pills 
Or by acquainting myself among the thrills 
Involving crimson, and the indigo, and the vanilla frills 
Or refusing surrender of my crown of thorns until I feel 
I’ve killed the will to drill a pair of lungs into my gills 
It’s so confusing 

So just wrap your baby arms around me 
Don’t be scared to drown me, baby 
Takin’ care with your secession 
Dressed in fake depression, I’m comin’ right over
Love’s a blonde, fettered infection 
Satirical connection, in the moment 
My hands are shackled with your leather 
Fantastically heathered, bae

Tessellated Escher

Steel cut, blackened and peppered, rock-hopped hip-dipped cock-eyed funk-trunked flat-on-your-back pants-off-dance-off machine

Lounge On Fire

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