Peace with Pain

Lonely Mountain Town

Denim Coat (feat. Azuriah Kennedy)

Late September Heart is a quiet story of almosts — the words not said, the looks held a second too long, the song left hanging in the air. Set against a backdrop of worn leather booths and late-night jukebox hum, this track leans into a slow-burning country-blues feel. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t raise its voice, but lingers like smoke — steady, honest, and full of the things we don’t say. For nights when something stirs, even in silence. For what almost was.

Late September Heart erzählt leise von allem, was fast passiert wäre – Worte, die in der Kehle stecken bleiben, Blicke, die zu lange halten, ein Song, der in der Luft hängen bleibt. Der Sound: rau und warm, wie eine Jukebox in einem Diner kurz vor Feierabend. Country-Blues in seiner stillsten Form – ehrlich, zurückgenommen, und voller unausgesprochener Dinge. Für Nächte, in denen etwas bleibt. Auch wenn nichts geschieht.

Late September Heart

Some people don’t run because they don’t care. They run because they care too much, and it terrifies them.
This song is for the ones who want to let love in but don’t know how.
It’s about the push and pull, the fear behind the walls, and the hope, fragile, but persistent, that someone might still stay.
“Forever On This Road” is a confession. A test. A prayer.

Forever On This Road

You left your hoodie in my Civic again
Still smells like chlorine and unsaid things
I watched the moths attack my porch light
And thought, yeah, that’s probably love

Your voicemail's just a sigh and two seconds of wind
I saved it anyway

I built a shrine from Busch Light cans and dead cassette tape
Tuned my heart to open D and watched it snap
You always said I cared like a forgotten state
So I drew your name in dust on the welcome mat

There’s an opossum in the gutter again
He’s got your stare and my old shoes
I tried to name him something tragic
But he just hissed and chewed through the past

Every love song sounds like dial-up now
Just waiting for it to connect

I built a drum from all our shared anxieties
Kicked it gently ‘til my ankle cracked
You told me once that grief’s a Midwestern breeze
Soft, humid, and impossible to track

I carved our breakup date into a pizza box
Then used it as a sled on your old hill
Your dad saw me, said, “she’s not coming back, bud”
I just nodded and slid straight into the creek

All my flannel shirts are starting to molt
I guess I am too

I wrote our names in ketchup on a paper plate
Left it out for raccoons and abstract fate
You were always better at abstract things
Like feelings, and taxes, and how not to wait

And if I call you from the Kwik Trip payphone
Don’t pick up — just let it ring
I’ll leave a whisper in the static
Something small. Something Midwest. Something with wings.

The corn is listening, anyway
And so’s your cat, probably

I stacked old zines like bricks around my grief
Lit 'em up with a Bic and some unsent tweets
You always knew how to say things sweet and bleak
I just mumble in 3/4 time and leave


We Only Cuddle During Tornado Warnings

Leather cracks in frozen dusk
Steam from breath, his eyes combust
Dragging hooks through alder bark
Blood leaves trails where nights go dark

He hums like a priest with a drill
The hyacinth blooms after every kill

Hyacinth Lobotomizer walks
Twisting spines and feeding stalks
Unnamed village, nameless dead
Brains leak pink on the riverbed

Rusty scoops in mittened fists
Lobotomy lists, alphabetic twists
Elders nailed to sauna doors
Kids whisper prayers through warped floorboards

“It’s for the flower,” he explains
While scraping marrow from the drains

Hyacinth Lobotomizer feeds
On spleens and twisted local creeds
His leather sack drips cold regret
He waters roots with villagers' sweat

Hockey goals turned autopsy rigs
Torsos posed like pagan pigs
Midnight sun won’t cleanse the stench
Each petal blooms from a severed wench

The village keeps no record books
Just moss, and screams, and lacerated looks

Hyacinth Lobotomizer reigns
Stomping through cerebral plains
No one leaves, no names are spoken
All that grows is split and broken

Blood seeps slow through brittle snow
No roads out, no path to go
The bloom survives, the mind decays
He plants again. Another phase.

Scent of lilac masks the bile
The lobotomy’s done. Now he’ll smile

Hyacinth Lobotomizer grins
As memory withers from within
The village breathes, but not for long
He’s already picked tomorrow’s son

Hyacinth Lobotomizer

As I lay dreaming

This album has a substantial focus on loss and trying to move beyond it.

Alter

Pictures in the Hall

Grandmas porch Swing

Graduated from Corman Park College of Dental Numismatics in 1993, with a graduate degree in Experimental Post-Sludge.

mchorsebones@gmail.com

We Only Cuddle During Tornado Warnings

MC Horsebones