Prince Slut

Saturn's Return

Written by Seth Conover and Poolboy

Vocals, Guitar: Seth Conover
Drums, Percussion: Brett Bjornrud
Keys: Jeff Dreblow
Bass: Daniel Stewart

Engineered, Produced & Mixed by Con Davison
Mastered by Huntley Miller

Poolboy©2020

Good Orchard

Nebula, available on Jan. 11. Full EP, Good Orchard out Jan. 29.

Mixed by Con Davison (bad bad hats)
Mastered by Huntley Miller (bon iver, sylvan esso)
Photography by Nathan O'Malley

© 2020 Poolboy 


NEBULA

New star out of reach, nebula, psychoactive open heart
Flushed space, outer reach; she and he, man and woman, face to face 

There’s a dead botanical garden inside them. There’s a dead botanical garden come find them.

Now you feel like a phantom recorded by cameras
Now you feel like a camera surrounded by actors
Who act like they are being fed the lines

New star nursery, grown in genes, hyperactive broken clocks
Lush waste, empty reach, she and he, man and woman, holding space 

There’s a dead botanical garden inside us. There’s a dead botanical garden come find us.

Now I feel like a phantom recorded by cameras
Then I feel like a camera surrounded by actors
Who act like they are being fed the lines

There’s a green botanical garden inside them, no harm done, no problem, no eye in the sky to point out their mistakes
There’s a green botanical garden inside us, a slow boat to China, the staircase behind us, no eye in the sky that’s gonna give us chase

There’s a dead botanical garden (dead)

Nebula

New star out of reach, nebula, psychoactive open heart
Flushed space, outer reach; she and he, man and woman, face to face

There’s a dead botanical garden inside them. There’s a dead botanical garden come find them.

Now you feel like a phantom recorded by cameras
Now you feel like a camera surrounded by actors
Who act like they are being fed the lines

New star nursery, grown in genes, hyperactive broken clocks
Lush waste, empty reach, she and he, man and woman, holding space

There’s a dead botanical garden inside us. There’s a dead botanical garden come find us.

Now I feel like a phantom recorded by cameras
Then I feel like a camera surrounded by actors
Who act like they are being fed the lines

There’s a green botanical garden inside them, no harm done, no problem, no eye in the sky to point out their mistakes
There’s a green botanical garden inside us, a slow boat to China, the staircase behind us, no eye in the sky that’s gonna give us chase

There’s a dead botanical garden (dead)

Most of my thoughts they just go to waste;, I give them birth and then watch them lose shape  Half of them die before leaving my head; empty nest with a cigarette and a heavy crown

Solo transcendence cramped up in a basement, I recognize some of its charm 
My generation: postpartum invasion of privacy, no room for the dark

I’m better off inching away from your good graces
A quiet corner, in my defense, nothing made sense

You know that lamp from your old apartment? I plugged it into the younger me’s head
So that it lit up the planets instead, so far away on the other side of death 


I’m with the stoics, but most of it’s bullshit, not that important to know 
A mini-facelift for our fading patience, no centerpiece, no cornucopia 

I’m better off inching away from your good graces
A quiet corner, in my defense, nothing made sense at all

No empty gestures, no sense of adventure, but now it gets interesting, now it gets better 
A crack in the pavement, new sleeping arrangements, no taking for granted what’s always been  handed to us

Facelift

So is it my age, yin or yang, or something carbon-based in me? 
Where’s my second wind, if not now then when? I want patterns I can binge
Dead-eyed, purple hands, ashes to ashes

So it’s only mine to raise, define, to steal, control and lie to?
Inner you, OK, I’m confused:
Let me get this straight, it’s just human nature? 
What a waste of time and space
Such a drag, ashes to ash

Shadow tamed

It’s not so easy to review and change my pent-up point of view
Return to habits I can’t shake from who I am, that’s it, we’re safe

Shadows

Split my brain in half, because Mercury is retrograding bad
My choices on a tainted astral map
Where half of me is always holding back

Strangers in the house; I’m chased to the fringes of myself
I chewed through the fabric in the couch; I torched all the lights till they all burned out

Till I can’t see anyone else, I cast a shadowy spell 
A superficial cry for help, “Just let me walk away”

What goes up must come down, laid to rest, settled down
Take this cup and evening gown, stain it red, go to town
What goes up must be drowned, taken back, settled down
Take this cup and evening gown, paint it red, it’s yours now 

Keep my brain intact, because I have met my match
A temporary scratch across my back, now none of me is ever holding back

Fringes

Heavy is the yoke, karma on coke, baptized in holy smoke
Half-off afterlife cologne, smell the fire on your clothes

Weary is the ghost haunting your throat, who forecasted all of this hope? 
What a shitty way to go, one more thought then hit the road

The path gets easier to find in mountains of goodbyes
Act like there's a difference between living and alive
Subjects scale the fence of time, locking fingers in the night

The world is giving you a sign with a mother's eyes,
"For all of your destruction, it's sweet that you keep trying."
Talk yourself up in the ring, face your death up on the screen

Good fruit grows till it doesn't, better pick your poison, look into the future at the cost of your emotions. Pattern keeper, keep your path, no diverging, no bad maps

Heavy metal fog, orchard of god, chewing my fingernails off
Lead me out into the trees, like a child, quietly

Poolboy is an indie rock band from Minneapolis, Minnesota.
In 2017, they were named City Pages' Best New Band.

Poolboy

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