Mellow in sadness

Loverboy

Preorder it: http://akrec.co/1y05i0M
Available on Asthmatic Kitty Records March 31st (US) / March 30 (EU)

More info: http://carrieandlowell.com

In “Carrie and Lowell,” Sufjan Stevens is a child again or, more specifically, the child character in the family of man drama that often but not always centers on the story of love given, or love forsaken, but isn’t that the same thing to the poet? That the love Stevens sings about having left or given or been born to–thank you, Carrie–is a perceptible wound not only on the singer’s throat, but his sleeve: he wears love’s incomprehensibility, and the deep incomprehensibility of being a son, like a backing vocal on “Carrie and Lowell,” which is also filled with colors, hearts, trees, conclusions, and beginnings,

Sufjan Stevens, "Fourth Of July"

Some nights I feel the world
breathing through the cracks in me,
like time is folding
around the memories I tried to keep clean.
And I wonder
if every moment we survived
was just a quiet lesson
we didn’t know how to read.

This life
is a strange machine.
It turns our pain into meaning
long after we stop bleeding.

There’s a quiet truth
hiding underneath our noise,
that all we ever own
are the echoes of our choices.
We’re shadows with a pulse,
drifting through a borrowed sky,
weightless
but trying to leave something that survives.

I held my breath for years
waiting for the world to make sense,
but everything keeps changing
faster than the scars can settle in.
And maybe
we’re not meant to understand the structure,
only carry pieces of the story
that shaped us.

Maybe meaning
is just a reflection
we catch for a second
before it slips back into the dark.

There’s a quiet truth
hiding underneath our noise,
that all we ever own
are the echoes of our choices.
We’re shadows with a pulse,
drifting through a borrowed sky,
weightless
but trying to leave something that survives.

And if nothing here is certain,
why does it feel so real
when a moment breaks us open?
Why do we cling to details
that the universe forgets?
Maybe the smallest things
are the ones that stay.

There’s a quiet truth
that follows us like light.
We’re temporary bones
carrying infinite nights.
We fade,
but something in our wake remains.
The quiet truth is simple:
we are more than what we lose.

The quiet truth

From Cigarettes After Sex LP out now:
https://cigsaftersex.lnk.to/cas

website: http://www.cigarettesaftersex.com/

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K.                                                                                                        

recorded December 2015 in Brooklyn, NY

Written by Greg Gonzalez
Greg Gonzalez - vocals, electric guitar, acoustic guitar
Phillp Tubbs - keyboards
Randy Miller - bass
Jacob Tomsky - drums

Recorded by Greg Gonzalez
Mixed by Rocky Gallo
Mastered by Heba Kadry

Cover photo by Resa Rot
Cover design by Randy Miller

Released on Partisan Records

Reflections

theneighbourhood

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