Weary, ON

by Shared Arms

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Nick
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Nick I liked Blurt. Blurt were pretty sick. I own two Blurt CD's, all the way over here in the Australias. I bought this because Blurt.
letzgetzesty
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letzgetzesty his vocal and that sweet punk rock style mesh perfectly for this EP - first time ive heard this band and dont have a bad word to say Favorite track: Weary, ON.
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released March 14, 2015

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tags: punk rock Windsor

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Shared Arms Windsor, Ontario

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Track Name: Weary, ON
Gonna dig me a hole.
Just a basement below,
underneath Weary Ontario.
Oh, the fortunes in coal and
dead canaries in cages I found
at the bottom. I'm proud
when I look at the dirt on
my hands. Holding my heart;
I heard that you started a band.
Well here I am. You can stamp my hand.
Yeah I dig that song. Been digging
way too long, but here I am forcing my
funny face back into the plaster again.
Pushing bullets and blades through
the backs of my kith and kin.
Throwing stones. Skin and bones.
Speed of sound wore me down.
Yet something shakes this town.
Have you heard what they're calling
the 'Weary Hum'? Well I think that
I know where it's coming from.
A combination of things: the wattage
pushed out of an open-grill bass rig and
the resonant thump of a well-tuned, well-worn
dead wood kick drum. And
here I am. Either trapped in the back
of an old burning panel van, or
alone in the ground waiting up
for a helping hand. Feed a lie to me.
Tied to me now, and pulling me up.
Built in Weary, broke by honest hands.
Broken down with an ear to the ground.
Pull me up.
Track Name: Sleeping Limbs
Seemed like a part of me.
Like a leg, like a leg asleep.
If I'm buckling, if I should
sway, coldest shoulder showing,
let me give way.
Seamed to a part of me.
Let the peg curse the amputee.
Now I'm borrowing every second
stride. Anchored to the hour. Second
hands tied.
I've been counting my good days over
satiate ashtrays. Borrowed time
left me no one to repay. It's not mine.
Abbreviation in off-grey.
I've been losing teeth in my dreams.
I guess I'm supposed to know what that
means when waking, spitting blood on
my sheets. Infinite at first sight.
Sawed off come quarter life.
Killing time; perfect crime.
Given spent and never saved,
I've got one-way history down.
We need something else to waste.
Seemed just like a part of me.
Track Name: Lit-Up Bathtub Mary
There's a lit-up bathtub Mary in the front yard
of the house her mother left her, making faces
at the passing cars. There's an angel made of plastic
standing in the attic, dusty and dogmatic.
I remember those hassock pews made her kneecaps
bruise through her sunday dress. Bless this mess, I'm through.
She sold the car but kept the gasoline to torch the house.
She couldn't keep it clean.
There's no ceiling to my grieving, so if we're
even then I'm leaving.
Packed light. Been wrong. Long nights and bitter songs.
No favours, no saviours. The luxuries that make this scary.
The shotgun side of a thumb-hitched ride,
tearing westward out of Weary.
Countless wasted minutes. Our limbs and all their limits.
Vigil candles near the curtains.
Bandage all abrasions. A saint for all occasions.
Strike a match and burn our burdens.
There's no ceiling to my grieving, so if we're
even then I'm leaving.
Packed light. Been wrong. Long nights and bitter songs.
No favours, no saviours. The luxuries that make this scary.
The shotgun side of a thumb hitched ride,
tearing westward out of Weary.
Believing, or just breathing.
If we're even I'm leaving.