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1. |
I Hear Drums
03:24
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They’re not police, I heard him say
They’re men of guitar, they’re okay, (he said.)
Is it the skin? Is it the car?
If they want to kill us, we’ll have to drive far, (get away)
Every time I’m in this town
I see the hate, it brings me down
But I hear drums!
I hear drums!
The future’s bleak, and the past is dead
Sirens and screaming fill my head
Her son’s been stabbed, she’s seventy-five
The shebeen turned on him, and she’s still alive, (so sad)
But no one cries, it was the third that night
the ambulance took him, just another fight (too bad).
Every time I’m in this town
I see the hate, it brings me down
But I hear drums!
I hear drums!
Just a bed and a stove, no windows here
The air is stale, the cupboard's bare, no food
You can try to be human, and lose it bit by bit
to flies on a donkey carcass, and the smell of shit
Hope on his knees, Hope struggles and stands,
and life goes on, while there’s strength in his hands, still strength
Every time I’m in this town
I see the hate, it brings me down
But I hear drums!
But I hear drums!
I hear drums!
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2. |
Space and Time
03:09
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What, Love?...I'm not some charlatan.
And I'd be one if I said 'Yeah. Of course –
you suggest so I guarantee
all and eternity.' No -
I cannot give you space and time.
Only the worst beguiler
would make to flaunt such power.
Exactly how would I give you space and time?!
As could this notional liar –
I can deliver mere parts:
The finite span of my life;
the environs of my heart.
That kind of question begs this kind of answer.
The suggestion merits the retort:
I cannot give you space and time.
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3. |
Blood
03:04
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Onto the rock a mother gives birth
the red blood of her life stains this earth
a gift from our gods, the voice of the beat
as drums call the rain to battle the heat
A calling cry flies through the valleys
a calling cry the blood's run dry
In madness and panic we stab at the sands
but the red that we find is the blood on our hands
we dig throught the night and toil through the day
in search of the earth the gods took away
In a cave hyhenas barking
In a cave the blood is found
the rain in the distance follows our drums
the beat strikes like lighting birds as the rain comes
it washes the rock where our mothers once bled
and blood flows in rivers which stain the earth red
a thunder of wings as the sky turns blood red
the reply of our drums, the beat in our heads
our feet and our hands the colour of earth
the ocre, the iron, the taste of rebirth
A river dry is death's own alley
A river dry as mother's cry
the rain in the distance follows our drums
the beat strikes like lighting birds as the rains comes
it washes the rock where our mothers once bled
and blood flows in rivers which stain the earth red
Blood on my hands on my body and face
Beating of blood in our hearts, in our veins
We cover the earth we track different mud
We all look the same when we're covered in blood
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4. |
Heat
05:23
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Words & Music by Brett Lock
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5. |
Superman in the Silence
05:11
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In this fiction, I have learned to be comfortable
An amalgamate of ink and triumphant will
In icy solitude, I fortify my soul
And this comic universe defines my role
But when they come for me
I won’t be found
They’ll call out Superman! Superman
Superman is not around
And is it any wonder
I can’t stand the pain
I’ve seen my world explode
Again, and again.
I gave my heart away today for free
I played my part, my oath to humanity
I am a man of steel, and you steal from me
but I don’t care anymore, I’m empty
And when they come for me...
Every alien soon knows the deal
And I’ve let circumspection make me scared to feel
My body is armour and I’m faster than light
But now I wish I was someone else tonight.
[Solo]
I just wanted to be your hero
So here I am, and well there you go.
Look up in the sky, it is Superman
Gazing down at you as only he can
Tears of rage, tears scarcely sane
Falling down on you like super rain.
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6. |
Fight
02:28
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I was standing by the sink
washing plates with contented ease.
She was beside me, fretting as I cleaned.
It's possible she was fighting –
nay – probable.
But I wasn't fighting.
I never fought.
I'll never know.
His keys clicked and scraped the lock.
There'll be a clatter, now, of feet.
A little boy racing to the door.
There was a short note, was all.
'I can't live like this'.
He took it without fighting.
The errors had been his.
The men fell out of touch.
Six years to the month.
A void stuffed latterly with old affront.
No fight in them, in I or him:
just spite and puzzlement.
I want more – god, so much more
than this covenant.
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7. |
Hello
05:39
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Hello, it’s only me
and I just called to say I’m sorry
I didn’t mean what I said
Sometimes I lose my head
and I’m so ashamed.
It’s so hard
to keep a grip on things
When everything above here
is coming down
Stuttered information
So much to be explained
Too many clues
That I love you (so much)
It fizzles in my brain
and cannot be concealed
There’s too much information.
To my consternation, there’s too much information
To my consternation… I ache.
This silent night waits to be shattered
with issues of life
to wet my dreams
no hopes for better
all boxed or battered
these images
i know what they mean
It’s so hard
to keep a grip on things
When everything above here
is coming down
You tease out information
you say I’ve made it plain
You miss the clues
That I love you (so much)
There’s a chill before the rain
You can’t help but feel
With so much information.
To my frustration, , there’s too much information
To my frustration, I ache
So hello
It’s only me
And I just called to say I’m sorry
I didn’t mean what I said
I didn’t what I said
It is only me
It is only me.
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8. |
The Winner Won't Win
02:47
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Hearing airhorns, vuvuzelas,
houses emptied for miles around.
The sound of exhaled breath dragging in the throat.
Sounds of braying crowds.
Does it need voicing?
'The winner will win.
Now the winner will win.'
Never felt such heaviness.
Such incessant, tireless weight.
Sometimes it is what it is.
Sometimes it is what it is.
Sometimes there aren't any factors, vectors, choices.
Can smell breath,
carping, honking, whistling...
Hear them:
'Sometime, the winner will win.
Will win.' No shit.
Sounds of breathing.
The sounds of breathing.
The sound of breathing.
What a stale stench.
What intransigence.
This body should have been pulped
and the mind gone.
Gone.
Have barely felt such heaviness.
Such incessant, tireless weight.
Have never felt such willingness.
They think the winner would win.
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9. |
Gathering of the Ghosts
06:00
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We have come to this place of gathering
My demons, my ghosts and me
There’s been unrest for a hundred years
in my foundation, my history
The first strike was from my father’s hands
cold and cracked from the factory
colder than steel, colder than his eyes
and our lies with no history
You're on a train
maybe it’s the middle of the night
you find yourself travelling
a window on your pain
you feel your mind unravelling
At first sight of you in a magazine
I wet my pants and I fell in love
With a splash adrift in a sea of change
just as the waters got rough
I was born in the summer of love
My demons and my ghosts and me
of blood and sweat and salty tears
given life with no history
You’re on a train....
The ghost of my brother came round last night
he said ‘trade places with me’
I am trapped some place and ironically
you are not where you want to be.
I had all the world could offer me
my body and my mind were strong
but look at you, you’ve got nothing at all
somewhere, something’s gone wrong.
You’re on a train it’s the middle of the night
you’re wide awake and shaking
you’ve been travelling so long you’ve no idea
how long this trip is taking
You feel your mind unravelling
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10. |
Rest
02:44
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Lucia and Paola's faces,
gentle grimaces.
'We may or may not save your father,
but nonetheless can lift him.
For so long you've been praying.
Rest and leave us with him.'
She paid them by the month.
Her father ebbed.
'A prayer is like a song.
Anyone can sing a song
and raise the atmosphere.
You can sing “thanks to the sun”,
feel the warmth and the cheer.
Now, say, Billie Holiday –
she sings “thanks to the sun”
and the light bends down to hear.
Think of it like that.
Conceive that prayer -
Fuller, subtler, darker, brighter.
Yes?'
'Yes.'
'A carpenter will make crosses –
tokens, yes, but to the good.
Monthly they'll go to Sister Mary
of the Cross – who'll bless the wood...'
'...I know he's a good man and he'll get the best.'
'...Those with us in Conservano
will, day and night, raise a rabble –
fuller, subtler, darker, brighter.
While you...you rest.'
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11. |
The Tide
01:58
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Finding the grave of my father
Was harder than I thought it could be
My sister scattered his ashes in fright
And the river carried him out to sea.
There was no time for him to say
Goodbye to me.
Death, when you find me
Take pity on my bones
Carry me away the very same way
First by the river, then by the sea
Let the tide carry me
Let the tide take me
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12. |
What's The Difference?
04:11
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Perfect peace is born and then is torn away
as the tourniquet is tightened around my soul
and though I'm missing you, I could never say
without some strange display on my face
that I love you, but what's the difference if I do
what's the difference if I do
There's nothing more to say at the end of the day
as I go and lay in darkness I am alone
and though I'm missing you, I can never hide
that feeling inside of my gut that I love you
but what's the difference if I do
what's the difference if I do
We watch the sadness die as it is worn away
as we make a play for despair or some control
and though feelings change you can never tell
if it's going well or if something still remains
or if you're insane to love the way you do.
to love the way you do
love the way you do
love the way you do
what's the difference if I do
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The Sighs of Monsters London, UK
The Sighs of Monsters is a band from the south of England, though none have the same passport. The Sighs of Monsters love albums - the classic albums you can listen to from beginning to end - so that's what they set out to make.
The Sighs of Monsters recommends:
The Water Boatman
by Language of Prairie Dogs
Our singer/guitarist Dean's other band, with more of his brilliantly quirky songwriting.
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Terrorlove
by Matthew van der Want
No one finds the turns of phrase to pick relationships apart and to get to the heart of them quite like Matthew.
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One of the most inventive composers out there, with a matching knack for a great lyric. Always a joy to listen to.
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