MOTHS (2009)

by Birth of Flower

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02:55
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02:04
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02:17
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03:29
8.
02:41

about

This was recorded by Joe Reed in his basement around August 2009. We quit being(having) PMS around the end of January 2009. So all of the songs were written between that 8 month period.

There are no physically copies of this album yet & there never will be (see MOTHS 2 above).

credits

released August 2, 2009

Tomáš-guitar/singing
Terry Phan-drums
Jeremiah Tillman-bass/words/singing

tags

license

all rights reserved
Track Name: Chistes
Chistes/Tu chistes

Stupid walking fun, like reading a book upside down for the answers always sought, searched for, but never found. Tragedy daunting fun, like hanging your brother upside down, in the tree in the backyard, bury the noose, cut the tree down.
Track Name: Arid & Dry
Day’s waves found desert shores long. Two barbarous men stand tall over the flatland skyline, arid and dry. Pulled up, along a side street. A sandstorm blows from the east, I will wait and I know why. Day’s waves crashed over our heads, found us swimming through the same threads and both you and I are arid and dry.
Track Name: Mother Tongue
Whispers from the second grave manifest themselves into zits upon my face. Creatures in quarry are asking “Do you speak my mother tongue, or are you just f*#@ing with me? Are you willing to jump the proverbial gun, or is it too high to see over?” Whispers are a hindsight once lost behind the maggots and larva in the deep depths of your mind. All crawling over one question: “Do you speak my mother tongue, or are you just f----------with me? Are you willing to jump the proverbial gun, or is it too high to see over?”
Track Name: Hidden Bombastics
RIP SHOUT MURDER (in prose against the second gulf war) canaries finally rotting up upon the poor desert shores. Disobedience won’t lead to the scratchy throat hatred in mouths, echoing to slums everywhere to do it do it, burn all of his books. Your combats have warmed up since the Cold War. One could even murder a ‘fella who’ even thinks of boarding the wrong train (of thought). Silly hidden bomb, hidden bombs. ZE PLATFORM, ZE STATION may break up. YOUR BOMBASTIC WORDS are my throw-up. Your combats have warmed up since the Cold War.
Track Name: Under Sands
Time spans of my lover’s hands, capturing sands, grain after grain, instead of thought after thought. Now you understand, you are under sands, their mouth their time, you got no more chances in the middle east/beast in the middle east/peace in the middle east/beast in the Middle East man. The bottled-up torso felt the same way the other dealt with ambiguities, disjointed amoral message. Now you understand you are under sands, their mouth, their time; you got no more chances, in the middle east/beast in the middle east/peace in the middle east/beast in the Middle East man. Time spans of the stone & sand, the meeting of a man, thought after thought, instead of chasing those grains. . Now you understand you are under sands, their mouth, their time; you got no more chances, in the middle east/beast in the middle east/peace in the middle east/beast in the Middle East man.
Track Name: Usurpers
O Moths, moths we all once breathed. Moths’ hearts beat one word:” USURP!” as the fire triumphs tree. Elementals have now spun rifts. Moths caught in the rifts, moths caught in the rifts, moths caught in the rifts.

U. SURP. U. SURP.

Speak fogged distance, which crags of blood do not hide perversive origins, bouts of skin, cemented eyes. So speak fogged distance, which crags of blood do not hide perversive origins, bouts of skin, cemented eyes.
Track Name: Good Wombs
GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET OUT GEEEEEEEEEET OUT!

GEEEEEEEEEEEET OUT GET OUT!

Should the womb be a tomb, a witness to all the ‘unfuns’? Jungles of Rwanda are soldiers rapping guns. I know the good wombs have born the bad sons. GOOD WOMBS (!) have borne bad sons*

Deep in the tomb, the darlings of war bloom. You blossomed derelicts have borne the bastards too. No room to assume because today’s insurgents will never sleep tonight.

GEEEEEEEEEEEET OUT GEEEEEEEEEET OUT GEEEEEEEEEEET OUT

GEEEEEET OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!

*MIRANDA:....

I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother;
Good wombs have borne bad sons.....