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by Somerset Thrower

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Early morning Face to blame And sell to the hurricane Electric tether around our throats We'll die on the telephone Charged by the chemical Sunday drivers catching up for a change They say we've thrown it all away But no one will be saved Do you sleep better now with what you know? Do you sleep at all? Don't it make you feel small when they hang it from the door? Sunday drivers catching up They're trying to change you They say we've thrown it all away in the passing lane Sunday drivers know Where we roam Where we hideout It’s gone when the telephone is on
She's empty but her hands are full of shopping bags. Soul searching sales tags. Yeah, I remember your lucky dollar. Said you still felt the same when you lost it that day. If you find it would you break it now? They'll call in no time and we'll fall in old lines. Before we die, cash your check, because it's all we get. And the rest of them, they got no spine. And we're falling again, wayside. Alright, so go and cash your check pretend it's all we get. These fuckers make us spend our way out of it. Do you find debt or do you make it? We'll fall in before we die. So spend your time on your peace of mind. It could save your life. So how much can you lend? Is this all we get? Island of denial, I can see it from my house.
Cold enough to break I'm the eggshell Demon inside, I'm your ride now The vessel, anyhow To nowhere Bracing for the slide I'm your eyes when Darkness creeps out again And when it stabs back in Nowhere It’s the saddest thing
Grace Anne, hold my hand Through the way it felt when you died It's alright in pieces It's all in the plan Only inside Meet me at 23 And we'll go out in style The same tide, it takes you every time Say you know it I know you will decide you do, Trembling scared Say you know it I know you will decide you do Whenever we crash we land You'll make it back to you And I have a way to make it through So say “only” But every time that we crash we land You'll wring out a sound again So save us from the argument All in all we reap just what we've sown Grace Anne, we're tied in Between skeleton and lamb I found the way out Assume we're wrong Until we move along ‘Til it's gone
Eject 06:30
Only the acetate can free your name Throw it away and let the dead fall in You make plans now They turn around Up in the air you start to forget what’s real Hate is the only way through your faith It doesn’t matter what you call it Idle gods lie to me They couldn't change anything But you still believe Medicated blood you drink Drown you in your sin and wash away The constellation burns with your beating heart When the lesson’s gone away Everyone’s gone The older I get “The feeling won’t leave” Faithless, nameless When it’s right here next to me Medicated blood you drink Breathe it through your lungs and strain The feeling’s gone I know it’s gone away We’re free again
Can't sleep. Itchy. Glue her back together with every word I know. But they're all hollow. To get there we should drive ourselves instead. When the words fly out they can't be wrong all lined up. You shouldn't play it down so well. Here's to the sweet sounds of bar bands. Please tell them when we're dreaming on the edge of watershed to jump right in. But only when you dive do you make it out alive. No time, if you fall in I'm swimming faster. Can't slow down. I'm chasing waterfalls again and every one's blood red. There's nowhere to go if every word is hollow. You've been catching smooth sales through a deep sea of shallow nouns. So I guess I'll sell seashells to martyrs and metalheads. We're dreaming on the edge of watershed. Well, jump right in. It isn't real until it stings and every time you write I couldn't stay awake too long. Have we stayed too long to stray?
Down Julie's throat, she don't know the pills she swallows. She is not in love but she can't get enough when she's feeling cool and slow. She don't know. Down at the station, through a microscope, they told her parents she was going nowhere. But they won't know 'til it's gone. When it's on and it's off. How long will they sing her song? You ask me my perception? “She ain't coming home.” You ask me her prescription now? “It’s Go! Go! Go! Go!” Down Julie's throat and barreling down into her arm, don't let them tell you what you are. Down at the station, through a microscope, they told her parents she was going nowhere. But they won't know 'til she's gone. When it's on and it's off. How long will they sing her song? Her last dose was so thorough sliding into her arm. Have you seen her son? Have you told him? Barreling down. Go! Go! Go! Go! I guess we always knew the likes of this town would burn her to the ground.
If it makes you sad in “your” American land, you know it’s poisoned blue, white and red. You’d kill yourself in the shoes of someone else. You say, “It’s golden here.” Build your fences. We're in bad ways choosing sides again. Our time is sand. Master Clout, I've tried to work it out. The tide has turned and we're sinking. Still, they won't let you in. We're in bad ways choosing sides again. Our time is sand. Still, they won't let you in.
Underneath, I'm still asleep. I have been all this time. The waiting kicks us to another winter and somehow I can't remember why I'm hanging on this line, but sometimes it's alright. I've got my alibi and money on tonight. Last I heard you were leaving. Now the same thing keeps repeating, "Let's get started on our lives when the time is right.” Tomorrow, get it before it goes. Viddy well, trust your cells before it calibrates you. “It's not so hard do.” And down this road we live, I will run forever torn to find meaning. Are you tied to anything? I'll be the one that's dragged away. It's too late, happy halfway. Brutal son, don't you play it down. Destiny, I can hear your name, but only when I'm asleep, living up to the real thing. Underneath, I'm still asleep. I have been all this time.
Des Moines 04:44
Fair weather friend, where have you been? I've come to hear you wrong again, you've kept me waiting. So, who will ride on the power this time? It's only open road and a stark red light. You will decide and now you're in it. But you've got your intellect and you're dying not to bend to reach it. Down New Highway we drive the same, straight for the axiom when we've fucked the lesson. I can see for miles and the right thing, but I never could see your hiding place. When you get there are you so innocent? Down at the corner store, I think I found god. I think I found god. It's not the only one. Down New Highway we drive the same, straight for the axiom when we've fucked the lesson. Graveyards and Airplanes and the right thing, it's time we let you slip away to your hiding place. And you said you'd take us for a ride on your power trip tonight. And bury me with your story, a coveted glory. But I knew you’d get the last word in, my fair weather friend, I knew it was locked and loaded. So take me for a ride on the power this time. It's only open road we drive.


"Long Island’s Somerset Thrower are returning this year with a new album, Godspeed, on August 24 via Dead Broke Rekerds. They’ve got a sound that’s got one foot in Jawbreaker/Sunny Day Real Estate-style emo and another in Gin Blossoms-y alt-rock, and though they aren’t the first modern-day band to bring those two sides of the ’90s together, they do it in a way that feels fresh and vital. Their songs really rip, and they really reach that cathartic climax that music like this is supposed to reach, as you can hear for yourself on lead single “Wake Up, Motherfucker! It’s Casual Friday!” - BrooklynVegan (link: www.brooklynvegan.com/somerset-thrower-releasing-godspeed-playing-shows-stream-a-track)

Punknews interview (link: www.punknews.org/article/67765/interviews-listen-to-the-new-album-by-somerset-thrower)

2nd pressing available now @ www.deadbrokedistro.com


released August 24, 2018

Dead Broke Rekerds 2018.


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Somerset Thrower New York, New York

“Somerset Thrower blend driving post-hardcore grooves with the melodic sensibilities of alternative garage rock, all the while recognizing their own place in the Long Island hardcore punk scene.” - Mike Musilli, Punknews.org

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