Broken Teeth and Old Bones - EP

by Acidic Tree

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02:45
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02:19
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credits

released May 1, 2011

Released by SSF Tapes, May 2011. Recorded/Mastered by Chris Riccardi.

Purple/Red Tape split
Maybe 300 made?

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Acidic Tree Chicago, Illinois

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Track Name: Broken Teeth
Digging through the storm clouds searching for something different than this. Tear out another page, cross out another day, scrape off the scabs. Catch the rainwater in your eyes, wash out the fucked up things inside. Another month, another years.

The cancers inside of us will keep us dry, the hatred inside of us will keep us dry.

But these hearts will keep on beating despite the smoke, despite the asbestos, despite the urge to give in. The lightning strikes and the house is on fire, I've missed calls but I told off the recruiter.

The cancers inside of us will keep us dry, the hatred inside of us will keep us dry.
Track Name: One For the Birds
Lying again, in the rain tattered night. The cracks lying to your face. Wrinkled skin leading to another day of this. Anti-depressants hand in hand, cheek to cheek.

They say it's another world's hell and they're sure they can tell the cash crops, the gold from the putrid. Too much weight on our backs, too much pride in our hearts, shoving down the pills choking on expectation.

Lying again in the dampened morning, the beams of light exposing the truth. Ironed shirt leading to another day of this, anti-depressants hand in hand, cheek to cheek.

Fill it up again, strain yourself longer, getting through the day, on another round. Despite the lawsuits, despite the noose hanging from the ceiling. Shoving down the pills, choking on expectation.
Track Name: Monticello, IN
This morning my life flashed in front of my eyes and the flesh rolled back into my head. And I've realized the things that I've built will eventually be broken. This has been hanging around like dead skin, and it didn't take long to realize I fucked up again.

Looking down at mistakes to see them on your shoes, but that's a better place than tattooed to your skin. Armed with high cholesterol and a loaded gun. The alcoholism will kill you before you've reached forty-one.

Tonight my life flashed in front of my eyes and I decided to just go to bed. I'm quite aware my bones are breaking out of my skin, they'd rather belong to someone else. And they say that "karma is a bitch," but it's hard to disagree when you fit the job description.

But you're still stuck in the past and I'm still stuck in a place I can never call home. I've been trying to find out for so long who the fuck I am. But I guess that's where you come in.
Track Name: Old Bones
Nothing is consistent; everything is always running away. Cold and tired in the streets. Lonely and full of greed in the office, feeling empty, in your own alcohol.

Too many regrets, to count on one hand. Too many thoughts to repress into the back of your mind. Never enough time, to breathe in. Never enough time to explain.

Always losing air, just before reaching the surface. There's always someone you gotta put the blame on. But in the end, it's your own burden that you gotta carry, it's your own shitstorm, you gotta fight with fire.

The Gulf of Mexico, filled with oil and your head is about to go up in flames. Tearing down the walls, burning the old photographs. I'd hate for things to have to end like this.

In the end, we're all in this alone, just you're broken teeth and your old bones.
Track Name: On Excused Murder
Falling to the ground, no questions asked. Building anger, the alcohol becomes thicker than the blood. Doing everything to feel some sort of connection. Finding anything to feel nothing at all.

You poor old thing, you're pretty young, blacken your lungs and brighten your sinister gaze and take those judgmental eyes, and point them inward to yourself.

Shot down, and when everytime. Shot down. Falling to the ground, no questions asked. Before they put, the bullets in your chest.
Track Name: A Letter to the Tortured Artist
The humidity has bullied my throat dry, but I wouldn't know what to say. A broken bottle in your hand and meth on your dinnerplate. But you were the one that let the blood out. Set free from it's prison but the feelings still stuck inside.

Passing off every opportunity as a fucking joke, every helping hand, just covered in distaste. Destroying the delicate, body of work. Self mutilation just for creativity.

Filling every hole, every gap with something superficial. Your mind will never wake up.

You may be high on your own pride right now, but soon enough you'll come spiraling down and break your skull on the fucking pavement. Your pretentious brain, the incriminating evidence showing how full of shit you really are.
Track Name: The Human Condition
Watching the television, wasting your dime a dozen. Studying your physicality, the brutality of words. Burning deceit, to the skin. But the brand, never forgotten.

Sleep deprivation from all the nightmares. That are bound to your soul. Just give me a gun, and send me away. The systematic crunching of youth. Just another number, a walking dollar sign. Just another cross stabbed into the ground.

I can't help being restless the nervous gripe always gets to me. Eyes screaming for my body to sleep. Trip and stumble over some sort of expectation. Pick your poison or just rot away.