Hang The Old Year

by Hang The Old Year

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    Limited to 300, hand stamped, hand numbered CD's. Black card stock folded arigato package hand stamped and numbered by Joshum with metallic silver ink. Inserts offset printed with silver ink on black paper by Eberhardt Press in Portland, OR.

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credits

released August 25, 2013

Recorded and mixed by Fester in Haywire Studios, Portland, OR over the course of 8 sweat drenched days in July & August, 2013.
Mastered by Adam Gonsalves at Telegraph Audio.

Hang the old year on this recording was:
Brian McCauley - Drums, Glockenspiel, soundscapes
TJ Minich - Bass, backing vocals
Benjamin Caragol - guitar, lead vocals on imprints, backing vocals on steam
Joshum - guitar, lead vocals on steam

additional vocals on all tracks by Sarah Ann Lachner.

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Hang The Old Year Portland, Oregon

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Track Name: The Imprints In Our Eyes
Part of me swells and bursts
and time crashes over us in waves
making the moments glisten like the sun
leaving imprints in our eyes
but our retinas detach
running from the stabbing
of the sunset beaming through the ripples
and only then do we remember
what it’s like to truly see
as we curse the darkness
for taking the fire
Track Name: Turn Into Steam
I hear a ticking, some distant counting.
I hear a ticking, something is leaving.
These moments watching clocks,
wishing away the days,
and trading my life away for survival.
These fevered desperate dreams,
leveraged against the days
of trading our lives away for survival.
I dread the day when it get's easier
to dull the ache till I can't feel the scraping
of trading our lives away for survival.
I hear a ticking, some hectic tugging.
Can't stop for stopping, here now I'm pacing. My chest is heaving, my skin is crawling.
Can't grasp for gasping, each breath for leaving.
Our dreams bursting with golden light
held us above the tumbling waves.
Our dreams kept us awake
in the sprawling, yawning grey.
(but) We've seen our dreams turn into steam,
in the belly of this awful machine.
We've watched our dreams beat into dust
in the lurching of this wretched machine.
But where dreams cannot thrive,
something else must take hold.
We're not so delicate.
Can you hear a ticking? Something is coming.
We could be so much more
than what we've been led to believe.
We could be so much more
than players in their moneyed schemes.
Are you tired of waiting?
Are you tired of giving in?
Are you tired of living like a ghost,
waiting for death?
We could be so much more.