The Cat of Nine Tails

by The Coltranes

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03:27

about

SPHC - 52

buy the 7" vinyl
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credits

released January 20, 2015

Engineered, Mixed, and Mastered by Colin Knight
Artwork by Archie Fitzgerald

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all rights reserved
Track Name: This is a Whole New Look For Me
Pestilence sought to fulfill,
will spoil and expire.
Putrefy,
yet the skin ferments like wine.
But if to accord these sanctions of design,
it will learn to spread like fire.

Scar the temple, awaken and bind
a new mind with a fresh hide.
A precious stone that given fit time,
a new home, and a defining truth.

I felt it grow an unthinkable size.
With help I know it will grow until dies.
Track Name: Distant
This is the spectrum of color through static
while the object is monochromatic.
Break silence and break from the habit.
It's the sign that there's nothing to match it.

Without touch the swill won't reach the distant void.
It's of concern that the penetration shall not be foiled.
I will live on vacant sands where I hope to feel weight again.
And I will rise from rotting shores to purge myself through the snow.

The crisis is violent,
it's smiling.
Track Name: Seven Shades of Shit
Pain magic will regress and will swill to improve the kind.
Chain fastened, to expel and to bind with the second find.

I could do it if I'd like,
feel the skin of the wench with the leather thighs.
I could do it if I tried,
cut the cloth for the warmth of the worthy child.

Fading is the name of the place beyond the grain.
It's to be loved
To believe or it's not to be loved.
To be scared,
it's to believe, or it's not to be there.
Track Name: Parallels
Cut the eye with a tight strap,
pouring over until the skin snaps.
To forge the parallel, the white hag
the undercurrent of the object.

Stroke the mold,
make it hard,
keep it warm,
spread it apart.

See yourself through a vast shine
generated from the first life.
A face of color now the cells fry.
The pain of lust for the the last time.

Faint glimmer of the final plight.
The resurrection, the first sign.
The only thought to inhabit you,
is of the shell that you once knew.

While left alone topped with seven sheets of stone,
it rubbed the bottom lightly, it felt until it groaned.
And as it said,
"It's to be stricken to this bed.
The ocean won't devour, it just throbs until it's red."

Ripened with ample size, satisfaction.
Rejoice! This is the fabric of our lives.

Tighten, member engorged, slicing.
Bones, through the steady recourse.
Gap unknown,
between the fear and the stone.
Embrace and approach,
what's been solely ignored.
To be scorned,
is to be wasted and foiled.