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Horsewreck, oh trail's highlight.

by SALVING THY AMISS

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1.
And this heart is a disturbed child.And this heart is whatever you take from it. Where all our thoughts and breathes were prays to our lonely God, now every move and step is an obscene dance with lust. And we’ll be known as the most ungrateful sons a father never had. These dresses suit us fine, deviationist peers. A good tailor is hard to find; a devoted one in a chariotstop is kind of a gift. Our tackiness of clothes is now history. What if we walk back to the cross, to the bridge and the promise land? The flesh has erased every map in here. The coward sings louder with his ghost orchestra, and then I’ll be We. There’s confusion now, the sinners look soured, but I’m nothing but a Dickensian. Really.
2.
“Ride the horses son, ride the horses!” From lumberjacks ‘tambourines to so called churchmen’s backyard outlets, what a legacy dear wood. There’s no sin at war, and the farm provides us with a saviour. This is Salem, spittle to say one’s farewells. There’s a kind of musical in this amputee forest, “flames, countrymen and forks”. It sounds great from here, and the pretty got the speed by her own. For now, and for sure, this is poor man’s heroism. But the city is looking for ink, country bumpkins, as the headlines are jogging along. I am the front page. “Ride the horses girl, ride the horses!”
3.
What an awe-inspiring end to such a known to be lost battle. My heart sank when our champion cut his own throat as the crowd whispered “none ground deserves this amphetaminical red“. Pagan effusiveness; dancing and beating. Our restraining God is yelling above our wild dogs’ celebration, but the petty officer is yet turning black and blue all over. We’ll bare their storyteller for a blacksmith; we’ll restate History through hammers and steel. People and soft-covers deserve some great feat of arms, not a portentous mutiny. A punched truth and a bunch of men soaking up for the sun, with blanks to fill in. There are overtones of rough estimates in our legend, don’t let some chime in during the play. Scepticism calls hard times. Oh dear children, a few dear hunters don’t stand for a garrison. In a gingerly fashion we take the road again, we have facings to ruin. But God love his rotters and we’ll make this kingdom ours. Someday.
4.
Oh God, this is a great welcoming board. These soon to be old fashioned guns sing the glory of wreckers. Enjoy every single step old friend; we’ll get a ruthless leaving. But for now the powdered wind gives majesty to the coming dance of our nail claws. Scatter years, hands and sweat over the brown main street, and scream the triumphal return of your prodigal sons, dear city. Sisters, friends and people of mine, will you ever pardon what morning and sunrays are about to paint on cherish eyes? But it’s such a tasty morsel for idles, and so are we. Sweet hometown, you’re giving night an unexpected show. Heat and lights, this is magnificent. Horses meet dogs in the wildest choir ever. How strange they preview any kind of tearjerker. Goodbye charming runnels, ashes fusing together in a spiteful militia. At least embrace this Brightside.

about

Line-up on this album:
Alexandre Maliakas - bass
Bastien Souvignet - guitars
Jeremie Poidevin - vox
Olivier Delecroix - drums

credits

released September 1, 2006

Songs by SALVING THY AMISS.
Sound by Alex Poulain.
Artwork by Geraud S.

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SALVING THY AMISS Paris, France

Open-minded extreme rock'n'roll band from Paris (France) since 2004.

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