There is a land alongshore, where children hunt buried animals with shoestrings​.​.​.

from Amid all this mess, a weak splendour! by SALVING THY AMISS

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lyrics

« Hello, hello. I small in. ». (employee)
“The Gods are singing through his lungs, this is the fountainhead of our redemption philosophy” (crowd)
Is this mouth the hotbed of a metaphysical schism? Come on, this guy can’t pronounce understandable sentences! He is just a clever retarded, a corrupted saint for the atheist militia. We shaped him yesterday, maybe Tuesday, and now he’s leading a bunch of defeated sheep to the river. God bless the penpusher, submissive and honest spillways of mankind.

This note is a gift fellows! A golden rundown of what this carpetbagger had planned for all of us. We will jubilantly cover walls, trees and children with these words. We are the three, aren’t we? The call is still knocking on our chest.
White eyes. Guess they were tired of our pale suns because they left the day after; beaten by gold and by grass. As usual, they will say.
Can you see them feeding drizzle to our kids, again and again? With beds full of forgotten rhythms across our land, I am a fake singer. Pray for me when the lights turn grey. Ask the good Lord for a new prophet, we are too busy and i am alone. Goodnight.

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from Amid all this mess, a weak splendour!, track released December 24, 2010

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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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