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Bo Bedingfield & the Wydelles

by The Wydelles

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Vinyl version of the self-titled Bo Bedingfield & the Wydelles album. 180 gram virgin vinyl, whatever that means.

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1.
Springtime 03:55
It's springtime and all my friends are in the hospital All the dew upon the southern knoll Shimmers like saline on an I.V. pole Or the sera in a central line I don't know why I'm lonely all the time There must be some pathology Some rip or tear from lack of care In the fragile fabric of the old synapses It's springtime and I'm holding it between the lines Got a job as an office clerk The building's new but I know the work Pouring through the ICD-9 I don't know why... All the lonely nurses and all the next of kin Stretch against the furniture as the day begins
2.
In the office, on the phone I tried to call you but you're not at home I shuffle papers, adjust my chair I run my fingers slowly through my hair I can see all the downtown bars Standing on the roof throwing pennies at cars I drink and drink and slink through doors I hum my high school fight song and write about the war I read the papers; I know the score I know the shit I do don't pay anymore I can see all the downtown bars Standing on the roof throwing bottles at cars Hallelujah. Hand me a beer It's been a strange couple, couple years
3.
Sometimes I sleep, sometimes I lie In my cold bedroom, dark and dry Sometimes I love you, sometimes I lie No one feels anything all the time The airplanes with silver wings Pass over things like us While we talk through our reservations, insignificance, and such As if that were enough In times like these when I get my Old parlor pallor, I pace and pine Sometimes I love you, sometimes I lie Sometimes I love you, and sometimes I try The airplanes...
4.
Hello, Texas girls. I am slowed and slurred In a Waco bar, drunk and uninsured From a place in darkness to these lights Save me for your last dance I sway like my father's son With a lilt in my past tense A poor navigator, I'm a somnambulator There's a group of friends across from where I am This one's halfway drunk, that one's born again From a place in darkness to your light Save me for your last dance...
5.
When I knew the place was burning, I knew I'd need a ride Eight floors up, I worked and watched the smoke and cinder fly Then we met up at Cutters I knew right then I'd be lit long before the fire died But I didn't know I couldn't treat you right until I tried I get it from my mother or from her family's side This pining through the day and pacing endlessly at night Or maybe from my father The day that I was born I knew that something wasn't right But I didn't know I couldn't treat you right until I tried What kind of man can't clear his own bars he's set himself so low? But I knew the place was burning
6.
Set my watch for pacific time Going where the sun always shines To the coast, to San Diego If you run into me next week I'll have pink umbrellas in all my drinks When we go to San Diego Sandy, sunny San Diego Set my watch for pacific time You bring your pets and I'll bring mine We can to go San Diego If you run into my next month I'll be catching waves and having fun When we go to San Diego Sandy, sunny San Diego Goodbye, Georgia summers And my old East Coast ennui With the chicks on Del Mar Beach is where I wanna be
7.
Smokes 04:18
So long smokes and lung-charred white ghosts who wait without want and laugh at all my jokes, who stand by my bed and number my sins, tobacco stained hands and epinephrine grins. All that I might need is a cold, smokeless autumn and a good, clean sleep. They give me pills because I'm such a sad old bastard: prescription amphetamines (I'm still depressed but I'm faster). I ash into ash and refill my beer to loosen and level the wreck 'twixt my ears. All that I might need is a cold, smokeless autumn and a good, clean sleep. So long smokes and lung-charred white ghosts who wait without want and laugh at all my jokes. "Son, you've got to pay." That's what they'll say. "Son, you've got to pay." Then they'll drag me away. All that I might need is a cold, smokeless autumn and a good, clean sleep.
8.
Your heart and mine are slick as stones from the wind the years have blown From having seen what tragedy hath wrought instead of lives at ease "Cover the exits. Stakeout his house. Shut down the airport; he might try to head south." In fifty years when we're both grown with smiles and laughs not our own From having heard these songs too long, these minor fives and somber tones... "Cover the exits. Stakeout his house. Shut down the airport; he might try to head south." And when the law finds him, it won't be done yet. We will hunt and haunt him this live through the next I had a dream night before last of our sweet eternal rest: he cries and beg while from our thrones we watch with eyes as cold as stones.
9.
On a clear day from Stone Mountain I can see from Kennesaw to Covington. I can see you're pissed with me, but the coffee's hot and no lives were lost. One hundred feet of flames One hundred feet a day And the smoke has made its way to Atlanta The evening's proceedings from the night before is why my head's so sore, But my bloodshot eyes are from the teenage kids who set the swamp on fire. One hundred feet of flames One hundred feet a day And the smoke has made its way to Atlanta In the morning from Stone Mountain she says I drink too much. I said I think too much. Pour some wine into a coffee cup and relax a bit, 'cause we can't see shit One hundred feet of flames One hundred feet a day And the smoke has made its way to Atlanta
10.
Loud + Slow 04:00
One day I will ride up to you with a team of horses The flames in my eyes will be blue And I will light your doorway The straightest line from my head to my heart is my throat So i'll pour 'em back and sing loud and slow A few drinks and a love without end and my black boots shining When the respect of some long-known friend was all I wanted The straightest line from my head to my heart is my throat So I'll pour 'em back and sing loud and slow

credits

released March 11, 2016

Appearing as the Wydelles:
David Barbe
Eric Carter
Neil Golden
John Neff
Carlton Owens
Brandon Reynolds
Marcus Thompson

Recorded, Mixed and Mastered by David Barbe at Chase Park Transduction in Athens, GA

Original cover painting by Brian Kindamo (www.deaddreamnation.com)

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