When your volunteering sword
Slays the monster and comes home
It's gonna meet what I've done
And you may cry all afternoon
And waste the treasure to get through
All of the cover-ups made
Underneath it's just this virginal white page
I don't know who are, not now, not ever
There's nothing you should tell them at the gate
I don't know who you are, that's the way it should be
We were saddled up and pressed
To surrender, so I guessed
We would talk it all through
You said "baby we'll be educated by it"
We were not, we were black and were blue
Then again it's just this virginal white page
I don't know who are, not now, not ever
There's no information left to fabricate
I don't know who you are, that's the way it should be
Wrote it down, thought all the lines were drawn
Wrote it down, thought nothing more
embarrassing would come out
Wrote it down, thought all the lines were drawn
They were nothing more than figurines
In wax house scenes of you
1 2 3 4 5 6 bullets in the revolver,
Sent them home, hoping one might stick
Threw that firearm in the pond
Behind the castle, turned around,
Your ghost was somewhere else
Under bedsheet like a virginal white page
I don't know who are, not now, not ever
In a moment I will tell them at the gate
I don't know who you are, that's the way it should be
Sparkling synthpop with an emphasis on high-wattage chords and the kind of melodies that burrow themselves deep in the brain. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 1, 2023