The Band That Murdered Silence

Cancion Del Pollo (Released 2004, Home Recorded Culture)

Colin Spring: Meet The Sea... Or Be Washed Up

The Lyrics:

Come Back, Baby Jean
A Jukebox To Put My Dimes In
Come On Down (To My End Of The Dial) - [ Listen to MP3 ]
Sweet Repose
Wicked Ways - [ Listen to MP3 ] [ View Video ]
This Tired Old Town - [ Listen to MP3 ] [ View Video ]
The Old Javelina
Red - [ Listen to MP3 ]
Clean Out The Boxes, Ma - [ View Video ]
Far Away And Tomorrow
Miles
Tonka Truck Children
Santa Domingo

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Come Back, Baby Jean

She was a high school dropout, he was a lifelong copout
They met at a mini market
She lived in a brownstone apartment
He was buying a box of breath mints, he lived from moment to moment
She was buying a box of incense it was something a little more permanent
They had a talk until day break, she believed she would reincarnate
He believed that he had to urinate, they had an urge to consummate
Come back, Baby Jean your little sister's grown cold and mean
She waits inside at the foot the bed the doll house is all spiderwebbed
Turtle dove, honey child, your sibling waits at the end of the drive
Bouncing jacks in the suburban breeze, the doll house packed with TNT
Poorly skilled and richly reckless, they drove off into the sunset
A scripted cliché of the young and feckless on a quest to where the coke runs bottomless
Twenty two and already jaded
Marred and scarred and marinated
In every cookpot of the system
Diagnosed with every ism
Come back, Baby Jean your little sister's grown cold and mean
She waits inside at the foot the bed the doll house is all spiderwebbed
Turtle dove, honey child, your sibling waits at the end of the drive
Bouncing jacks in the suburban breeze, the doll house packed with TNT
They found a lonely gentleman
Less important than what laid in front of them|
And cleaned his clock with a military glock for the minerals in a jewelry box
And it's sauce and sass and don't talk back
You're headed down a wounded path
You'll wake up maybe in twenty years and say how the hell did I end up here
Come back, Baby Jean your little sister's grown cold and mean
She waits inside at the foot the bed the doll house is all spiderwebbed
Turtle dove, honey child, your sibling waits at the end of the drive
Gluing beans to paper plates, the doll house has been detonated

A Jukebox To Put My Dimes In

Says she's going to Baton Rouge but she's never been out of state
The ring of the name is exotic enough to sound like it might clean her slate
I can say I appreciate the way she made her mind of solely
Still I'll miss the way she move because there is something in it so holy
She folded her sheets like a jingoist flag, pack and reconsidered her jacket
Storms in the winter and a summer hot flash, the girl knows how to attract it
She asks if I'll walk her down to her call at the station
And wills me what's left of her tended yard when the seeds reach maturation

CHORUS:

She's looking for missions, looking for blessings
To hold in her hand
All, all of my wishing, all of my thinking
I can't understand
I was kind of hoping you see where I came from
Think I'll drift on up to a ski town with a backpack full of reasons
Strike a bargain with a shopkeeper to finish out the season
Whittle away the pine tree nights in a barroom by the fire
Read the classics of a library shelf, click the lights off and retire

Chorus

I'm trying now not to look so hard at what lays beyond that horizon
I just need a place I can mellow out and a jukebox to put my dimes in
Maybe when I'm ready enough I'll come down from that mountain
Carrying with me a beautiful box that I use to keep my doubts in

Come On Down to My End Of The Dial

These razor blades will be your ruin, your lamplight nights and your shade drawn noons,
Whosever ear you're out there chewin'
I hope his pinprick eyes can pop your black balloons.
And your faded features are too much like ragged jeans,
Battered, tattered and ready to die
If your crimsom city burns too bright tonight, come on down to my end of the dial
And the pampered sofa by the open window
You like to keep them occupied
And the stammered hum of an open sign, it flickers on in three fourth time
If your radio is questioning it's life
Come on down to my end of the dial
If your rabbit ears require you to stand upright
Come on down to my end of the dial
The stopsign buried to it's knees, makes it's intentions an easy read
Your sign would need a hundred word, to describe the directions that I've heard
And if your late night hosts should turn bellicose, your creature comforts
Forgotten lovers, are companies at odds
You can declare a stance relax your combatants
And dress your wounds in tin foil gauze
If your radio is threatening to leave
Come on down to my end of the dial
If your rabbit ears need a hanger to receive
Come on down to my end of the dial
If your crimson city burns to bright tonight...

Sweet Repose

Sleep, fall beneath the wheels
Hear those tires squeal and ease on to the shoulder
Drive, won't you step inside
And take me for a ride and wake me when it's over
Because I really need to know

From your fingers to your toes to your heart that lays exposed
Do you love me?
Is there a siren in your head that says it's better left unsaid
Do you trust me?
Is there a static in the air or a warning to beware up above me?
From your fingers to your toes do I put you in the throes of sweet repose?

Night, your cruel way is over soon
Your sweat soaked dying moon, wants so bad to be a survivor
Gray, your so passive anyway
Waste not one vertical day, we don't take kindly to outsiders
And I really need to know

Wicked Ways

This Tired Old Town

I give up and I give in
This tired old town just won't seem to let me win
I've been a fool for every sinner claimed a saint
Colored red white and blue and soaked three days in paint
There's an glass eye on an oak door that sees down every block
If you're face is so unfamiliar well you needn't even knock
I give up and I give in
It's a tired way to live but I'm coming home again
If there's justice in the dirt well let the worms crawl in
And eat away the bitter half of this broken ugly skin
There's a fresh bloodstain on the basin white '
An eclipse on King Arthur's Court
An unpturned chair in the shadow of the blinds
That cuts lines in the dark
There's a white glove run across a mantle piece gathering unwanted dust
The forgotten dreams of an inventors machine left to weather and rust
I dried as fine as the grains of sand on a South American beach
Fell through the narrows of an hour glass into the stagnant pool time keeps
The razor sharp and the mirror flat
A hungry soup spoon to empty bowl
The desperate taps like a Vaudeville act on it's farewell show

The Old Javalina

Good times for everyone
Cheap thrills and nickle beer
Green lights and clear skies
Hello and goodbye
You can't take it with you
I don't want it anyway
I said buddy you're a darling drunk but I can't live that way
I've got bills to pay
And you mother's darling angels have a devil full of pride
With a pitchfork on your left shoulder
And a sermon on you're right
Don't you bend you're halos when you're laying down at night
And I got so lonely last night that I sat out in you're car
Imagined you were driving me through time
I could get a fast nickle or wait on your slow dime
A fast nickle won't buy me peace of mind
Won't buy me peace of mind
By the light above the burlesque pole there's a nightstand and a cot
Let me sleep it off right there, dreaming is all I got
Well I got so lonely last night that I sat on you're front stairs
Imagined that this house was your's and mine
The paper boy he greeted me
I was still there at sunrise
So much for bottle charm
So much for baited lines
He was a pretty good so I told him the story
How the Old Javelina had gone
Hunched over like a question mark and his Sunday best was on
And I said, go tell the bitties at the hair salon
The Old Javelina is dead
That he went with empty pockets....
And a smile upon his lips

Red

Up from the sea with a mouth full of shell
Pigtailed and penniless on the drunken shoulders of a perfumed stranger
As the fog contorts with the wind
Blinded and mute feeling our way
From brick to pole to seed to weed to the grave to the grave
It's a life, it's a life

Up in that crow's nest
Staring down the spyglass that magnified your deep blue eyes
If I never had kissed you
I knew I'd live to regret that decision all the days of my life
Red is the color of the hair that you brushed from your eyes

The uneven rise of a curb disturbed our gait
Sprawling scattered spectacles pebble knees embedded head over heals
I am headless and I am heedless
Laying outstretched flat on our backs, a starfish attached
No stressed or pressed on a quest to return to the sea
I have landed on land

Once there was nothing behind this stride but to wait for the days to drip to an end
You promised me nothing
I knew I'd rather burn twice as bright half as long in the end
Red is the rose that grows from the thorny stem

A salve for the sting and the ringfinger where the knuckles froze
I never knew a touch to mean so much and to feel so real
You are there in the glow of a dying ember and fire and passion
Are spoke in succession like words never lossed

Up to your neckline
In the ethereal puff where a sweater can meld to a bed
All the primary colors
I swear that morning all I saw was a rainbow of red
Red is the blood that flows from the heart to the head

Clean Out The Boxes, Ma

He lived his life like he was always waking up on someone elses sofa
He would look you in the eye for the 22nd time and say ,"it sure is good to know you"
No one really knew where he came from
He'd tell you Japan and then you'd overhear Nova Scotia
All is anybody knew is it laid somewhere between these two big beautiful oceans
And when we all had tired of his lies, he still had the girl with the bedroom eyes
They ran off and lived happily ever after

I know somewhere over a distant horizon
I know the sun is shining
But it's raining here for the fortieth day
I don' t know if I can take it anyway
Clean out the boxes ma, your baby boy is coming home

I guess at times I came to regret the day that our lives ever intersected
It's not like I'm without my flaws, I'm just a little easier to take on a Sunday morning
And I fell for some melancholy baby off a four year stint with some dude in the navy
She used to run her fingers through my hair and say, "I forgot what could grow up there"
And now I long for those cold winter nights and the urgency of the diffused light
That drug us by our collars through the canyons and the cobblestones
I know a place where it's always warm where the pool cues are crooked
And the felt is torn and I know...

Far Away and Tomorrow

Carnival barker what do memories get
Can you seal them in a jar so that I can forget
Twice a day for the lump in my throat, the deeper I breath the more I choke
I'd buy it on the trust I could make it out of bed
For the noise and the smell of a circus tent

If the main attraction keeps you entertained
The clowns and the freaks on your three ring stage
Far away and tomorrow only the names will change
Far away and tomorrow, when you're tired of seeing the same old act
Raise the platform and I'll walk that tight rope back
Walk the wire, walk the wire

I never go asking a confidence man for miracle cures from snake oil stands
There must be a trunk you keep locked away
For the shake of a hand or a sign of good faith
With a poem found when a doorbells rung
To weaken the knees when bones are young
Or a cigarette lighter that could spark the fire
Of a paper doll never meant to be mine

Miles

The crying telephone the cradle where it stays
I held it close to burp it's back the country codes are cracked
So many numbers tackedare you ever coming back?
The stewards on the planein turbulence they walk with grace
Fumbled corners of snack food tastesa dizzy head a boredom break
Will you always walk the same?
Does anybody really change
Loosen, enlighten up again?
What it is and what remains must be in the way
For you or I to say
I'm here to stay
Left every life I knew to put a face on for a while
For to stash into the files
Of pictures for to keep
When we cannot drift to sleep
Cannot breath in to breath
Cannot lay there and grieve
Cannot get up to leave
I've been to pity town
I let the mustangs out
For the listeners who pay
In nodding heads and silent days
Who pine themselves away
Stronger than too let
It hang on every breath
Are you feeling better yet?
I've been to pity town
I let the lizards out
I saw the steeple framed
I saw the nails be struck
I heard the bells ring out
To let the shouter's shout
I read the tour book page
I paid the entrance fee
I thought it spoke to me
And so I walked away
I heard the speakers chant
I watched them sharpen knives
Back at the hotel room
Hummed an electric broom
That's when I thought of you
Transfixed by artful walls
You ran the country down
I should have seen it all
From miles and miles and miles and miles away

Tonka Truck children

Hey Tonka Truck children
How ya doing today
You're playgrounds are soap operas
You're all grown up that way
Someday you'll fill phone books up
With Anglo-Saxon names
Someday you'll fill note books up
With thoughts of yesterday
When you still knew how to play
If you're a winner, where's the prize van
Pulling up into the driveway?
Where's the men in suits and dark shades?
Oh Jericho just maybe
We'll hear the trumpets
They'll play for us now
Come again and make them blow away
Rolling Blackouts
It's at the front door blocking the passageway
Turning over anything that gets in the way
You bore of knobs and levers it's only flashing lights you understand
You've lost the simple pleasures of sifting round in the sand

Santa Domingo

Santa Domingo is bleary eyed
Is wet with morning dew
Kick the carcasses, roll them aside
Let's let the working people through
Sylvia you fell upon yourself
To get home before the curls
Fell to the mousy strands
Of a nunnery girl
And I've been up all night long
With the burned out nowhere rockstar blues
Waiting on a letter I wrote to pay some back royalty dues
And the couriers throw well wishes to gingerbread addressees
I check the post when I'm making my rounds
But there's never a letter for me
And the wedding party at the steps of the courthouse
Makes it so lonely in the dawn
When all that you have is a bad case of cottonmouth
And the streets don't have anything on
The streets are naked but they're putting something on
Secretaries, to airline pilots
Look like marching ants
I know a sleepy girl
That lives in a Hareliquinn
She doesn't even know the meaning of the word 'romance'
The bed that's made is unmade again
Myself I'll never know
Cuz I don't mind an honest day of work but I don't want two in a row
And the bubbler fountain by the statue by the park bench
Is as dry as the rio ditch
If you close your eyes and you listen for the trickle
You'll never tell which one is which
The statue is naked, except where the vandals wrote on it
Paris, Milan I'll take the bums
For commitment to function and fashion
Leering critiques they are a thankless job
But at least they amount to a passion
Sylvia don't take it so hard
They laugh at all of the girls
Don't give in to the pleading factions
Saying, "get thee to a nunnery girl"
And I've been up all night long
With the burned out nowhere rockstar blues
Torn between the spirit and the flesh
I tell you people it's hard to choose
And the wedding party by the steps by the courthouse
Spills out into the park
The bride takes the train from her wedding gown
And covers that poor statue up
And the streets come alive
The streets come alive
Alive with the sound of just waking up

The Band That Murdered SIlence is:
Colin Spring: vocals, acoustic guitar
Nat Scholz: bass guitar
Fran Hapke: percussion
Michael Hallet: electric guitar, vocals, keyboard

For this recording the band enlisted the help of the following musicians:
Melinda Friedman: back-up vocals
Joe Adams: keyboard

In addition to the people listed above the band owes a large debt to a list of people too long to mention here. Suffice it to say that without your support we would be nowhere. Thanks.

Recorded at:
The Laundry Room by Greg Williamson
Iron Wood Studios by Donn Devore and Steve Wiesman
Mixed by Greg Williamson at Bionic Ear Studios
Produced by Greg WIlliamson and The Band That Murdered Silence

All Lyrics by Colin SPring /Music by The Band That Murdered Silence.
All selections published by the Word is Murder Publishing Co.
Artwork and post-production by Michael Serpe