The Accidentals - Catastrophe

by The Accidentals

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Catastrophe 03:25
Waiting at the train station, a pool of blood red, illuminated. Surrealism, turns into realism this isn't fiction a strange truth that holds an even stranger conviction. Self-slain the paramedics try in vain, my eyes are wide open but I wish I could look away. I'm afraid of the outcome of this brutal act, suicide I try and hide but the images remain. Chorus: This harsh world saddens me, this beautiful world uplifts me and everyday I'm left confused I'm pondering in the wake of this splendid catastrophe. Second verse: A family man, who couldn't support his wife and child, took a cutting knife and drove it deep into his own neck. In that same hour, many around this world did die, but also many born, life and death it seems so damn simple. But sometimes convoluted and confusing a labyrinth of misplaced emotions, we try to tuck these thoughts deep away, aa, but sometimes they choose to come out and play. Chorus: This harsh world saddens me, this beautiful world uplifts me and everyday I'm left confused I'm pondering in the wake of this splendid catastrophe.
When he’s on the road he feels like a tired old salesman hoping from town to town and door to door. Yet instead of selling those cheap goods that are made in China he sells those cheap songs made down in Durban South Africa. I ran away from such dreary days and if I forget about you, my soul might as well die to and I’ll try and pawn these cheap songs, even though I never get much, the road it calls my name. I’ll bleed all over the concrete again, until I find the song salesman. His tired suit tells his own tale, the holes in his shoe, talk about the fight, some win some lose, flailed affliction from tired boots. He carries on down the road he has baggage he needs to off load some say selling songs isn’t a real job, but he carries on. The story means more to him then the wage; some say he’s still a slave to the song. His heart is blessed this road is cursed, but he still carries on.
Sarah's Song 04:36
We drove around all morning, dodged our way past accidents, police and broken street lamps. Gazed at decrepit buildings, saw fairy lights shining from trees, is this the wrong or right side of town? I wanted to take you to the harbour to watch the boats in the bay but I took the wrong turnoff we found ourselves on the highway. I said let’s go eat breakfast, down the coast. I know a little place I like to call unknown, we can be alone. And it felt like I was living in one of my favourite love songs and it was so simple, all I had to do was sing along. And in that moment I felt so brave and strong, that nothing in this menacing city could be wrong. The strangest things do happen in the hours before, alarm clocks wake Sunday runners into their running shoes. I know you have so to lose. But just take a chance on me.
Train tracks capture my train of thought, consciousness falls into unconsciousness, Varanasi City of the Dead. I arrived, in a cloud of smoke, goats and cows, human excrement; I’m getting lost amongst the freaks and the Sikhs, Varanasi City of the Dead. Burning bodies, flashing lights, I’m taken in by the sights and sounds this is holly ground, Holly River, deaths cloud surrounds this town. Ancient ruins remain standing lasting centuries through war and weather. You better run before the grim reaper comes, Varanasi City of the dead. Elephant man, reincarnation of Ganesh he’s there in the flesh, lord Shiva, Lord Buddha, I rode a boat out to see where the dead bodies float. I was awoken in the middle of the night by chimes and bells, human flesh eating hounds who howl at the moon. Doom, soon, looms!
I’ve seen mountains fields, hills, streams and waterfalls across continents. I’ve seen landscapes and cityscapes and people willing to fall, for anything or anyone, lust greed poverty, the rich don’t care. They need to be knocked right back down to earth, so they can feel this profound rebirth. I never listened in school, and I always tried to stay out of politics, (maybe it’s time to take a stand). Even though I’m talking about them whilst jamming for my jam, I’ll play this little tune I know you won’t sing with me, because we sing in different languages as I float out to sea, I’m drifting. I love the sight of morning dew, the calm before the storm, the howling south Wester Winds and the ocean as it calls, o how it makes me sing. I’ve seen the best and the worst of humanity, it keeps both pessimism and optimism of so close to me. I might be growing older, but I’m not growing up, so darling pretty darling, why don’t you o won’t you please grow, a little younger with me. There are invisible shackles around these ankles, as I walk in these tacky takkies, my preachers are the punks with their dreams of anarchy as capitalism falls they will rejoice but we are all only human, hypocritical and lonely as we wander.
Bus ride take me and make me into a stronger man. Seen things I can’t unseen as I've been traveling through this dusty land, I've got nothing by my side but this lonely A harp and I’ll sing and blow until the lack of oxygen makes me feel alive. ‘Harmonica Man play me a song and make me feel alright, I can’t pay you much is it ok if I pay in you kind’ he said ‘I’m tired of kindness, happiness and joy, all I want is a tiny room so I can lay my head and sleep’. ‘But I haven’t slept in weeks, maybe you could spare me some sleep, because when I sleep when I dream, I feel everything, everything is going to be fine’. Analogue, Analogue o won’t you come back to me, won’t you bring me your warm sound, I’m tired of living, I’m tired of breathing, I’m tired of existing in your digital realm.
When the night is done and everyone is exasperated, and it’s half past fun, all the coke heads are using their adjectives as guns. I'm an animal that can’t be caged, and this town is becoming one, so I run, so I roam. Always alone, in crowded rooms, in sweaty saloons, down busy streets in everyone I meet, I see no retreat from deafening noise; I see no retreat from deafening noise.


released November 28, 2013


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GroundSweep Records Durban, South Africa

A DIY, for the love recording label. Which serves as a platform to archive Matt Vend's creative process. This bandcamp page also includes a few artists whose music he happened to produce. And some of his old bands including Sibling Rivalry, The Accidentals and The Tubby Wilson's. Many of these releases are also available at We Did This Records. All music up for donation. X ... more

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