the summer's calm is bleeding out your tongue
and the mystics are grinding their teeth
grind on mystics
i feel down at your feet
and turned into discarded shards
so we're laughing on and stepping on it
i am a stripped screw
and my woman is into it
i will be there in an hour
your friend has a truck
and when it glides i feel fine
on the practice field
it speaks and i listen
let the others hear as well
may the others hear as well
The UK upstarts' debut veers from sunny, psychedelic folk to bristling post-punk with reckless abandon without ever missing a beat. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 18, 2024
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