Memorial Gore

by The Qualia

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04:01
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04:13
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released June 14, 2011

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The Qualia New York

The music of New York-based trio The Qualia speaks to the heart as much as to the head. Reflecting the passionate and analytical personalities of Lars Casteen, Chvad SB and Rossen Nedelchev, the group’s music combines a wry humor and dancefloor sensibility with lyrical depth and jangle to create their own brand of modern new wave music. ... more

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Track Name: Guess I Lied
Counting time while mom and dad are gone,
1-2-3-4
Stuff some dirty towels tight underneath the closet door.
Trips back home leave time alone so rare,
Oh-oh-oh.
Get unwound but don’t get found in there.

Sister’s footsteps creeping up the hall,
1-2-3-4
Guess I lied when I promised I didn’t need this anymore.
She gently knocks as I unblock the way,
Oh-oh-oh.
She shrugs and swears and says she’d care to stay.

She needs something to feel alright,
It’s such a chore.
Like I don’t know.
When I’m back here, it’s every night,
Just like before.
Like fifteen years ago.

Family dinner, everyone sit down,
1-2-3-4.
Betcha thought that you’d be done by the age of thirty-four.
Both okay, too far away to hurt,
Oh-oh-oh,
Adult siblings; neither eating dessert.
Track Name: Triple Crown
Rose petals over Main Street,
Triple Crown.
Ambition sinks its teeth into another one,
Triple Crown.

The curtain’s pulled, and you’re parading,
Triple Crown.
The air too thick to see the gathered strangers,
Triple Crown (but you deserve them).
Then the fog clears out,
Young wives step out their dressing gowns.
But you’re not close to done,
A lasso ‘round the sun,
You’re pulling it down.

Rose petals over Main Street,
Triple Crown.
Ambition sinks its teeth into another one,
Track Name: Word Gets Around
Every day he pauses at the door,
Pulls his coat and mittens from the drawer,
Slides each one on with purpose,
Suddenly he gets too nervous,
Falls down, and hangs on to the floor.

Soup cans piled up against the wall,
Endlessly waiting for that call:
An inquiry from a publication,
Offering full compensation,
But no one’s interested at all.

It’s just a matter of time before he’s finally found -
He doesn’t know what he’ll do when word gets around.

Loneliness is a small price to pay.
He calls an escort service twice a day.
Each time takes half an hour,
Afterwards, a scalding shower.
He hardly has energy to pray.

Typewriter set-up in the den,
Working on manuscripts ‘til ten.
He keeps a bottle handy –
Half a page for half a brandy,
Until he passes out again.

It’s just a matter of time before he’s finally found –
He doesn’t know what he’ll do when word gets around.

At night he dreams about a cloud,
From which he’s preaching to a crowd.
Each move he makes amazes.
They’re screaming out his praises.
He only wakes up when it gets too loud.

It’s just a matter of time before he’s finally found –
He doesn’t know what he’ll do when word gets around.
Track Name: Keep It Coming
And when I die, I hope I get to heaven,
Lifted up on hands out from the grass.
I hope the people up there find me pleasant.
I’ll sit with them and wait for time to pass,
And we’ll say…

Oh keep it coming, oh keep it coming, oh keep it coming.

But if I took a trip down to the ocean,
I’d hold my breath and float down to the floor,
Searching on with care and devotion,
For someone else with whom I could explore,
And they’d say…

Oh keep it coming, oh keep it coming, oh keep it coming.

In the likelihood I’ve got no destination,
I’d force my friends to circle ‘round my bed.
And spend my final breaths in concentration,
To keep them with me, burned into my head.
Track Name: Fat On The Baby
Some days, I can’t remember them at all,
Their faces, when my parents saw it fall,
When the fat fell on the baby.
Ah-ah-ah.

My father, lying down behind the door,
Still crying about the day that came before,
When the fat fell on the baby.
Ah-ah-ah.

Why waste your breath just to scream,
Drowning in butane and Jim Beam?
Why waste your breath just to scream,
Drowning in butane and Jim Beam?

The good things will only come from moving on.
The sun sets, and then that day is gone,
When the fat fell on the baby.
Ah-ah-ah.

Why waste your breath just to scream,
Drowning in butane and Jim Beam?
Why waste your breath just to scream,
Drowning in butane and Jim Beam?
Track Name: Volcanoe (The Diogenes Club Remix)
(ooh aah ooh aah)
I want to sacrifice myself to the volcano.
I want to see just how far down the fucker goes.
Throw away the burning reservations –
I might not get them back, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

(ooh aah ooh aah)
I want to kill and eat everything in the caldera.
I want to stick the vitamins to my lucky bones.
Every little salted, white crustacean –
they might not hold me up, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

And I won’t bring a rope to help my climb back.
I won’t bring a radio.
If anything waits across the gap
you’ll never know…

(ooh aah ooh aah)
I want to hammer through the rock of every chamber.
I want to drown in the ensuing lava flow.
Maybe it will “bring me new perspective,”
but even if it won’t I don’t care, I don’t care, look, I don’t care.