Get all 12 Catholic Guilt releases available on Bandcamp and save 30%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of I Used To Be Someone, Can You See Me?, Live For The Rush, Talking Fake, This Is What Honesty Sounds Like, 8-Bitique Affair, A Boutique Affair, Song of the Renter, and 4 more.
1. |
Counterfeit Guitars
04:35
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Driving by your house
I’m overwhelmed by nostalgia,
As I pull out of the street,
I remember how you lost her
and how in your downstairs bedroom,
we wrote our revolution,
armed with counterfeit guitars and disputable amounts of talent.
Our ideals were all borrowed, we just didn’t know it yet,
So perhaps for once they were authentic.
Cruising through the backstreets,
I pass by that old school yard,
Where we both grew into ourselves and realized
That ‘that life’ wasn’t for the likes of us (following, blindly following)
The hardest part is I can’t just call you up,
and reminisce, because I fucked up,
And my ego was too big to admit it
And I know it’s no excuse,
But I was young and I was frightened,
I had seen the road down which you were headed
and I couldn’t face it again
Tell me can you feel it? The aching in your bones?
The one that reverberates and lodges in your skull?
The near constant headache, that intensifies
each time you think about all the good undone
because we couldn’t nurse our pride?
The hardest part is I can’t just call you up,
and reminisce, because I fucked up,
And my ego was too big to admit it
And I know it’s no excuse,
But I was young and I was frightened,
I had seen the road down which you were headed
and I couldn’t face it again
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2. |
San Diego to Melbourne
04:26
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I can not tell the difference anymore,
between my bed and the floor,
without you,
the wood is cracked, the carpet's torn, there is no life in these boards
is it enough for you to call me in the late afternoon,
cause' sure as shit will never be even remotely close to too good for me,
and I don't want to get in line, with 9 am starts and all of those deadlines,
instead of standing up here, singing songs for you
it may be pissing down with rain today, but tomorrow will be sunny,
that's just my city,
and it reminds me of my moods,
I hope they wont be too much for you,
and I know that I can be a pain on any given day,
but that doesn't mean that I don't fucking love you,
and I know in time you'll come to understand
and we'll walk hand in hand on the beaches of the south eastern suburbs
and I don't want to get in line, with 9 am starts and all of those deadlines,
instead of standing up here, singing songs for you
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3. |
Paper and Ink
03:12
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I almost stood on a syringe tonight,
Out the front of my new house,
The one I moved to to escape my old life,
and the visions came rushing back.
It took a minute for the shaking to subside,
but when it did I made the sign of the cross,
I don’t know if I believe in god,
all I know is that I wouldn’t wish that life on anyone
and I know it’s just paper and ink,
but it’s a miracle to me, I’d nearly written your eulogy
I walked inside and I sat at my kitchen table,
Staring at a photo of us taken last summer
There’s a light in your eyes, I never thought I’d see again,
and there’s a beacon of hope smiling next to you
and I know it’s just paper and ink,
but it’s a miracle to me, I’d nearly written your eulogy
and that thought chills me to the bone,
as much as it gives me hope,
that somehow, someway there’s room for love in all of us
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4. |
Hummingbird
04:40
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A phone call in the midst of an adventure,
And in a moment your face changes from
My favourite to most feared expression,
And the shaking tells me the worst,
before you’ve uttered a word.
The worst, before you’ve spoken a word.
It’s funny how your life can change in an instant,
As if your plans were never yours,
and somewhere there’s invisible hands,
Moving you on a game board
I’ve never been one for religion,
Sometimes I think it’s easy to believe,
But this isn't one of those instances, as I’m finding it hard to conceive
How any of this could have a purpose, other than to hurt
And if this is your god up in heaven, he’s not one I want to know.
if this was all planned, that’s kinda fucked (x3)
She's searching for hope in herbal medicines
Or maybe trying to find a plain,of existence,
Where this isn’t happening, eyes pleading for someone to say,
anything that’ll give life back its purpose, or at least somehow explain,
But her pleas all go unanswered, and nothing ever eases the ache.
I’I’ve never been one for religion,
Sometimes I think it’s easy to believe,
But this isn't one of those instances, as I’m finding it hard to conceive
How any of this could have a purpose, other than to hurt
And if this is your god up in heaven, he’s not one I want to know
if this was all planned, that’s kinda fucked (x3)
(repeat to close)
Where do babies go when they die?
Do their tiny hands and souls take flight?
I think I want to believe they’re still with us.
Or that their brief life, those few short breaths,
had a greater purpose, tell me what’s the lesson?
Do we ever get to learn, because all I can feel is the hurt.
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5. |
Lucky Country
04:24
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A hundred bodies
in space wide enough for a ghost,
Desperate souls hunkered down,
beneath the decks of a leaking boat.
The myth of freedom keeps spirits afloat,
A dangerous passage taken in the name of misguided hope.
On the horizon their salvations flag appears,
The welcoming party speaks in an accent
Foreign to their ears,
but the tone is universal, it’s one they’ve come to know,
although they made it to these waters, they’ll never call them home.
Oh, it’s what we’re taught to do,
Deny the needs of the many,
protect wants of a few.
That’s what we’re taught to do.
Tent city set up in the middle of the CBD
refuge for all those living outside of the dream,
Pretend you cannot hear their pleas,
Be sure to avert your eyes, maybe spare some coins
to wipe your conscience clean, remain comfortable in the lie
These aren’t our values,
No I was brought up to believe,
that we had plenty of plains to share with those who came across the seas
That if a neighbour was in trouble, we’d all chip in and help them out
Not legislate a loophole or leave it someone else.
Oh, it’s what we’re taught to do,
Deny the needs of the many,
protect the wants of a few.
That’s what we’re taught to do.
It’s what we’re teaching our children too
It’s what we’re taught to do
Pacific waters are no place for children’s graves,
and detention centres aren’t a place for their living ghosts.
No citizen of this country should be without a home
Or be demonized for not being able to afford one of their own.
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Catholic Guilt Melbourne, Australia
This is what honesty sounds like out now via Wiretap Records
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