Ruined Morning
from Monday Machines by Monday Machines
-
Buy the Full Digital Album View the Full Digital Album
-
Limited Edition CD in Hand-printed Gatefold Sleeve
Compact Disc (CD) + Digital AlbumThe gatefold sleeves are hand cut, glued, and folded from recycled card stock, which contains embedded flecks of banana skins (left over from feeding animals in a UK animal park). Each sleeve is hand printed in black ink. No two are exactly alike. A hilarious eight-page hand-made lyrics booklet/instruction manual and photo strips are enclosed. Numbered limited edition of 50 copies.
Also includes immediate download of 7 track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire, plus a bonus nine-page PDF booklet containing full lyrics and high-resolution photographs.Sold Out
-
lyrics
On ruined morning: apocalypse kitchen.
Open the window—let the sounds of disaster in.
Telephone ringing: little alarm bells
Flaking the paint off. Colours slow down the spin.
And the jackhammer raindrops,
The crushing of clanging,
The shouting, it stills your tongue.
And then you remember,
The point, it has left you—
You cannot feel where it stung.
On ruined morning: pretentious collisions.
Cast iron railing measures angle grinder time.
Rude hesitations, arguing hard hats—
Convention of rubble: punishment defines the crime.
Careening concrete,
And clamorous boltings,
The sun-launched asphalt steam—
A cyclic upheaval,
A bulldozer nightmare,
But this is not a dream.
On ruined morning: the vertical highway
Terrifies no one, for the sky is far from here.
The satellite photo, the thing you don't mention,
Peculiar direction—it is not to do with fear.
I wish you good luck—
See the quiver of arrows,
One of the points has your name.
A feedback collection,
A speaker excursion,
A cruel and deadly game.
On ruined morning: you recognise someone.
(All the faces look the same.)
-
© 2009 Cary Grace.
Open the window—let the sounds of disaster in.
Telephone ringing: little alarm bells
Flaking the paint off. Colours slow down the spin.
And the jackhammer raindrops,
The crushing of clanging,
The shouting, it stills your tongue.
And then you remember,
The point, it has left you—
You cannot feel where it stung.
On ruined morning: pretentious collisions.
Cast iron railing measures angle grinder time.
Rude hesitations, arguing hard hats—
Convention of rubble: punishment defines the crime.
Careening concrete,
And clamorous boltings,
The sun-launched asphalt steam—
A cyclic upheaval,
A bulldozer nightmare,
But this is not a dream.
On ruined morning: the vertical highway
Terrifies no one, for the sky is far from here.
The satellite photo, the thing you don't mention,
Peculiar direction—it is not to do with fear.
I wish you good luck—
See the quiver of arrows,
One of the points has your name.
A feedback collection,
A speaker excursion,
A cruel and deadly game.
On ruined morning: you recognise someone.
(All the faces look the same.)
-
© 2009 Cary Grace.
credits
from Monday Machines,
released April 17, 2010
Cary Grace: vocals, acoustic guitars, keyboards, synthesizers, alarm clock
Allan Coberly: electric guitar, noise recordings
Andy Budge: bass
David Payne: drums
Cary Grace: vocals, acoustic guitars, keyboards, synthesizers, alarm clock
Allan Coberly: electric guitar, noise recordings
Andy Budge: bass
David Payne: drums
license
all rights reserved
tags
about
Monday Machines UK
One day, Allan Coberly's morning was ruined when he was rudely awakened by jackhammers and bulldozers. Cary Grace talked him into recording the noises from his window, and the rest is history.
discography
-
Apr 2010