Combat Shock

by Tundra Toddler

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1.
2.
04:18
3.
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5.
05:06
6.
03:33
7.
8.
9.
04:42
10.
06:46
11.

about

2012: got divorced, read a suicide note, went to some funerals, learned a lot about overdoses, watched friends get drunk, made an album.

credits

released April 16, 2013

all songs written and recorded by Adam Kozak except (2) by Adam Kozak, Eric Beaudry, and Justin Bard; (3) by Adam Kozak and Justin Bard; (5) by Adam Kozak and Cora Rose Gaulin; (9) by Adam Kozak, Andrew Havens, and Scott Cambo. Additional engineering by Jacob Gaulin. Mastered by Carl Saff.

additional personnel

Cora Rose Gaulin: backing vox on (2) and (3), lyrics and 2nd lead vocal on (5).
Justin Bard: guitars on (2) and (3)
Eric Beaudry: guitars on (2)
Scott Cambo: guitars on (9)
Andrew Havens: guitars on (9)

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Tundra Toddler Northampton, Massachusetts

Cthulu wept.

contact / help

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Track Name: Smoking Citadels
Return to the folds
Of the barracks
From whence you came
We're mottled by anger
With stumps for tongues
When you sashay off your plane
Return
Return to me
Sweep my ashes with your palms
Into The Salton Sea
I can pinpoint to the date
When they riddled your substrate
With ill-fitting hats
That poured muscle off your face
At midnight in the trench
Where you danced with your friends
You smashed all your teeth
With a hammer and cheap gin
So rest your weary chin
And flutter your eyelids
Climbing saliva ropes
To the cadaver's limp grin
Hair cindered summer grass
Head reeling from the hash
Every pencil breaks
Beneath your failure's sheer mass
Return
Return to me
Sweep my ashes with your palms
Into the Salton Sea
Hurry back
Before the crack of dawn
I don't know
If there will be much left of me
Hurry back
Before the night is gone
I don't know
If we'll recognize your body
Return
Return to me
Sweep my ashes with your palms
Into the Salton Sea
Track Name: GRV RBBRS
There's this little thing called respect
I don't have it because you are in black face
Oh everybody who died
Everybody who died
I used to know who you are
But I don't know you because you are in corpse paint
Oh everybody who died
Everybody who died
You are dead
Let's keep it that way
Track Name: Men Behind the Sun
Everything we had
Everything we had
Everything we had
You took everything we had
And turned our corn into mash
Everything we had
Everything we had
Everything we had
Is in your stretch-marked belly
And it's making you fat
Everything we gave
Everything we gave
Everything we gave
You returned our children
With crater-stippled veins
Everything we gave
Everything we gave
Everything we gave
Leave us some change
So we can buy something for the pain
Track Name: Roast of Chevy Chase
I don't want to guess where you have been
Stifle that crutch that makes an abbatoir of men
Please, please, please annul the thread
You would have made such a sad old man
Track Name: Minneapolis
Brief glimpse of hair
Just hair and a flash of earring
That's all you left me with
I want you so bad I can't even stop
Even stop
Even stop it now
I can't sleep until I see you asleep
So safe
I need you safe
I feel like I know you
Images, views from beneath you
Ragged breath betraying me
As I crane
Window pane growing more opaque
Every moment of fogged view
Is a waste
If I could touch
God, if I could taste
Keep still now
Don't move an inch
Don't ruin it
It isn't fair
Nine panes obstructing my touch
My prints all over them
It's hard to breathe
When you turn toward me
In your sleep
I feel faint and my knees go weak
All I want is to hold you
But all I have is anonymity
Keep still now
Don't move and inch
Don't ruin it
Why can't you be my baby?
I'll never leave you
Why won't you wake up
And look at me?
Track Name: My Sister is on Fire
Change your pants
There's company coming
And you have shit in your pants
Can we lend a hand?
How about some milk?
For the birth of twin lampreys
Don't talk back
It's a wonder
That you can still talk at all
Ween your son
On a steady diet
Of dashed promises
You shit your pants
And you shit my pants
And this whole town's pants
So change our pants
Into something more comfortable
Something to help us sleep
You swallowed your jaw
In one necrotic swoop
Back at Outpost 32
They're giving instructions on how to chew your food
Between naps you keep falling down the stairs
"That's a right healthy cough,"
We say, tracing dance patterns upon your face
Change your plans
You've got a date
With the drum fill of an IV drip
Stay awake
Through a rousing bellow
Of flimsy delta waves
Call post-haste
When her pulse sputters
And sticks like a rusty gate
Take us out
And squeeze a bullet
Between our flightless shoulder blades
What'll they think
When your son's finger
Gets bitten by the mouths in your arm
So take us out
And bash our heads in
With cinder blocks of bad news
Can we lend a hand?
You've got your hands full
Of solvent-soaked shamwows
Can we lend a hand?
We have holes to fill
That only your children can fit
Can we lend a hand?
We have so many hands.
Track Name: Combat Shock
I'm worried about my friends
They've been laying in the snow
Making angels with clipped wings
I'm worried about my friends
All the balloons they're climbing
Sink like razors in red baths
I'm worried about my friends
And their kids and the kids of their kids
And their children's next of kin
I'm worried about my friends
The garland of daggers and the small
Pitter patter of a rocking chair
At the end of their lives
I'm worried about my friends
They never know how to say that
They don't know where the minefield begins
I'm worried about my friends
And their kids and the kids of their kids
And their children's next of kin
I'm worried about my friends
They've been laying in the snow
Being scared, spoiled shits
I'm worried about my friends
All the balloons they're grasping
Sink like razors in red baths
Track Name: Chaosovo!
Let's learn every language from every jaundiced tongue.
Heave me across your stacks of sticky notes
What they don't teach you in the children's wildlife guides
Is how to replace worn out arteries
One withered wrist and one empty wallet
Two mumbled vows and two too many platelets
I married tufts of wool with the skin still attached
Arranged by size they look like broken pots of gold
I thrust into the ooze of jungle rot
That shows no emotion in it's face
Three forgotten uncles and three eye-less aunts
Four missing ribs and four razed housing plots
There's no reason to be optimistic
We buried our baby under the cypress
There's no reason to be pessimistic
Reload the page and forget about it