The Great Dead Hope: Act I

by Cattle Dogs

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02:35
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credits

released July 22, 2011

Dead Words is: Dave, David, Eddy, Elliott, & Joe.

Songs by DW, Lyrics by Elliott Frank.

Recorded at Brainchild Studios in Cleveland, Ohio.
Engineered by Noah Buchanan.

Gang Vocals: Nick Kratsas, Michael Aponte-Nunez, Noah Buchanan, & DW

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Cattle Dogs Cleveland, Ohio

Nuanced and complex points of view are difficult to cram onto the back of a t-shirt; which may be one of the reasons that hardcore bands spend so much time screaming about absolutes. Confront your own opinions with the same scrutiny you apply to those you disagree with, embrace the fact that sometimes you will be right, sometimes you'll be wrong, but most of the time you will be both. ... more

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Track Name: I Midwestern
I will wake tomorrow later than I did today, and I will find myself in front of a notebook: my one consistent act. I’ve filled my heart with words to splitting seams, but the blade of doubt has cut a swath. I become the wound that bleeds and bleeds. And, it’s a humbling thing to watch your better angles pour onto the floor to be lapped up by your cliché and petty demons. Let this be the last word of the last Midwesterner.

Our Achilles worked a job that he despised until the day he died. Our Odysseus, he missed his exit, and never saw his wife or child again. Our Aeneas burned his precious Troy to the ground to collect on the insurance.

Is anyone as sick as I am? I’m sick to death of hiding in this horse.
Track Name: The Great Dead Hope
I’m not asking for you to trade your hoody for a hair-shirt. I’m only asking for a little empathy. We’re in short supply, and the greatest need.
But, I will keep reaching out my hand, no matter how many times it keeps getting bitten off. I will keep opening my mouth to speak, even on those days when I can’t find my voice.

No one can make me feel small, unless by my own choice. I am a product of my own construction. Don’t mistake this part of me that dares to speak for smug superiority. I’d change if I thought I could, but I’m afraid I can’t.

We define our nebulous morality with someone else’s words. What are we? What do we have to offer? All we have are words, dead words.
Track Name: Built from a Stolen Rib
You were doomed before you were born; and all those college courses, on long-dead goddess cultures, couldn’t save you from a world built entirely on your stolen rib.

And I may never know the fear you’ve been forced to know. I’ll never have to clutch my keys between my fingers when I’m walking home at night.

I could write this song a thousand times, but would it do any good? I can never unlock the latches you’ve had installed around who you used to be. Yet, with a sharpened stick we fought the tide. We are children who fight the tide.