This burn in my belly, this ache in my chest
Cause I can't see your face when we talk
I can't hold you hand or put mine on your back
I can't follow your lips if I watched
I can't see your brows rise and fall with you shoulders
And I can't see that look in your eye
I cannot match the appropriate response
To the tone of the telephone wire
Last night on the phone we were both in our bedrooms
To discredit the two provinces between us
Thought if we put our heads together they might actually touch
Let them rework their maps if they must
But we both felt the distance every bump in the track
One thousand one hundred and eleven miles
Against the cold hard plastic, the inanimate touch
And the tone of the telephone wire
Any clarifications or misunderstandings
Or any what did you mean by that
These emotional oil spills have no sense of timing
I felt dirty and tired and wet
You're left with a film that you cannot scrape off your skin
Even if your body subsides
You just gotta get in it and soak for a while
It's the burn of the telephone wire
You just gotta get in it and soak for a while
It's the burn of the telephone wire
Hearing this was like discovering Desire, or London Calling for the first time. Derivative yet original, the songs are immediate and the melodies will get stuck in your ear for days. tideracer
Banjo-wielding indie folk outfit drop their fourth full-length studio album of broody ballads and barroom stompers. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 13, 2014