Fog and Farewell

by Weston Bookhouse

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about

Original cover art by Kate Sando, Andrew Buckley, and Weston Bookhouse.

Weston Bookhouse is:

Russell Park: Guitar, Vocals
Alex Nakagawa: Drums, Vocals

credits

released January 24, 2016

© Invertebrate Records
Recorded at Shanty Town Studio in Santa Cruz, CA
Recorded Mixed & Mastered by Tauvin Pursley and Weston Bookhouse.

Making New Enemies

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tags: alternative alt-folk emo folk rock pop punk surf Portland

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Making New Enemies Portland, Oregon

www.makingnewenemies.com

Art Collective / Utopian Cult / Soul Posse

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Track Name: Between Fenders
Suppose I’ll cash all of my earnings, rest these swollen eyes
Clear the foliage atop my car, let dry the insides
Write a memoir of the fall, in the Northeast and us all in the pouring rain
When the moon refills we will be back on the coast
When it’s time to clip these hairs again
I’ll hang my hat, my head

I told a keeper she’d be seeing me in line some day
Tipped my hat to the old shed and I drove away
Clipped by a gust of wind in North Dakota
That was 40 degrees colder than the heatwave I had packed for

But I warmed up to Madison
And the girls in Wisconsin looking like I could get used to it
Finally to spending hours between the fenders
Driving through Pennsylvania in November
Pipe dreaming drafts of postcards I would never send her

We caught the ferry
And watched as god descended over Lake Champlain
Exemplifying all I’ve come to place my faith upon
Crusaded my new muse
Southbound along the Eastern Seaboard.
Track Name: Flannel Sheets
If all goes to plan I’ll soon grow bored
Got an itch and dwindling checking account
And in all honesty it’s probably best for me
My eyes have never been so sore

Well the captain said to power off your phone
And I flew over every place I ever called “home”
Catalyzing my conclusion that to understand these things
I’m getting far from everything in between

The folds in these flannel sheets
This suburb’s dreams that have awoken me
To my functioning bones, three quarters of a tank of gas,
Myriad of fears that only surface when I’m wallowing here,
And this stay acting as a breath to go back under
For there is something I have left behind.
Track Name: Under the Hill
Had it planned right down to a T
Labor until I have
Stacked up the means to lap the globe
And so on

Now I work late on Saturdays
And that’s what makes me sad today
I miss the music we did play
Nothing needing sense those days

My ghosts just grew so bored
Now they’re back for more
Along with Sequoias
I miss the fog cooking off

At around 11, there being no end in
The means to which we took the bus up just
The promise of descending

And every time I’d go outside in that town
I’d get so fucking high
I’m jealous of Cayugas Palm trees
For still bending in the sky

It makes me howl

Oh.
Track Name: Cayuga and the Narrative
Boxed up the love she once had for the sport
It is gone it is gone I am gone
Move to the city where we can find work in a job
That will pay for our stay in the city

And houses roll over the hills in harmony, I must say
It’s quite a charm dosed in fog
But the jury is still out on the weight of my familiars
Silently saying "come fast"

But I am prone to work slow
And make note and despite the times
In good time I will tell you this is how I’ve proven
To make due sovereign of you

If you want to come I can wait
But you won’t find me there tonight, I’m afraid
For I’m known to overstimulate
At the sight of a harbor let alone a growing bay
And you can quote me to say
Come quote on quote waste the day away

Because truth be told I’m on the cusp
Flirting with the idea that is not how I’ll make it
And I want to make it
She wants to make it
But we’ve yet to grasp it.
Track Name: Loring
Picking at the bones of old things
As long as I am here, poking at the bear
And it’s heaping list full of things shouting
Come to terms with me

Starting with mundane trips to the gym
Before I go to work each day
Set aside more time to say
I’ve been at a loss for words evoking
All the misspoken idioms I’ve displayed in these stories
When I just need the guts to say

Aside from things that I am ashamed about
I read a good book and worked at a restaurant
In light of my views of progress I am trying to save nonsense
On the implications collars can have
So give me three things including travel funding checks,
To nullify anxieties riddling my chest,
A song that gives you chills behind the wheel of a Toyota,
And healthy doses of elbow grease to pay it forward

I want to cremate that old hat
I want to manifest my dreams and fears and tears in song
And I want to see the world as a primary source, a challenge to horizons
Silhouetted on the sun

But these feats they don’t come easy don’t come cheap
And though the doldrums never last
I’ve been stuck in this one rut for what seems like doggy years
Strike a match and push the envelope

It’s why I’m taking blankets and wringing out
He took a good look and saw but a dilettante
And while I am being honest all I really learned in college
Was manipulating the common path

And I’ve got demons including needing to be the best
Feeding these anxieties and adding to the stress
Along with lacking skills to meet the needs of an employer
Someone always saying your dreams don’t push you forward.
Track Name: Fog and Farewell
Bustle and confusion
It is these scenes that I have been longing for
But institutions I’m on autopilot for
Promising allowances for cubicle adornments
Wanna dispose of my day dreams
That are with the meadow on the grade
I hope it stays just the same as I recall

These are the telltale signs
Of being torn by living life, by living in the times
The bottled up anxieties from redefining these words like survive
And longing for enlightenment in spite of it, in light of it I’ll tell you
I’m not as calm as meets the eye
Seeing everything as defined by the limitations of what is in sight

Despite the snide prose I’m not condescending not lazy
My dreams just are not in congruence with
How you would have me dream and I’ll
Rest assured knowing I will find myself at peace if not at bay

So when I sit up straight piercing holes through my tongue to agree
It’s proneness to be kind due to my conditioning
Rampant thoughts that fill my mind have led me to believe
I’m not cut out for this town, my feet seem to to have lost their ground

Because it’s a cold promenade, in stagnant shoes that aren’t a fit
And I’ve tried so hard to keep my restless feet inside
It's why I’m leaving in the morning when the fog cooks off the bay
I awake.