Down to My Last Million

by Ghost Atlantic

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1.
We may have seen the end, a fading golden age, but we’re still breathing. (still breathing) The men who grew so old, claim they had the best, now I’m not so sure. (still breathing) Figures dressed in black, lined up in a row, waiting for their turn. (skin and bones and fat with promise) I’m not saying that it's too late to change, In the end we might begin again. Eye to eye has never really been our way, Suddenly no one’s funny anymore. We find ourselves alive, in a safe and silent age, yet we’re all screaming. (all screaming) The gears are tightly wound, now they run in reverse, time worn thin by fear. (all screaming) Candles line the hallway, dancing wild in your wake, lights have burned out again. (skin and bones and fat with promise) I’m not saying that it's too late to change, In the end we might begin again. Eye to eye has never been our way, Suddenly no one’s funny anymore. Are you the fish? Are you the fish? Are you the fish or are you the water? Are you the fish? Are you the fish? Are you the fish or are you the water? (how did we ever get this old?) We talk of rebellious ways, They’ll say we’re the enemy. Like any good accident, You can’t turn your head away.
2.
Oxbow 05:21
I am out of tune and you’re out of time, A match has been struck and thrown to the sun. Raven-black umbrella hides your eyes, From everyone else’s rainy-day lives. You will be young Caulfield until the end, Giving two stars to low-lit terminal bars. Those days that don’t end on well-shaded streets, Perched on a trestle edge with dangling feet. Thinking back on it becomes a bit hazy. We were there long before it all went crazy. Staring out windows, drifting and dreaming Breaking all the windows of that house on the hill I am out of line and you’re out of step, One of these days I’ll turn all your lights on. Empty winding roads are lined with eyes, New England blues under vermilion sky. Winter night moves in with a blanket of white, Hot on the heels of everyone that I know. Those days that don’t end on well-shaded streets, Perched on a trestle edge with dangling feet. Thinking back on it becomes a bit hazy. We were there long before it all went crazy. Staring out windows, drifting and dreaming Breaking all the windows of that house on the hill October disguise December demise I guess this is when our heroes begin to die, In the sunburned mind of an August high. I know I should have met you much later in life, History takes the wheel and veers to the right.
3.
Navigational 06:47
Can you remember radio tone Television static, midnight snow Try to hold onto the ground, it will pull away...it will fall away soon Late Sunday sky, a mean sharkskin grey You and I should return to sheltered life Dark waves are capped with bone white, and the sun drowns…sacrificed to the night We rise to find a different kind of light I could never let you into my mind Terrified of what you might find Somewhere in the new year that approaches We’ll find the right words to say Call and response, thrown by the wind Scattered by those unafraid to sing Will they be gathered in time, before my days end...until my heart fails Time has come to trade in my threadbare shell Of brambles and a red coat of earth For an uncharted course through the brine, with a head of wine...and a heartfelt goodbye We rise to find a younger pair of eyes I could never let you into my mind Terrified of what you might find Somewhere in the new year that approaches We’ll find the right words to say The love is gone, the love is gone, along with the money A similar street, a similar name, not every song will end the same I will never find all the lost pieces Many sides to the same green stone Linger on it too long and unravel A fine thread with a darker tone Time it will wait for no man...or his promises No man No man But it might wait for you
4.
You share a name with a dead president, As well as the charm to match. You’ve always tapped a foot to a different drum, With a rhythm that's hard to catch. Living by a river, When you could be near the ocean. You have made the world a little less ugly, I want to see it through your eyes. You have made the world a little less ugly, I hope your fire will never die. You have made the world what you want it to be. You pulled the blinders and opened the door, A life is waiting beyond my room. I’ve always meant to call you way more often, But the planet spins around too soon. Time is running out, Crickets sing a farmer’s tune. You have made the world a little less ugly, I want to see it through your eyes. You have made the world a little less ugly, I hope your fire will never die. You have made the world what you want it to be. You took his breath away, On a wet fifth-season day. The cold air never returned, To that poor boy’s empty lungs. I’ve been hesitating, the words don’t come, And I dream of terrible things. Some places look inviting from 30,000 feet, I try and wake with everyone else. Standing at the bottom, waiting for a star, And they all begin resembling you. Polaroids of nowhere, I’m married to illusion, These shadows hangs heavy within. You’re gonna be a mother, You’re gonna be a father again. You’re gonna be a mother, You’re gonna be a father again.
5.
41 03:24
Crawling my way through windows to Share red wine with strangers and Prey upon the darkest thoughts Faces grow long on summer days Carving my way through riots in Streets of lead and silver to Realize a sense of self Watch the houses all burn…into the night. They burn into the night They burn into the night Giant white letters fall They burn into the night And tumble down the valley floor They burn into the night You traded in your life for mine We burn into the night Or could it be the other way?
6.
Cannon Beach 05:07
Cedar and fir will break the earth, the sun will warm the morning Economy class carries me past rolling green hills of Oregon The jet is blue, the sky is grey, and I remain a fire Eager and ready to burn my way through one more desire We will move to a city sterilized And try to find a heartbeat within Money will come and money will go Color and shadow will remain Papermill towns, a desert red, the brick and mortar of Brooklyn All of them ended abruptly as death when I wasn’t looking I bid farewell to one rocky coast, I’m bound for another Remember to shake my father’s hand and hug my dear mother Some of my days are smooth status quo Some are full of arsonist dreams I never recognized that face Now I know the mask wears the man When the powder dries I will seize control Eyes glaze over as the ocean grows cold Grey weeks will pass and we will spring ahead Afternoon screenings of Better Off Dead Looking for a new metaphor The perfect one to set me free Cities will multiply by the sea Standing as reflections in the night
7.
All of these years have come to weigh you down, Reflected in the windows of your sleepy town. Everything comes in bottles, And that’s where we find ourselves. I can almost hear them when the story comes out, A river of lies falling out of their mouths. Writing your name within a coffee ring, In all of my dreams you’re killing me. Tear away skin and let the sun warm your bones, These steel strings have become your own. Everything comes in bottles, And that’s where we find ourselves. They tell me I don’t speak enough, Maybe everyone here talks too much. Hanging onto the words of stars, As we drive discontinued cars. Secrets in the walls have never been found, This house grows loud when the sun goes down. There’s a giant silhouette moving through the trees A rusting presence only I can see These quiet places that we once loved Will soon be overrun by the class above Trap-doors fall open and drop you in I only get a smile when you need something Everything comes in bottles, And that’s where we find ourselves. They tell me I don’t speak enough, Maybe everyone here talks too much. Hanging onto the words of stars, As we drive discontinued cars. Secrets in the walls have never been found, This house grows loud when the sun goes down. You’re not breathing But you’re still singing The Shrine of Saint Cecilia
8.
Carapace 06:27
[Instrumental]
9.
Born on a Monday but I’m living a Sunday afternoon Lawnchair philosophy will never stop the moon Portrait of a soldier and a young farm-girl on my wall 63 years and I’m sure they’ve seen it all Rusty breeze through yellow leaves and the smell of rain Crooked lines through silver mines lead back to you Voices ring out among these red hills, They have told me everything about you. Desert snowfall never lingers long Lends a lighter shade to sand, then it’s gone (gone, gone) One of these days, I’ll return to the pines Heads will be screaming, we’ll be dreaming of turning back One too many pennies will lead the train far off track Walls are rising while machines keep stealing you from you The bed is now asylum from this heavily-sedated view Move or stay, move or stay, but don’t disappear Years have passed, now the time has come to relocate Voices ring out among these red hills, They have told me everything about you. Desert snowfall never lingers long Lends a lighter shade to sand, then it’s gone (gone, gone) One of these days, I’ll return to the pines And probably spend my time wishing for the city I’ve checked my pockets, no alms for the poor Just phrases on paper, I wish I had more I hold you close, like a welcome ghost And hang onto the letters in everything you say These broken bones will find their home. Pull me apart, rebuild as you will The seasons have a way with the heart Moments before they triangulate We will be gone without trail or trace (trace, trace) One of these days, I’ll return to the pines
10.
Haystack 03:05
In 35 miles, we’ll find a new home. Without visions of childhood stacking up like firewood. In 25 miles, the streets will turn to gold. Wounds will need time to heal, we may never reinvent the wheel. In a song’s worth of miles, we’ll be back where we started. The forecast calls for haze, it’s been snowing ash for seven days.

credits

released January 26, 2019

Recorded over 20 days between November 2016 and November 2018 at Acadia Recording Company in Portland, Maine
Engineered and mixed by Todd Hutchisen

Additional backing vocals recorded at SophiaHat Studios in Seattle, Washington
Engineered by Chris Spencer

Mastered by Pat Keane at PKM in Portland, Maine


All music written by Trevor Smith
©2019 Ten Pounds of Hits in a Five Pound Bag Music (BMI)

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Ghost Atlantic Seattle, Washington

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