|Guitar, Backup Vocals:||Steve Pedulla|
|Keyboards, Synthesizer:||Andrew Everding|
Hold your hand to the fire
And your eyes to the sky
They're just different shades of cellophane taped against the lights.
Faulty seams, drawn on plastic leaves,
Run in past and future replicas
Of past and future streams-
Hold your head underwater
And try to see if you can breathe
Or if you drown in the shallow
Depths of your belief...
Because somewhere there must be a better place-
Here you call to your neighbor
Only To see the track is set and they're
Walking back and forth in a circle
Saying the same words
Making their lips synch
In time with psalms on Sunday mornings
And all their hearts alight with pale fire.
So, call the paper ambulance
To trace the paper-cuts
Don't call on me, I'm a plastic reed
Bending in the feigning wind
Of artificial fields
Then you read in the paper
Of a woman's early death
And the note explaining why she left
"Somewhere there must be a better place
And it's marked with the fountain I’ve seen glowing in my sleep."
And so you want to die and leave this shadow land behind
To eviscerate the truth from the lie-
Because somewhere there must be a better place but
What we thought was a fountain of life and light turns out to be a
Mountain crushing down upon us, casting it's shadow
Closing the distance
between us and Babylon
And all our songs are just the sounds of Past and future days
Past and future names
Collapsing around us.
For the last thirteen years, Thursday has been in a constant state of transition. Rising from New Brunswick, NJ, in the midst of a DIY …