"I Have No History But The Length Of My Bones"

by Punch On!

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  • "I Have No History But The Length Of My Bones" Cassette
    Cassette + Digital Album

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credits

released March 17, 2018

Recorded and Engineered by Nathaniel Stevens at Actiontrack Studio, Taunton, October/November 2017.

license

all rights reserved

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about

Punch On! Bristol, UK

Bristol DIY Two Piece.

No Gods.
No Masters.
No Metronomes.
No Bassists.

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Track Name: Owed Nothing
Split-haired, and thumb-fumbling through falling words, to find a fleeting olive branch. On Sunday when Satan came, I didn't hear your name. To cry forth from empty hands is to overestimate what you're owed to hold. Stand still, zero-lined. We collectivise and create to build our best selves, to self govern.
Track Name: Expect Nothing
I expect nothing, but that's just too much. Wise words uttering “autonomy is expectation-less”. I expect nothing, but that's just enough. To be so separated from the strings that burn, is to surpass an ocean in one bound. Separating from “should” leaves only “now”. I just ceased the tide, be mindful.
Track Name: Construct/Critique
If this is reality? I want out. I care not for your constructs, your constructs are ideas that kill. Concrete blooms in brutalist plumes, intimidating, in a pixelated painting/painting pixelated. Who authored this piece of shit? I care not for your critique. Your buildings are violence, I cannot abide. We must self architect, to be kind.
Track Name: Ephemeral (A Curse)
Dirt, consume me. Ephemerality, a curse? I don't concur. I heard someone at your birthing say “Autumn's waiting”. To the dirt from whence we came, void making occupancy for new ideas, we form the roots, and rise towards new brilliance. We become the dirt that feeds all life. I heard someone at your funeral say “Spring is breaking”, welcome change.
Track Name: Grief
I deny. I erupt. Pyroclastic loss, mantle passing, to satiate. If only I opened to offers sooner. An open house for guilt, and bargaining. I depress. Static. Igneous. Cooled by your passing. Obelisk. (I’m) ballast to be. Searching for acceptance, searching to find peace.
Track Name: Free'd From This Mortal Coil
Cyclical, springlike, it binds, moving forth, with seamless edges. Like solar plexus break. Like an opening. A coil for all mortality. A root replaced. Aortic mortality check. I lie, open armed, waiting fearless to be free.
Track Name: Last Word Syndrome
Somme marching, Snake River Canyon for last word. I form as a Great Barrier Reef for you. Some natures say that history has tendency to re-shit itself. Sleep's no substitute for peace. I wear this war in my wisdom. I live to learn to let go.
Track Name: Defensive About Being On Fire
Consequential, consequential. No castle, house on sand builder. Pick at pieces, smile through crumbling, disarmed. Hard to rest right shitting where you fuck. Comfort zone closed to disconnecting dislike. Bearing this cross I'd hoped to shed. We make the beds we ruin; a disquiet. Consequential, consequential. Half castle, half house on hill destroyer. Rubble digging for dignified disconnect. We make the beds we ruin; a disarmed, disquiet, disconnect.

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