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A Maze And Amazement

by The Enright House

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    Purchase this gorgeous CD edition of A Maze And Amazement. The album comes beautifully packaged in a UV-coated cardboard wallet (with spine), and the CD pocket is lined with black felt to protect the disc.

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There are no official lyrics available for this song.
I’d fall asleep under your window, waking whenever you’d sleep, serenading your silhouette with love songs hummed under my breath. I spent hours in your driveway, using telepathy and tears to send you ESP telegrams, arriving blank and unsigned. I’d steal the letters that your boyfriend sent, replacing them with bouquets of your favorite flowers and encrypted communiqués. I’d sleep with horseshoes and horoscopes, like guns, tucked under my head, counting on meteors and MC² to reconfigure our stars.
Up 02:53
How can I possibly explain this… I am hurt and I am tired. I’m too tired to get up, I’m too tired to stay up, I’m too tired to stay alive. And I’m not dreaming… things are spinning incessantly out of control. Stay down… Up, up…
Bring mit dir die Nachricht, Dass wir leben koenten, wenn wir wollten. Bring mit dir die Nachricht, Dass immer noch Zeit ist sterben zu koennen.
Solitaire 06:26
I. I miss kissing your firm and sunburnt skin, the luscious chills and suggestive grins, the rumbling and hissing of sex and intimacy, your suffocating clairvoyancy. I could be what you want and all that jazz. I could be all that you want me to be. What we had was impossible to bury and burn. Haven’t you heard? Standing still is death. II. A girl is playing solitaire on the game computer there - the high score breached. Reverberations of her voice ping-pong mathematically: “Finally.” A disco ball hangs high above in a corner flanked by dust, turning just for you. Broken speakers call your name, “Congratulations on your game. Here’s to you.”
Remember the rock of the car: the lulling sway of steel frame throttling over veined asphalt towards the hazy blue horizon still suspended in space. Whir of the wheels, the clickity clackity cassette tapes clattering underfoot - the laconic drawl of Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” crackles lazy from cheap speakers. The backseat - my head pressed against vibrating glass - sky stretched to infinity. A glowing burnt gold of a late, invisible summer sun. Driving through anywhere nowhere, it never really matters; the gold and the heat and the drone and the millions of miles of waxy green cornfield stalks whipping past lines of Venetian blind crop formations with thick paper leaves that shimmer shake with the passing car. Window and windshield cracked, wind snaking around and sifting through my hair. 11-years-old with nothing more in sight and in mind then the timeless tranquil crawl between earth and road and sky. Remember the stillness.
A step beyond the pale, a step in front of us | With nothing left to fear, we fear what’s left of us | Let’s talk about the eschatology of love | Let’s stick our tongues in places we would never touch | Everything is cold to touch and shivering…
Do Re Mi 04:17
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, a peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?
Under electricity wires, we’d count the stars and the pores in our skin. Through the summer dusk, afar, we’d watch the cars turn on their brights and drive into the night. On the banks of the Rhein, ships capped their lines, and we were left wondering why we had drifted apart. Since then, thousands of ships have sailed past and I still dream of us there, counting the passengers stepping aboard and waving goodbye.
Rain 03:09
Sitting on the face of a hill, we’d roll caffeine tablets into cigarettes to stay alert. Listening to Skinny Puppy, we’d paint our ceilings black and tile our bathroom in mirror shards. Life came easily to us… And it never mattered who’s lips parted: life had all it’s gloss and we were beautiful. We were too young to know love from illusion, but now that I do, I don’t feel it anymore. I don’t feel anything at all. We might as well have stayed young, for it’s been useless to grow older.


Debut album by The Enright House, released in New Zealand by A Low Hum, 2007.


released September 1, 2009

All songs written and recorded by Mark V. Roberts. Guitar harmonics on track 2 by Tristen Deschain, poetry on track 5 and 6 by Mary E. Jones, synths on track 8 by Evan Schaare, drums on track 12 by Nick Harte, violas on track 12 by Amelia Radford. All else played and sung by Mark V. Roberts. Artwork by Mark and Mary E. Jones.

For more info please visit www.theenrighthouse.com.


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