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Wonderkid LP

by Carson Wells

  • Digital Album
    Streaming + Download

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  • 12" Vinyl
    Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Includes unlimited streaming of Wonderkid LP via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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Punitive words - he sits thoughts unfolding. As that effect of his most recent wear off a pang grips him, and lures him in again. Pale and clammy skinned he rises from a tired, broken throne - a rock sits in his stomach, playing on guilt. It was a constant battle between those two old foes - and one he had neither the strength nor will to endure - one side always lost and conformity killed his conscience. A hell sentence of black thoughts as innocence is seized. An iron grip on locks is worsened by frantic pleas. Now she's bent and broken. ‘Your shrieks could move mountains, but no one can hear us here.' He asks her to stay calm. He begs her to stay quiet. Lucid images are branded on his victim's conscience. Vivid memories of black shadows baring manic grins. As her mind regresses - her body trembles and convulses. Hands clutch her as she wakes up.
Slim Charles 02:42
The document is littered with detail Yet the conjunctions hold the most force Put your hand out Tired friend. This is the rest of your life. Society believes in tragedy. We meet with no greeting and handshakes, like you understood. No disposition, but you dream that you should You don't seem to back away.
Drawn down by a great weight. Hands tied on a sinking ship. A flutter of humour in a polite exchange of conversation A genuine question from an old friend A frustrated cry from lungs crippled by expectation A movement to reconcile and he’s spent Bouts of light are the only way to separate one from the next: like shards of glass through flesh. Eyes glazed by similar sights and silence is granted by identical sounds Hands tied on a sinking ship; drawn down by a great weight.
Ten 02:44
Don't you wish you wouldn't wish summer months away? Life trips on laces it was not taught to tie. Life trips, solace, grey walls, grey sky
If only reason were so simple as to follow the tide, with a definite stance a decision is simplified. Heart shaped pupils reflect the sky ‘til we succumb, collapse then surrender. We succumb, we collapse, we surrender. Cut below, because severance is all too slow. Cold words. Top trumps tail. Broken, bitter dreams of old. That’s as much as we were told. Broken, bitter dreams. Promises were made. If this game of numbers is all by which wealth is defined, then I am a pauper and I’ll settle with the poor. If this is what makes wealth then I am a pauper; if this is what wealth makes I’ll settle with the poor.
Illusions of ghosts - passers by that passed away. Car crash off a beaten path, crossed arms and closed eyes. Converse through false mediums - distance juxtaposes connection. Friendship lost in synthetic smiles - there reality bows without breaking stride. Shoreline enveloped by red sky - we write our names in sand. This second is framed in film- but film outlives love. 4 walls and a mattress cannot compare to this cyclical affair. This is not freedom. This is not liberation. That burning sensation, rising from guts to gutter is only stifled somewhat by the notion of freedom. But this is not freedom, this is not liberation.
2007 03:28
Look at a sky that's pure simplicity and picturesque. "I feel like you've come to the end of your tether." Last light glows and shimmers off a porcelain façade. I can picture this moment in sepia tone; black and white. Not a word; not a whisper. He said "It's not like we haven't been here before," "Yeah, but it was working this time." A knowing tear tumbled down her cheek and fell, alienated into the summer sunlight, and after an awkward silence and a reluctant goodbye, he turned and left - leaving only the overwhelming stench of bitterness and the lasting burden of hope.
Home 04:04
Growth is stunted by the prospect of reality as introspection saddles old scars. History perpetuates existence and reluctance undermines knowledge Presence is limbo: a line of symmetry, a path of discourse - to come is only what we recollect. And so we holler, without pessimism or prayer, there is no means - there is only end. These lives on pasts reflect. History. Progress.


Out September 30th 2012 on 12" Vinyl


released September 30, 2012


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Art For Blind Sligo, Ireland

Art For Blind is a DIY record label and distro based in Sligo, Ireland

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