the boy lives
by Ghost Carriage Phantoms
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Limited edition of 500 - hand-assembled CD package
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heart of a boy
01:42
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2. |
yer boots
02:25
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3. |
up to my t-shirt
02:01
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4. |
woody allen movie
04:12
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6. |
videotape
04:04
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7. |
where the dead are
03:27
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8. |
a special kind of cold
02:33
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9. |
the psychedelic furs
03:55
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10. |
the projectionist
03:44
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about
If you are the last person to die on any given New Year’s Eve you will be employed for the next calendar year (sadly this will feel like eternity to you) as the driver of death’s carriage. You’ll reap the souls of men and point them wordlessly in the direction of…whatever it is that may or may not come next…
I’ve been death’s horse for thousands of years. I’ve reaped the best of ‘em and I’ve reaped the worst of ‘em, yo. I’ll be frank, after a few millennia the gig was getting repetitive. Pestilence’s horse once described the whole scenario to me in hushed tones as, in fact, being ‘long as fuck’.
I couldn’t have put it better myself. Whinny.
So yeah, there’s me all tired of the screaming pleas of those who try to argue with fate and then I realize ‘Oh, hold up, there’s a new driver due in a bit’. That cheered me a bit. I had a tea and I nodded, thinking about it.
Happily last New Year’s Eve Mark Estall was buried under the famous Barcelonian monument Griffin’s Bunny following it’s inevitable and crushing collapse. While all others were rescued or picked off by my master’s claw (a dull fellow named James as it goes – a former music journalist if you can imagine anything as unpleasant) Estall survived until the very moment of the clock striking twelve. Unlucky, son.
Sure, he moaned a bit when his destiny became clear – standard, yo. But once we’d been out on a couple of fakking kills together and had a decent natter it became clear we would develop something of a fruitful fruit of a sideline. See now I’ve always been a keen poeter and something of a music hall visitor, truth be told. Estall turned out to have a strange post-life ability to transcribe my various musical missives via a new-found tune describer homed where his stomach may have used to have been, like.
In between casting motherfuckers into the flames and shit like that, we cut a record, y’all. A bastard of a record it is as well. A right proper blindin’ beast-bitch.
We’ve had to jack in the dayjobs and return to the human/equine realm in order to do promo and gigs and shit but, like, that’s another story…
Have a listen and we almost definitely won’t take your soul.
Love ya
Michael
I’ve been death’s horse for thousands of years. I’ve reaped the best of ‘em and I’ve reaped the worst of ‘em, yo. I’ll be frank, after a few millennia the gig was getting repetitive. Pestilence’s horse once described the whole scenario to me in hushed tones as, in fact, being ‘long as fuck’.
I couldn’t have put it better myself. Whinny.
So yeah, there’s me all tired of the screaming pleas of those who try to argue with fate and then I realize ‘Oh, hold up, there’s a new driver due in a bit’. That cheered me a bit. I had a tea and I nodded, thinking about it.
Happily last New Year’s Eve Mark Estall was buried under the famous Barcelonian monument Griffin’s Bunny following it’s inevitable and crushing collapse. While all others were rescued or picked off by my master’s claw (a dull fellow named James as it goes – a former music journalist if you can imagine anything as unpleasant) Estall survived until the very moment of the clock striking twelve. Unlucky, son.
Sure, he moaned a bit when his destiny became clear – standard, yo. But once we’d been out on a couple of fakking kills together and had a decent natter it became clear we would develop something of a fruitful fruit of a sideline. See now I’ve always been a keen poeter and something of a music hall visitor, truth be told. Estall turned out to have a strange post-life ability to transcribe my various musical missives via a new-found tune describer homed where his stomach may have used to have been, like.
In between casting motherfuckers into the flames and shit like that, we cut a record, y’all. A bastard of a record it is as well. A right proper blindin’ beast-bitch.
We’ve had to jack in the dayjobs and return to the human/equine realm in order to do promo and gigs and shit but, like, that’s another story…
Have a listen and we almost definitely won’t take your soul.
Love ya
Michael
credits
released 12 November 2012
All songs written by Michael James Hall.
Performed by Michael James Hall and Mark Estall.
Arranged and produced by Mark Estall.
Mastered by Assaf Gidron.
All songs written by Michael James Hall.
Performed by Michael James Hall and Mark Estall.
Arranged and produced by Mark Estall.
Mastered by Assaf Gidron.
tags
license
all rights reserved
feeds
feeds for about
Ghost Carriage Phantoms are Michael James Hall (songwriter) & Mark Estall (arranger / producer). They make records.
discography
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Feb 2013 -
Jan 2013 -
Nov 2012
contact / help
For help with downloads, click here.
For all other inquiries, including help with merch, click here.
- Track Name: heart of a boy
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stood at the stream
with alun and gerwyn
the stream ran clear
i was in love with their sister rhian
there was nobody else there
we played star wars
with our star wars figures
one summer the sun set at midnight
my nan called me in, called me in for my dinner
there was nobody else there - Track Name: yer boots
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it's good to see you're feeling better
it's good to see you at all
arriving in your favourite sweater
yer boots are still in the hall
and you won't get let down this time
if you don't let me lift your hopes too high
take consolation from the small things
nobody died I suppose
nobody lost an eye, nobody lost their life
but we came pretty fucking close
you return and all the joy in the world is in your eyes
it's tempting to lift my hopes up high
i'm sorry for all the deceit
i'm sorry I did not grow up
all the things I said didn't matter
they mean a million times as much as they did at the time
so come on, let's lift our hopes up high - Track Name: up to my t-shirt
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black cat fighting the flowers again
i really wanna go back home
putting up a new poster to cover the cracks
i really wanna go back home
don’t reply
it’s all rhetoric, up to my t-shirt in it
sympathise
but please don’t advise, i’ve had it up to my eyes
coffee in bed a dull ache in my head
i really wanna go back home
books stay on the shelf ‘cos books aren’t any help
i really wanna go back home
clap your hands
it’s a round of applause for the bored and abhorred
sympathise
but please don’t advise, i’ve had it up to my eyes - Track Name: woody allen movie
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summer’s coming to a close
the dying embers of a cigarette
i’m missing calls and running errands
this place looks like a train wreck
i tried
we used to talk about getting famous
now we only talk about getting by
we swore our failures wouldn’t drain us
but look, we’re paler than the sky
i tried
i’ve seen the lining of the stormcloud
switchblade silver fades to white
i saw the end of the tunnel
but I fell and I tripped out the light
i tried
and then i tried
the life that you get is not always the life that you want
it takes you some time to see every decision was wrong - Track Name: good luck and good bowling
- i’m not looking for love I’m just looking for what made us worse
- Track Name: videotape
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talk to my mother on the ‘phone
she gets lonely you know
and then there’s
nobody at home
to keep her company
i try a number of times
there’s nothing on the end of this line
she doesn’t know she’s only as lonely as me
we all keep up this pretence
we’re doing what’s for the best
is it just selfishness
or something real
when i’m helping you out
assuaging fears and cancelling out doubts
is it only because it’s what’s expected of me?
is it the means is it the ends?
is it thought or deed that defines us as friends
we can never be sure that we’re doing the right thing by the people we love
decisions, decisions
love change over long distance
start a new life, start a new family
the disappointments mount up
all the love in the world would not appear to be enough
tell me I am capable
of being happy
I am happy
when we line up to testify
and watch the videotape of our lives
will you be able, hand on heart, to say you were the best you could have been?
don’t turn the lights out yet
there’s something coming
but I don’t know when - Track Name: where the dead are
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hope is internal
fear is eternal
love, it will burn you
but love just might turn you
i’m waiting to see who you are
i try but I can’t see that far
i remember that summer
the first time
you ever came undressed
you asked me
to join you in your bed
i spent my whole life getting over it
and waiting to see who you are
a blue car
a sunday visit
a christmas package
with nothing in it
a clear view
in the window across the street
where the dead are
where our ghosts meet
i’m waiting to see who you are
hoping you will be a star - Track Name: a special kind of cold
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there’s a special kind of cold that only comes when you’re not ready for it
there’s a special kind of cold only you know
there’s a special kind of cold that only comes when you’re not ready for it
there’s a special kind of cold you know
when you’re talking with your friends and you suspect that they’ve got something on you
there’s a special kind of cold only you know
when you’ve had too much to drink you start to think that only you might kill you
there’s a special kind of cold you know
when you’re counting out your change thee never is enough to get you what you wanted
there’s a special kind of cold only you know
and when you’re locking all your doors and switching off your ‘phone but you still feel unsafe
there’s a special kind of cold you know
there’s a special kind of cold that only comes when you’re not ready for it
there’s a special kind of cold only you know
there’s a special kind of cold that only comes when you’re not ready for it
there’s a special kind of cold you know - Track Name: the psychedelic furs
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in my fantasy world heads of state take part in cage matches instead of debates
and when it comes to war they already know it’s not really worth fighting for
in my fantasy world the whisky’s free
and nobody gets fucked up drunk they’re all just merry
and when it comes time to go home
we all get to go with someone we know we love
in my fantasy world we’re a sure bet
it’s nothing like seaworld in that you won’t get wet
but if you did it’d be ok
‘cos we’d be hanging out with shamu the whale
something something something about love
something something something about my soul
something something something about love
something something something you’ll never know
in my fantasy world the psychedelic furs get played through p.a systems all around the world
paul Westerberg is a household name
and even though he’s sold out we love him just the same
in my fantasy world I could play this guitar
not just hang around with musicians playing rock star
and when it came inevitably to fame
well if it just didn’t happen i’d have you all to blame
something something something about love
something something something about my soul
something something something about love
something something something you’ll never know
in my fantasy world the heart is true
and it’s not necessarily all about what you’ve done but what you might do
and my friends, you know who you are,
in my fantasy world you’re big
big star
s
