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lyrics

I’m a trusted beater growing idle in a lot,

Decorating the front entrance to a cranky, auto repair shop.

Parked haphazardly between two cream decalled Acuras,

‘For Sale’ sign in my windshield blinding me with neon font.


I’ve grown tired of the stench that’s been wafting through these air vents,

Of worn down old garage men smoke away half of their pay cheques.

Tires restlessly deflating down the minutes of each day,

I reminisce of gripping asphalt the glory of past escapades.


How the sun always shone louder on past ventures of the road,

Attracting moonbeams worth of static for the sake of radio.

How the highways used to breathe weaving through my lowered windows.

Despite the many splendid miles shining cities, honest farms,

That which I recall the fondest were those inside the car.


One human I knew most til-an intruder broke into our bond,

But with time soothed as familiar as my spot in their garage.

With subtle hints unlocked the blueprints to these blood machine,

Their tense and ease of body language along with honking tendencies.


We’d galavant expansive coastlines long weekend cottage trips,

Until an argument arose and was shoved in my glove compartment.

Where words hid as airbags capable to save,

But never were deployed as they crashed and walked away.


To this functional device they seem to overcomplicate,

Return to dealership reactions to a simple oil change.

How we all become spare parts when left to unfaithful maintenance.

And that showroom allure seducing eyes and headlight bulbs,

To veer towards the gleam of the season’s newest model.


Omitting little wrench adjustments collude into head-on collisions,

Such neglect has left me here with winter tires in the spring.

My dreams will rattle on company for junk-yard sleeps,

Imagining a new adventurer sitting in my front seat.

Demanding down the asking price til I feel pavement underneath me.

credits

from Feather Weights, released October 2, 2020
Vocals/Acoustic Guitar: Daniel Walker
Bass: Cailen Alcorn-Pygott
Keys: Siobhan Martin
Drums: Mike Belyea
Elec. Guitar: Jim Bryson
Horns: Daniel Ledwell

Production: Palmer Jamieson

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Owen Meany's Batting Stance Halifax, Nova Scotia

Engaged, electrically charged acoustic guitar, teeming with emotive energy rounded by percussion and bass. As Owen Meany's Batting Stance, each performance is a contract to burst the bubble between audience and performer through relatable, punching songs. Lyrically oriented, using songs to cradle narratives with conventional chords and unconventional structure. ... more

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