Bomb

by Christian Wray

supported by
John Belmont
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John Belmont From it's pseudo-vaudeville introduction with "Bomb" to it's somber conclusion with "Window Pain", this album offers a lyrical fix and a musical truth not common to similar works. Favorite track: Nocturne City.
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05:48

credits

released January 3, 2016

Christian Wray: Songwriter, Vocals, Instruments
Ryan Chabon: Producer, Mixing Engineer, Instruments
Daniel Gorham: Drums
Louis Savastano: Drum tech.
Cover Artist: Ellen Marion
Recorded/Mixed at Toilet God Studios

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Christian Wray Greensboro, North Carolina

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Track Name: Bomb
I'm gonna love you till the bomb falls,
I got nothin' better to do.
Maybe you love me when the bomb falls,
Because there'll be nobody for you,

And the bomb will set us equal,
But like any Hollywood sequel,
We'll be back again some day, somehow,
Somewhere beyond the sea...

Are you gonna miss me when the bomb falls?
Who will whipe your tears away?
The devil's gonna kiss me when the bomb falls,
We'll make that sun go crawlin' away.

The bomb will set us equal...
Track Name: You'll Never Make That Plane, Poindexter (Part Two)
Time has shown us many things,
But who knows it better than you...
You think you've seen every movie
On life's little screen,
But there's one movie you haven't seen...

"You'll Never Make That Plane, Poindexter".
Made in 1963,
It's about a man, (Poindexter),
Who only wanted to be free.

You've seen the color of envy,
And the movies of James Dean...
You've seen "Paul Blart: Blood Clot"
But you haven't seen...

"You'll Never Make That Plane, Poindexter"...

Guess I'll buy a new paradise,
I'm only rollin' one's and two's...
Take my money to the movies
And buy a ticket to

"You'll Never Make That Plane, Poindexter"...
Track Name: Nocturne City
The factories are closing early,
The factory whistle blows:
"Dreams are sad and life is sadder",
And that's the way it goes in

Nocturne City, where all the pretty
Faces fall like snow.
Keep your hands down in your pockets
No matter where you go.

I thought I was lost
'Till I found myself astray,
Say goodnight to Nocturne City
Before the break of day.

The women all wear burlap stockings,
The men wear gingham lace,
But everybody wants to hide
Behind a pretty face. If

The lady of the night comes calling,
Blindfold in her hand,
Keep the bottle from your lips
And a shotgun in your hand.

I thought I was lost...

The night is aging, I am raging,
Sidewalks fill with sand.
Keep the shotgun from your lips
And a bottle in your hand.

The clocks are crooked
But time is wicked,
Sidewalks fill with dust.
Can't you hear the whistle blowin',
Blowin' through the rust?

I thought I was lost...
Track Name: You'll Never Make That Plane, Poindexter (Part One)
If you only knew the dreams I'm dreamin'
When I'm dreaming I'm dreaming of you
Ooh la la, la la lie...

Boom, an atom bomb goes
Whispering through the catacombs
of your Heart: "your Heart is not the
Answer to the questions that you're
Running from and by the way,
You'll never make that plane, Poindexter."

Pink dalmatian dominatrix,
World domination, glitches in the matrix,
Dig yourself a glory hole,
Rockets launch in one direction
Commanded by Slothrop's erections,
You'll never make that plane, Poindexter.

I loved you once, I do suppose,
Your mother's eyes, your father's nose,
My dreams, my dreams are going
Crazy like I did for you and
By the way I promise to
Never make that plain, Poindexter.

Pink dalmatian dominatrix...

Oppenheimer, Isaac Newton,
Albert Einstein, hifalutin
Names are dropping down into a
Mushroom cloud of pure destruction,
Time and space are under construction,
Can you show me something simple?
A single frame of your intention,
Flat out truth in one dimension,
You'll never make that plane, Poindexter.

Pink dalmatian dominatrix...
Track Name: Window Pain
Its hunger paints your window pane with cherry rain,
It blows the road back home...

Its fever dreams have filled the nights
Its days begin in circus lights
And a smoking trapeze fleeing from Its fires.

With Its eyes wide shut right to the ears,
It melted faces of the clocks to
Chorus lips of singing tears that
Never seemed to form a melody...

But the mountains on your fingertips,
A kaleidoscope of screaming lips have called you,
To Its window pane.

The silence on your window pane called again,
The road was blown back home...

I do not think the land that waits
Is lined with angels at Its gates,
I've given you my calling card,
The melted streams of paper dreams
That never fail to burn a thousand letters...

Let the mountains on your fingertips
Come sliding from your crescent lips.
It's not to late to hesitate,
The simplest seed, it would suffice
The rarest bird of paradise,
The melted faces of the clocks are
Bending in the breeze like wounded feathers...

And do not curse the weeping road
That's wrapped around your sleeping toe,
We're waltzing through the Jury's sleep,
Through verdicts that they failed to keep,
A screaming judge with knees like Mona Lisa...

But the mountains on his fingertips,
a kaleidoscope of screaming lips have called you,
To his window pane.

The wind may knock your window pane,
Now don't complain,
Just blow the road back home...

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