The First Small Steps to Tragedy

by Patrick Shand

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about

I am in the midst of sorting out physical copies to sell online & at gigs etc.

credits

released October 7, 2014

All songs written and produced by Patrick Shand.

All instruments performed and recorded by Patrick Shand EXCEPT the tambourine, talking drum & conga samples on 'Tongue Over Teeth'; the electronic drums & synthesizer samples on 'Hiss'; the elephants on 'Alphabet/Champagne' and everything except the piano & vocals on 'The Equation'.

Album art by Patrick Shand with assistant editing by Liam Stuart.

I would also like to thank Liam for letting me borrow his recording equipment for some tracks.

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about

Patrick Shand Glasgow, UK

Musician and composer based in Glasgow, United Kingdom.

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Track Name: To Get Rid of This God-Awful Feeling
I am an item on a ledge
I like to sit and envy clementines and throw my amber on the ground
I face the army on my own, I proceed to wear its clothes in front of it
You can’t just piss of a ventriloquist
No,
you've got to burn the puppets
But retreat is a word that I use loosely
I would puncture the moon and watch the sky turn in to a lovesick bed-sheet to find reason,
to get rid of this god-awful feeling

I have heard you say my eyes are like sirens, or something
Yet I have seen that you’re never there at all
Still, I think the myth of your fluency overrides it all
The waves of porcelain that now surround our crows and indigos;
indelible stains on maps of roads now ramshackle
They lead to me stumble upon a man spewing god’s truth, thinking it would sanitise his thoughts
Would the devil’s do it back?
Or at least provide a cleaner cloth?

Coffin eyes search for answers which will be considered criminal
Plasticine usurpers; they sit through whispered torture and a pale reality
It seems I cannot win
Every time I scratch, the bubble squeaks
It’s lucky that the sound still makes me laugh
and silence the victims of my cot, searching for their keys
amongst the shards of my domesticity
I fear only treason could get rid of this god-awful feeling

When is it my turn?
When is it my turn to say; sing like you know who’s watching,
sing like you know the weight of the world


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: The Hard Way
I just can't fault your lies anymore
Each one; a beautiful vulture
One of these must mean goodbye;
dancing in a garden of sculptures,
trying to convince you
that you won't squeeze an apology out of these walls;
out of yourself or out of his call
and you won't find me running
I'm struggling to crawl away,
to find a way but anyway,
I'm so sorry
Once again I've let you down
but as you undressed the evening,
I found it hard to make a sound
You're less of a pretty face,
more a lost and found,
This isn't exactly even ground,
you know that all too well
We're not angels sharing a cell
I'm just trying to remind myself of something worth remembering

Not you, that girl behind you
I think I know her favourite song
Since when was a smile worth the truth?
You run along and enjoy your sitcom

That was an inconvenient flashback;
a friendly game of 'scratchback'
There's many shades of black and so forth
A few centimetres of slack and we're on course
Although, that sink's not nearly full
Isn't a smile worth more than breaking the skin?
You need your hydration Cleopatra, dear
You're not the first to use your death as inspiration
Close my eyes
Let me imagine your watercolour sky
blossom into a cog in the machine
'How'd this happen?'
What a stupid question
It's not like we didn't set alight our own dreams
Does your sarcasm soothe?
Don't some things prove that it's a terrible world to get fucked in?
You can find me in the toilet.
as if uncrowned and unkissed,
but don't slit my wrists unless I ask,
at least a little bit

Not you, that girl behind you
I think I know her favourite song
Since when was a smile worth the truth?
You run along and enjoy your sitcom

Take your observational comedy;
break me off a pill-form piece
Take your backstreet psychology;
try to explain to me why we say;
'We'll do things the hard way'

You found me gasping for air,
I found you bigoted and poorly dressed
You said;
'You call yourself a man?'
'You'

Not you, that girl behind you
I think I know her favourite song
Since when was a smile worth the truth?
You run along and enjoy your sitcom


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: Anchor
If I met myself in a cold dark room,
then I met you in a jungle of coca-cola
Isn't it funny how we were younger then
and now I feel older
Now I feel like Daryl at a train station,
quite teary-eyed, he's got an olive tweed jacket
that smells like his destination
He'd pleasure an army of Great Danes to see her and why?
Well, it's purely a hypothetical situation

Goodbye my angel, my anchor,
I know it's hard to keep dry eyes at the bottom of the sea
but they'll be plenty of time to dream when we're dead,
plenty of words to break the silence when we can breathe

If you ever need any convincing,
remember that a zebra-panda baby would look pretty disgusting
Or think of me and all my crazy suspicions
Like; 'we could take over the world' or that you're made of ice-cream
Try and catch yourself walking into a new room,
and all the peasants' faces just gazing at her
And if you catch me there, put me in your box,
roll me down your hill
I'm sure the grace will come tumbling after

Goodbye my angel, my anchor,
I know it's hard to see blue skies through a jealous town's ceiling
but I'll still walk beside you on a wild and windy day
Just stick my face on a hundred tiny leaves

You won't drink to drown, will you?
We could drink for the waves
and you won't have to come back to my bed
It's full of soil and shit and it can't grow fake smiles,
and it can't grow lovers,
and it can't pull out our tongues
or pull up the covers

So it's goodbye my angel my anchor
I know it's hard to keep dry eyes at the bottom of the sea
but I'll still walk beside you on a wild and windy day,
just write my name on a hundred tiny leaves
And they'll be plenty of time to dream when we're dead
Plenty of words to break the silence when we can breathe


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: Alphabet/Champagne
When I got there I was freezing
and my thoughts were whispering some unfamiliar rhythm
It's not easy to appease me
but how was I supposed to find meaning if I kept on looking

Bodies aching for what?
My body is nailed to a cross

When you get here you'll be bleeding
and my eyes won't say a thing because they're just fucking eyes
and your dying to be carbon
So I burn all our clothes and narrow down our options

Stench and sparks of affection;
must you claim me in the dark?

When you touch me, a statistic,
I laugh like cattle struck with the last few volts of injustice
But keep on searching for my crutch of credibility,
and the former lining of my veins

You cannot liberate me
with these tired correlations

Sometimes I feel I have the guilt of a thousand eyes
but sometimes isn't always
and 'always' is a shitty little lie

Sometimes I sleep as long as angels require
I wake up and my smile is a rifle
but my face is a lie

Accept it, accept this or not;
you are waiting for darkness

Accept this, accept it or not;
your windows are faithless and thoughtless


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: Tongue Over Teeth
Teach them how to steal
Teach them how to breathe a new colour
Teach them how to rape
They'll never have to sing about feeling water rushing over their skin

Has anybody seen my baby?
I can hear her screaming like the dying sun
I need to feel her next to me
She sends me tongue over teeth

Teach them to breed
Teach them to live with the barest of bones
Find an artery;
a conversation piece while the night is young

Has anybody seen my baby?
I can hear her screaming like the dying sun
I need to feel her next to me
She sends me tongue over teeth

Allow me to show you to my chamber
I've been told I'm quite the character
Allow me to show you the horizon
Have you been told it offers real alternatives?
Allow me to show you where my sweat falls
Don't turn your back to her
Allow me to show you where the plants die
I've been told I'm a character, just a character,
and every blink births painful advertisements for the truth

So, are you sick of vaguely dying?
Are you sick of festering in leather?
Are you sick of being a symbol in a novel that you've never read?

Has anybody seen my baby?
I can hear her screaming like the dying sun
I need to feel her next to me
She sends me tongue over teeth


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: The Equation
So there we were, petals of a dagger,
grateful for the yellow of my slumber
Duty calls;
I stumble on the weather
I want to say; ‘can you not smell the others,
poisoned by their freedom?’,
but I just sit, unfocusing my eyes
Then we’re driving through my kingdom
The silence cradles us for hours
Then you turn a couple corners
and I decide to take my chances
I pass you the equation
You laugh your teeth out
as If I passed you something honest
You say you used to know the answer
but know you just know how to roll your eyes

So there we were, bags of broken bones and grandeur,
dissonance displayed as justice, unfiltered
I wanted to die in a war that nobody asked for
Not to be scattered,
as if useless,
admitting that you were a factor
Because I know there is no whisper in the wind
Yet,
every time that I begin to close my eyes I immediately question the black
I can feel the cracks in my wall of pretension
but it’s still there
and it’s still swelling
‘What a swell time for romance, after all’ your checkered smile screams
I know it’s not what you mean
But see, now I can't wait to get to sleep
because I’m sick and tired of walking behind myself,
stopping to ask the time and being thoroughly disappointed
but I’ll still believe you when you say it’s not what you wanted
Not what anybody wanted

So there you were, still talking about the weather


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: His(s)
If he could hiss I’d invite the poachers to my lips
and no longer would the air cry for animation
But I am not a witch, nor a canister of compliments
I'm just a voyeur of strong jaws and weak lips
An ordinary day; the lights are still alone;
I still fear my only home and application

But I don’t want to talk about Adam
That pitter-patter’s going to put something to sleep
Not that I’m expecting it to taste like victory;
not that I’d stop if somebody wiped my brow
It's just to feel a little closer to a body that can ask you;
‘What do you own now?’

You could’ve been easy;
you could’ve taken a bow like a crying crease
but you stitched my hands in to my pockets
and y'know; I still can’t find my keys
I’m waiting for a breeze to speak to you but I think that's a deleted scene
It doesn't matter how you try, it's not you that you decides if you're clean

My insides are technicolour,
Full of countless nuances; fingernails deep
Not that I'm expecting you at the after-party
but if you think you won't scream my name - you will
And then, in that pretty, sweaty voice you'll tell me:
'I'll get the bill'


© Patrick Shand 2014
Track Name: We Are Snowing
We are snowing;
falling in every direction;
pulling together and pushing apart
Invisible to most of your world;
united on the biggest scale;
sparking such smiles with our violence and disregard
That’s us, barely comprehensible,
rushing around for the good of the evil,
to which everyone holds open the door
But no ‘thank you’s, just pain
Who has stolen our voice?
We can’t remember
Though silence has never begun
Is that how you pronounce it?
Darling, you know that you’ve won
Yet you carry me like mould
and insist that we continue to spiral towards useless reminders

I am leaving
I’m tired of your pale accusations
These problems just bore me
and I’d like back my shoes and my porn
I know that I am bitter
I know that I am fearful
I know that without you, I am left a landfill

But now,
I won’t mistake you for matter
And now your ambitions can remain
fermenting until clouds of stink spell;
‘Is this it?’
You’re a grain of sand in a bottomless pit

I am nothing
Not sad-eyed, nor desperate to suffer
I straighten my tie like it’s the fucking prime meridian
I can’t find midnight
I can’t fix my glasses
I can’t live alone
I can’t live alone


© Patrick Shand 2014