DREAM HOUSEHindered by sober restlessness. Submitting

to the amber crutch. The theme in my aching

prose. Fantasizing the sight of Manhattan;

that pour of a bitter red being that escapes a

thin frame. The rebirth of mutual love. The

slipping on gloves to lay tenderly.

“I’m dying.”

- “Is it blissful?”

“It’s like a dream.”

- “I want to dream.”

IRRESISTIBLE

SUNBATHERI held my breath and drove through a maze of

wealthy homes. I watched how green the trees

were. I watched the steep walkways and the

white fences. I gripped the wheel. I sweated

against the leather. I watched the dogs twist

through the wealthy garden. I watched you lay

on a towel in grass that exceeded the height

of your legs. I gazed into reflective eyes. I

cried against an ocean of light. Crippled by

the cushion, I sank into sheets frozen by rose

pedal toes. My back shivered for your pressed

granite nails. Dishonest and ugly through

the space in my teeth. Break bones down

to yellow and crush gums into blood. The

hardest part for the weak was stroking your

fingers with rings full of teeth. It’s 5 AM...and

my heart flourishes at each passing moment.

Always and forever.

PLEASE REMEMBER

VERTIGODestined as the servant to the night where

your moon dreams of the dirt and the

sharp tongue of your zealous will is only

congruent with the salt in your mouth and

the approaching eulogy of the world. Lost

in the patterns of youth and the ghost of

your aches comes back to haunt you. And

the forging of change makes no difference.

Memories fly through the mask of your life

shielding you from time. The years that

birthed the shell that you gained. Hunched

over in apathetic grief with a disregard for

steps except the one taken back. Perched

up on a rope crafted in smoke / a sword

wielding death that buried your hope.

Focusing on light through the blinds. A

slave to reality under a monarch in the sky.

Lost in the patterns of youth where the

windows shine brightly back at you.

WINDOWS

THE PECAN TREE

Drooling red from my eyes to meet the bitter

sun that shines past into light. Setting fire

to curtains in hope that you’re dreaming.

Destroying the tomb of memories from your

life. In the room full of family, but couldn’t

find one. In the hallways lit up brightly,

but couldn’t find myself. I laid drunk on

the concrete on the day of your birth in

celebration of all you were worth.

I am my father’s son.

I am no one.

I cannot love.

It’s in my blood.

For this album, Deafheaven is

George Clarke, Kerry McCoy, Daniel Tracy

Spoken word on ‘Please Remember’ is

Stephane Paut

Recorded, edited, mixed, and mastered by

Jack Shirley at Atomic Garden Studios

in East Palo Alto, CA

Produced by Jack Shirley and Deafheaven

All music and lyrics by Deafheaven

Management / Cathy Pellow, Sargent House

Art Direction & Design / Nick Steinhardt

Photography / Ryan Aylsworth

Model / Sara Mohr

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