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Blood Under The Nail

from Third Maybe by In Greater Numbers

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about

This song is an aberration of what it was intended to be. I sat down around three weeks ago, determined to write an emotionally honest and incredibly simple song with JUST acoustic guitar and lead vocals. Obviously that didn't happen.

I started thinking the verses lent themselves too well to harmonies to only have one vocal line and wouldn't it be cool if we had dueling guitar leads noodling in the background through different ears? And the chorus, what if we had two lead vocals subtly amping each other and then ended with an abruptly heavy outro that turned out not to be the outro?

The lyrics remained more or less as honest as I was hoping but they didn't stay as upfront. I couldn't quite do it with this one. But I'll get it eventually. If you had to say this song is about something, it'd probably be frustration. But ultimately I think it's all vague enough to interpreted however one feels.

This demo took me roughly between 30 and 40 hours to do and three weeks to record. That's why I cheated and used it as two weeks worth of music with the instrumental and vocal version. The next demo I'm hoping will be the simple track I aimed at with this one, but I can't guarantee anything.

lyrics

Perish the thought. / Had you figured for one in a cherished lot
And all I got / was feverish intestinal knots.
To be honest, I can't be.
Can't think without festering.
All this time spent requesting things from various deities /
Is starting to affect me, it's arresting me.
And I am urgently remaining static instead of progressing.
(I attempted to make sense of my subconscious / So I could understand why I'm so thoughtless)

And set apart that's how I fell, less than the sum of her scars
(The little we had died in our hands after we fled the scene we made)

I'm meant for less but with every breath comes a new misstep.
And I couldn't let- no I couldn't keep this pent.
So let the dust settle over us
And let the sun dim at dusk
So we can count the bullets we spent.
I am spent.

And set apart that's how I fell, less than the sum of her scars
(The little we had died in our hands after we fled the scene we made)
And I was charged (and I misjudged) with all the details. Slipping through others like they're sieves.
(And we delivered the good news, but on arrival it was stillborn)

I'm robbing cradles, I'm robbing graves
I bought a fistful of indulgences so I know I'm saved.
Oh there's a congress, inside my brain.
And I lost to the pity party and the Hemingways.
Let's take our losses and turn 'em into profits
Let's take a hostage and turn him into a profit (prophet)

credits

from Third Maybe, released March 1, 2015

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In Greater Numbers Los Angeles, California

I make music that doesn't sound professional.

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