Rays EP

by Patchwork Guilt

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04:56
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released February 2, 2015

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Patchwork Guilt Liverpool, UK

Patchwork Guilt was born in a bedroom in Bristol in early 2014, through the lone late-night tinkerings of songwriter/producer Phoenix Mundy. She has since released two albums an three EPs, with the result being described as 'utterly melodic shuttered pop' with a powerful ethereal quality. ... more

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Track Name: Rays
Time flies when you're on the run,
nobody's daughter and nobody's son
Don't let the wind or rain roll in
to scrutinize or wipe away your sin

Got caught in the sun and you toasted your
little fingers and your toes and never noticed that you
built its home, made its bed and invited it in
fingers worn down to the bone, you incited it.
Don't trip up on yourself,
don't trip up on yourself.
Cause the lion's woken and it's making its way

Don't sigh, or wash yourself away
til you're a ruin with nothing to say
You'll only wither as you walk back through the dirt
in nowhere's shoes, and yesterday's shirt
Track Name: Lizard's Grin
I wonder if a priest ever stuttered, I wonder if a judge ever muttered
If the wind calls your name, will you answer it?
If a storm comes knocking, will you bow to it?
And I swear it's always on the other side
Lizard crawling, time to hide
Lizard grins, no time to bide
Ribs flutter, open wide

You were sat at your desk, guilt spilling from your fingertips and your chest
Light breathed stripes onto the walls, and then fog filled our sleepy heads
And I swear it's always on the other side
Lizard crawling, time to hide
Lizard grins, no time to bide
Ribs flutter, open wide
Track Name: Plastic Gazing Eye
When you realize you're immune to the city and you're dreaming on the internet
turned to stone on a conveyor belt, you base your future on regret
but the hills, they were fleeting
it was flawless for a day but now it stands, alone in the dark.
Touch muffled by what's to come, but you rattle your brains for a part

A cup of flowers, left to wilt and wither on Grandmother's quilt
to seep into fabric stained with guilt and wander stitches that we built
and the blanket's swelling like a chest
to put the plastic eye to rest and draw us
on another page, a silhouette in a golden age