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Terraforming (2023 remix)

by The Postman Syndrome

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    Black and white moon phase on green vinyl. Band-exclusive color, limited to 100 copies.

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What's with me and stars, gardens, blue light, and the trees? Sometimes I feel like Poseidon losing control over my seas. Came face to face with God and it left a scratch on my sanity, but before I go down I have a feeling I'm taking you with me. Now the boat is capsized, vessel smothered, making it hard to breathe. Our biggest worries below us, hiding in the water we cannot see. Paranoia and curiosity get the best of me. Turn upside-down and catch a glimpse of what's under but now I cannot see what this means to me. A fury of stilted speech sparks the tide. Ride it deep to your muse birth. Drink it slow. Taste the undertow of pretension. The liquid embryo congeals in your throat when all you take away is that my metaphors blow. Better to scold than coddle. Better to drain what follows. Before the rain unbottles, look at the swill you'll swallow. A lonely road, badly paved and hollow. Stepped in a hole, fell into a flooded tunnel before you rowed up, before you came up shallow, before you echoed you'd rather drown than swallow this. It's not the same as being afraid to swim underneath the sea, and it's not enough to picture your arms as limbs of a tree, but I've got you here with me. I've got you, and you can't leave me. Push away, crawl away, but you'll never leave me.
Here it goes again, the masking of dirty truths- the penning of words, creating worlds that are lost on you. You never care to meet characters laid upon your feet, never to penetrate the membrane you have wrapped around you. But I saw more I think a thought of you. The words I've said, no longer spent- one slipped tongue and there you went through, with me right after you. So I see you've built yourself a fortress too, but when compared to these walls yours seems bare like an old cocoon that will crumble soon. Now I breathe the stale air of my little tomb and drink the water drank before, and eat the mildew off the walls for food. Ride. Tumble free and feel undone. Every word strikes a hammerfall. Why, once again, fire as you may, will this wall not divide? And I try and catch my mind as it goes on peeling off its rind; so I grow but I pass as pointless rhymes just for show, and now I think it's time that you disrobe. The package is waiting. I didn't know it would be so long, and I grow so tired of singing songs to those who know, but still carry on like they don't. Now I think it's time that you know that now I think it's time. Each successive line ricochets wall turned, denied, back at mine.
But it echoes all around me. And it only goes just to show you how many ways you don't know you, and it only goes just to show me. And so as not to disappoint you all here's a silly song for you to sing along. I'd never want to disappoint you. But all around me it echoes and echoes. When they surround me, these words are my own. And all around me it echoes and echoes. When they surround me, these words are my home. And they may drown me, but that's okay- here you go. Now how's that sounding? It's just a silly song to sing along to. It's just a silly song to sing about you. It's just a silly song.
Your pull was lodged through my heart, and it heats up the cells until life explodes. When hell comes crashing scream "where's Mr. Fix-It?" One step for flowers in spring. Two steps destroy what it brings. Third day, these fools get the joke. It turns out this pull's job's to guide us farther. I'm not your nirvana now.
I'm here today, to commemorate the soldiers slain, to paint the pictures of their former homes, and to grieve for loved ones left alone, crying longing for each other. "Where is he?" "And where is she?" These wars have left us lonely. "She's cold inside my arms, dead by my hands. My screams and hers were acts of self-defense." She can launch a single breath; I'll take it on the cheek wide-eyed and return the force we'd manifest. She never thought she'd pierce my skin. I never thought I'd knock her down but I'm point blank, I'm closer than you'd think. Schizorabbit has a habit of watching his back head on into danger. She keeps me locked inside to muffle infant screams. She keeps me locked inside to hide baby from me. She gives me baby's breath around my baby eyes. There's no more baby left cause baby's gone and died. Mother keeps me clean; my mother keeps me wise. She keeps me soft and warm as father slowly dies. She gives me baby's breath around my baby eyes. There's no more baby left cause baby's gone an died. You'll move in lines, be careful to entwine your fragile pair's home. Two minds will separate what two hearts will celebrate. Flaws that did not exist are shaped by our bloodied fist.
"Oh no, not again." One day I came to a trembling shadow. Beneath my eyes he seemed to smile. Then wouldn't you know, an arm came up and grabbed a hold of my little wrist. The arm was old, and there seemed to be something all too familiar about this. Then I recalled a voice saying "don't be afraid, the day will come when you don't recognize your very own face- but you can't let it go, you must give it away, and it's on your own shoulders that this burden must be placed." "Little boy you will grow old." "If I'm lucky, so I'm told." "Are you afraid to let go?" "It's beautiful how little you know... "Actually, I've been holding something I've been meaning to give to you, because it's your turn to know who you are and where I am, so I can forget you." "Little boy what's this you say? You act as if you've known of this day... and why do I remember your face?" I said, "Now I know I can never truly leave this place. I'm sorry that I must do this to you. But you asked, and so you have now chosen to be the boy you hold for a while. So look harder at me into my eye." Then I heard him cry "oh no."
Guessing where the coins would fall, they carried on for hours with a compass and a set of keys- backpacks packed and floating just above their pretty heads. Poised to dive and immolate ten thousand years of moistened lips, for one less kiss they're willing to let all the angels lay claim to their territory and sleep with their lights on for personality. They stumble through darkness while reaching for fleeting moments: "The Glory shall be yours and you all shall be as God..." Don't let the songs fall without a word. Impending nova, I'll watch you all burn. Running from a heart of clay, they ate with severed limbs and gambled well into the previous day, risking wings from angels that they couldn't afford to repay in word, or deed, or selfish thought. If seraphim are pulling strings they'll find their wings and become one King for a lifetime, and Kong for one fleeting moment, to find that the journey was less than work for us. They'll refine their relics and offer the sweetest up to me, asking one more time: "Don't you want to laugh like God?" Don't let the songs fall without a word. Impending nova, I'll watch you all burn. "Lady bright eyed, guide me through this tumultuous sea with much wine. Why the gods in all their immortality wish that I die? But I won't die." When a word is spoken by the lonely, then a gift is said to the receptive. Though weary eyed they still return the warmth and smile. Not in need of further gestures, they're singing songs of celebration. Place your heads inside the halo's ring and grasp this understatement. Let all the angels reclaim their territory and sleep with their lights on, lest any footsteps feel darkness in orphan bondages, muting their fanfares. Return to waveforms and trust in our common heritage. We could become God. Our trust in this fiction creates faith in our appendages. Don't let the songs fall in flames. "Hell, Hell well are you now?" "I am here." "In a daydream I died. I was Jekyl. You were Hyde. In you I seek ally. Enemy. Hell, Hell where are you now?" "I am here."
"Pick and peel. Buy a drill; chip away. Scream. Push... weak yet? Scared? Locked outside? Will you cry? Will you wait, open arms for your angel?" I tug and pull and build an empty nest for kindred souls. You cut me up into small pieces, not to swallow whole. Is there even a hole at all? I'm cut waiting... Are you scared to look inside? Can't fit through the needle's eye? Am I grotesque when spread wide? Some doors will never be pried. Or is it not me you fear? Your naked soul plugs its ears. Walled in for so many years (fraud, lies), voices would bring down (fools, lost in) the sky. So why go on? Forever handicapped, and still we're told there are some bonds that can't be broke. Fraud, lies by terrified escapists. Glass can shield the rain. With my head on the wheel it's my puddles I feel. I'm parked at the gate. I'm used to the wait; the album's long ended. I can't see the sky: precipitation splashes on glass, all I see. Guide me through this night. Your lonely welcome, gleaming, green glowing self shines me inside. Wishing that the lights will change so I can drive by. Waiting for the signs to rearrange, or must I revise my style? Standing on the only side to open your color scheme. Basking in a color fortified begs to become the green. So many things just don't come to mind, perfectly placed but still out of line. You go your own way and expect the world to wait. We'll meet again ahead in the burning heat of red. Collide, collision. Inside, incision. If words can heal the divide you're speechless in your ride. Your lips will wait tonight for me to run this red light. You lie sweetly on my chest. Bond us tight to rest. My ribs shield you from my heart. Eyes close and we part.
I hope you enjoy the ambiance. You can leave your wings at the door. There's no need to fly while you're here, and if you dare and try I'll nail your feet to the floor because this tea was brewed for two: one for me, and one for you. It's been too long and now I'm through waiting for you. This is my time to write pretty words. This is my day. The plague of one is cured. Bet you a kiss that you're growing fur. Wish it away. One day we all wish it away. The way we were, wish it away. The only cure. If love turns cold, I'll call it ice cream and fake a happy tune. You've got your rounds now, but dear your children are planting maple seeds. I'm sticky sweetened. I'm gooey hopeful. You're dripping ten miles gone. I watched our love freeze; it's only ice cream. A pocket's change could get you more. I'm left hungry. Could one death kill my faith? I should have clipped your wings, not just tied. Instead of beckoning, locked inside, now it seems that I've took too much time. One cup left empty and one with wine. Waiting for you... I can't figure out what it is, but she's slipping from my grip. I can't figure out what it is, but she's squirming like an infant. She can't figure out what it is, she said "You don't make me feel important." I can't figure out what it is, I ask "what's it like to feel important?" I can't figure out what it is...
First a light, and then a cup, set upon a meager tray beside the book of revelations, and tucked by fireside's brighter light. Studiously dwell upon the ill-achieved stabs at grace. The second light is tempered by its honesty, overshadowing the primary. Words contort accordingly. Another page torn, crumbled by a fist in reaction to actions pure in concept marred by dissatisfaction, squeezing drops of still flame from the cold page. And yet it still must come to this: a wordless page, yet poignant fist to keep the fire still contained. And if there's no more to show for this tonight except a paper cut that's fine, and yet it still does ratify when bloody hands will satisfy and voices can't bring down the sky. Another page is smoothed and saved. The needless word has need today, the millionth word and first the same. "Against stupidity the Gods themselves contend in vain." Against true luminance the bright ones lose their sheen, but through humility the dullest troll can fail discretely. "Against stupidity the Gods themselves contend in vain." Illuminated now, a picture has two levels; there is the moment clad in shallow sun. Behind, there stands the fact, the noose of God surrounding; and tied to everything they fall, toppling the all.


The 20th anniversary remix of the first release by The Postman Syndrome, the band that was a spiritual predecessor to Day Without Dawn and East of the Wall.

Jim Stang (Day Without Dawn) - Guitar/Vocals
Matt Lupo (East of the Wall) - Guitar/Vocals/Trumpet
Chris Alfano (East of the Wall, Day Without Dawn) - Guitar/Vocals
Brett Bamberger (East of the Wall, Day Without Dawn) - Bass/Vocals
Mike Somers (East of the Wall) - Drums

Originally released September 22, 2002.

Recorded by Chris Badami and Chris Duncan at Portrait Recording Studios, January - March 2002.
2023 remix by Scott Evans at Antisleep Audio.
2023 remaster by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege.

Flute by Danielle Valan.
Backing vocals by Joe Lipari, Tom Cushing, and Chris Duncan.

Original art and layout by Shawn Butchart.
Layout adapted for vinyl by Eric Nyffeler.


released April 14, 2023


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East Of The Wall Keyport, New Jersey

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