A copy of Cleaning The Dishes CD in a cardboard sleeve (plastic is not a huge vibe!). Will also throw in some Bush Chook stickers and all our dearest thanks!
Includes unlimited streaming of Cleaning The Dishes
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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Compact Disc
Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album
A new version of our cleaning the dishes CD, with a fold out middle!
Includes unlimited streaming of Cleaning The Dishes
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
Sold Out
lyrics
It's three o'clock on a Saturday, stumbling through the city,
Feeling drunk from all the car fumes and chain smoking ciggies,
We are searching for something, not quite sure what it is,
We just roll around in the car park getting high and then
You kiss me on the cheek and run away, down a rusty alleyway,
I sit here and look around, you come back and sit down,
And we stumble through the city till rather late at night,
Getting hj's getting drunk, trying not to get in fights,
So we caught the train to Freo, at one thirty am,
The Kebab shops were all closed but seven eleven sold bread,
So we head on down to south beach, for a swim, for a feed,
Look in your backpack, find a can of baked beans,
And we tear into the tin, under the intimacy of stars,
And I saw your soul my darling, heard the sound of passing cars,
Melt into a sweet cacophony, the ocean and my breath,
And in that beautiful silence, you got up and left.
So I finished all the bread, and I scraped up the beans,
And I walked on my own to my house down the street,
And I kicked off my shoes as I hopped into bed,
And I thought about you and the things that you said.
And I slept and I slept, for a very long time,
Till my back grew sore, and my bed grew tired,
And I woke in a sweat, and I called out your name,
And I wonder if you're somewhere doing the same,
Or am I just a self deprecating, obsessive piece of shit.
I apologise for my language, sometimes I'm a bit
Over the top in the morning, when I get out of bed,
I am tired, I'm hungry, I'm all out of bread.
And after a long day, I come home once again,
I throw down my bag, and I grab out the bread,
That I bought at the markets, where I played today,
I was begging for money, for someone to stay for a while
And just listen, to the words of my songs, tell me I'm worthwhile,
That my existence isn't wrong, make me feel useful, make glad to be alive,
I guess it's no wonder I sing all the time.
So I put the bread in the toaster, and I turn on the stove,
I cook rosemary mushrooms with two garlic cloves,
I get out a couple of plates, a couple of knifes and forks too,
I was eating alone, but I was cooking for two,
Just in case that you happened, to pop on by,
Oh if I had food ready, perhaps you'd stay a while,
But I ate and I ate, whilst you meal sat there,
Getting cold getting sad, and I sat and I stared,
Then I cleaned up the kitchen, put your plate away,
covered it all up in glad wrap, just in case,
That you decide to come over later, for desert and red wine,
You could take your meal home, eat it another time,
But I realise you are not coming, I never even invited you,
It's probably good you didn't, I probably would have just frightened you,
I mean how can I love somebody if I'm frightened of myself,
I need to take some time off and think of my health.
I need to go see the dentist, and get my teeth fixed,
I need to speak to a psychiatrist, get them to pull all the sticks out,
From my eyes and my ears, all the bugs in my brain,
Needa take some time off, to feel like myself again.
supported by 12 fans who also own “Rosemary Mushrooms”
This one took a few listens. The first time, it went in all at once, like a corkscrew punched through the soft slab of abdomen, there on my side. I hardly noticed. Then it started to jiggle and wriggle around in there, and slowly — twist by twist, track by track — I came to realize what a bloody, brilliant mess I had on my hands. veryvery
supported by 8 fans who also own “Rosemary Mushrooms”
Yes, you could be a guitarist, a vocalist or a songwriter, but can you do all three well? Carla Geneve can - lyrics like poetry (both for the individual lines and the overall effect), excellent guitar work that (with help from a tight and minimalist bass-and-drums backing band) produce full-on songs, and a voice that constantly surprises - and can be young and innocent in one song, full on philosophical and middle-aged Joni Mitchell in the next. peter_of_perth_hills
“Write The Soil Lighter” is full of beguilingly mysterious folk-adjacent music, shrouded in shadow and atmospherics. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 30, 2023