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lyrics

Somebody help. And it's tearing through the streets, fiery motes from dragging feet. Brilliant smoking stacks of defeat. Mountain-melting mammoth fleets. With a grimace of the face, as they hide behind their masks. Chiseled cheek bones shaping casts of chuckling nervousness from its wrath. Projected missile system caused an ever flinching disruption of all signals down for the count. Collectors: always on the rebound. And it's pealing off they're skin—all the itty-bitty children. Tiny artifacts who've sinned; now dealt the Beast's torment. And the Willow whimpers cool-headed, now distempered, "End this nonsense at the source." Failing the functions to recourse. Hematic hipbones shattered. From the weight of a hummingbird, a flight then birthing of a girl to be trained in the art of this world (You've gotta train that girl). The Collectors sit in their towers, while the Beast ravages the land. Thinking, "What can we do to stop this? When our authority dries up like sand." Somebody help.

credits

from Hot Garbage, Hot Trash - A Night at the Firkin, released May 17, 2015
Atlas and the Astronaut is:

Matthew LeMieux [guitar]
Casey Aspengren [bass]
Lucas Goughnour [drums]
Beau Rosser [vocals, synth]

Audio recorded by David Jack Jester
Editing by Beau Rosser
Cover photo by Heather Hanson
Cover layout by Beau Rosser

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Atlas and the Astronaut Vancouver, Washington

Fueled with mythic yowling and their own wily futuristic-heavy aesthetic, Atlas and the Astronaut brings surprise and passion to a growing crowd of melted faces in the Portland, Oregon area.

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