Denatured

by Real Live Tigers

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  • Record/Vinyl

    Originally released on CDr and cassette in 2013, "Denatured" has been remastered for vinyl by Paul Gold (Grizzly Bear, Dirty Projectors, Jason Molina) and pressed on transparent smoky grey vinyl.

    This is a preorder. Records will ship on or before April 15, 2016. Artwork forthcoming.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Denatured via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    shipping out on or around 15 April 2016

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releases April 15, 2016

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Real Live Tigers Austin, Texas

"Denatured" remastered vinyl release on Keeled Scales in April 2016.

Southeast tour in April 2016.

West Coast tour in July 2016.

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Track Name: Denatured
If there was a way out I'd take it. If there was a way back I would know by now. Fake lakes, real gold, plastic flowers on somebody's grave. Oh, I want a change. I'm waiting for a check to clear. I'm stranded here for a while. Lost in thought and sentencing, I've married all my sisters off. The curbs in the suburbs all rhyme with each other. You kicked them like you kicked your brother. We moved back to town, past the sound, lost months and even years. Please pull back the curtains, dear, the day is getting on. We lost something, we lost something, we all whisper together. We lost ourselves along the way, strangers became our friends. Still half the time inside your head, you're different than you seem. You're past your prime, that's true, no doubt, but far from being tame. Half-wild, becoming wilder now, and restless as the waves. A summer-long song, a path picked wrong, an ending to the day, a bottle passed around during the sound that made you fall asleep.
Track Name: Leave a Map
Fuck what you heard, they're still self-absorbed. Nothing happened when those towers fell. And all those days we spent in city streets with night sticks at our backs weren't enough to change their minds when they had a plan. But don't let this world break your heart. Don't let this world be your world and don't let your worlds fall apart. Fuck what you heard, hope's still a word. We've just forgotten how to use it right, and all those pretty things we found in libraries are still enough to keep us up at night, so we shelter ourselves in books and songs our friends sing and now nothing hurts anymore. Nothing hurts like the last, like the first. Fuck what you heard, there's no secret chord, no arbitrary way to please God. Please yourself just as long as you don't hurt nobody else. And these bodies will wear down, so fill them up with song and build your hidden worlds, just leave a map for us. Keep a fire burning and leave a map for us.
Track Name: Dreamsick
Swallow your spit, change your clothes. Do you know how many times I almost gave up? I wanted to. I had plans. You brought evil inside. You gave names to the demons. In the pharmacy lights long after the night fell, dreamsick, with the taste of death on your mouth, lovesick, and still getting fucked around. The wind never stops. It just goes off some other place, movement for movement's sake, and there will always be another way to love yourself. You've got to find a way to love yourself. Homesick for every place you've left. Bloodsick, still poisoning yourself. Short-hand, cross-breeze, I have everything I need. Painter's white in the bright morning light, don't forget about me.
Track Name: Mtn Dew
He don't ever buy beer any more, just Mountain Dew, goes to meetings three nights a week, tries not to think about you. He kicked whiskey to the curb, despite what you heard. Got his old job back at the auto parts store. One thing you got to know-- he walks pasts four bars on the way to the bus stop. Says he knows you hate him, that he hates himself too. Give him one more shot.
Track Name: What Fort Worth Is For
Maybe it's because you think I'm always on tour and you think I'll find a quick replacement for what you stole. You didn't steal anything, I just gave you too much. Too quick to trust, too careless with my love. And now I know what Fort Worth is for. It's for sleeping on your sister's living room floor. It's for sore lips, my hands on your hips in the front yard, the first dress you'd owned since you were nine years old. And I never wanted to write songs about girls. I hope you never wanted to be a song.