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Dead Dead Dead Still Digging EP

by Furrowed Brow

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1.
I'm digging a hole dirt in my shoes In a world of shadows I've ran out of booze I'm digging a hole digging a grave Scratching out the soil with the crap they never gave And the world will never see me ever again Unless my bones are dug up in a thousand years All the antiquarians will kneel and pray As my skull grins back from ear to ear Dead dead dead still digging What are you doing my pretty one Can you fill the hole when the digging's done? Can't blame her running I understand No one digs digging with a dying man Nobody will remember my epitaph Unless my bones are dug up in another age All the antiquarians will kneel and laugh As my skull grins back in a silly way Dead dead dead still digging I've relinquished my dreams I've laid them aside The glamour and the horror the wind and the strife Are you better off in Yemen with a will to survive Or living at The Dorchester desperate to die? Dead dead dead still digging
2.
I don't ever want a proper job I'm insecure but I cover it up Read books and poetry I'm lonely Windmill arms, smacking my ass Dancing round and having a laugh Modesty is too easy I'm lovely That's why I'm a ponce I'm broken but never bent Attract the scorn of real men Poverty is killing me Slowly That's why I'm a ponce More blouses than your Auntie Sheila More flowers than your friend Georgina More potions than a witch teenager More make-up than your old French teacher More spinning than a ballerina More laughing like a pissed Hyena More kissing than a spy deceiver That's why I'm a ponce It's dandy to live like this But not as easy as it seems Takes application to take the piss To follow cacoethe That's why I'm a ponce That's why I'm a PERFUMED PONCE
3.
Bedsit gothic Made a career of being insincere Erstwhile friends tortured by northern hipsters Those rambunctious slaves to conventionality Chiming out over delusional spires He microwaves a cup of baked beans Ostentatiously obscure More meat on a butcher’s pencil Wit, wisdom and vituperation A boy violently made up Listlessly dreaming away a tedious and feeble life He's my bone idle idol I imagine being nothing, something, anything Always other than what I am Money is wasted on the rich They'd force Da Vinci to work at Wetherspoons I asked for Lawrence - all I got was Florence A shoddy bohemia Kisses and powders and pills So remember me when you're dancing to Morrissey Music so good even the CDs jump It's not about looking glamourous one night a week darling He's my bone idle idol
4.
I was resolved to die in my own house I was born to apologise and that's how I died There were no sighs left in me, life such a catastrophe I ruined it all climbing up the walls And all I did was save the little ones Killed myself and the kids Sick of watching the TV I got the crazy Just a desperate lady I ruined it all lying on the floor All I did was save the little ones Killed myself and the kids Per aspera ad astra, through hardships to the stars There were no sighs left in me, life just an unpleasant memory I ruined it all, those four walls All I did was save the little ones Killed myself and the kids
5.
Cool As Hell 04:18
I don't fear anything Eyeballs swivelling Turned on perfect numb shimmer pissed with you Smoking, sharing Oozing, uncaring Dazzled by the English boy I'm taking to Daddy doesn't like me standing apart He can't understand a ripped up heart We're just pieces of meat till we fall down and start to go off Lying at the top of the hill looking down at hell Lying at the top of the hill cool as hell Words drift in honey Mellifluous and funny Idiotically laughing in safety from the outside Come here Richey Come here and kiss me Fall like feather sluts as if we've both just died Lying at the top of the hill looking down at hell Lying at the top of the hill we're cool as hell Lying at the top of the hill looking down at hell Lying at the top of the hill cool as hell Lying at the top of the hill looking down at hell Fried on the Royal Mile cool as hell We'll be laughing at the kitchen sink once we've had some of this

about

Bleak and glamourous, bewildered, brazen and ethereal, telling it like it is with a sardonic smile. Meaningful lyrics, Spartan guitar, queer synth, snappy glam drums and glowering harmonies via disco bass lines and campfire choruses

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"dystopian stripped back post punk that captures the spirit of The Fall’s chaotic legacy perfectly ... they are shambolic, eccentric and are gleefully doing things very much on their own terms" - The Punk Site

“Quirky, upbeat, shambolic, nonchalant , irreverent, brilliant” - Paul Travis, A1M Records

“Oozing intellect, iconoclasm and great tunes - meet Furrowed Brow, Manchester's glorious antidote to boring lad rock” - New Sounds Magazine

LISTEN + FOLLOW ON SPOTIFY ----> open.spotify.com/artist/0wAD5BsKOySjCprhbGecwl?si=Y63X1V5JSs2HU-9_XOA2Hg

credits

released June 1, 2020

Vox: Richey
Keys / vox: Alex
Bass / vox: Ryan
Guitar: Meg
Drums: Criostoir

Recorded live at Futureworks Salford by Paul Morrice
Written by Richey (except Track 3 by Richey / Ryan Walker)
Produced by Richey
Mastered by Mark Corrin / Paul Morrice

© Notes From Underground recordings

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Furrowed Brow Manchester, UK

There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn

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