I drew a figure
With my finger
In the window fog,
Fell asleep
And wiped it out
with the sleeve that I leaned on.
It’s been a long way home,
With winter coats,
Those school bus days.
Father smokes his cigarettes
Mother cooks our meals
I’m mumbling
All rosey cheeked
Hoping someone hears.
It’s a silly sort of medicine.
Something lingers after dinner,
I wait to see you smile
I put one up to my chest and feel my mother’s hand on my hide. She’s screaming
“Those things are no good
They'll fill your lungs with soot.
They’ll put your mind at ease
When they put you all to sleep
And i just couldn’t bear to see you die.”
It’s a silly, sort-of-medicine.
supported by 16 fans who also own “Sort Of Medicine”
Been following Somos for many years, feeling that they had an opus in them...well, here it is. Driving pop-punk sensibilities lend an upbeat tone in contrast to the grim lyrical proceedings, and they absolutely pull it off. Evocative music that's been on repeat for me all month long. RIP, Phil PaintedDogs
Effortlessly juggling mood without slowing down or stopping to question themselves, the Singaporean band give new life to an age-old indie ethos. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 16, 2021
The UK upstarts' debut veers from sunny, psychedelic folk to bristling post-punk with reckless abandon without ever missing a beat. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 18, 2024