The End of the World


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    Purchase includes a free download of "Our War", our complete re-recording of the "My War" album by Black Flag.

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    We are doing small run batches of our newest album on cd. Stunning cover artwork by Michael Hecht and full lyrics. Includes download codes immediately available with purchase.

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released January 1, 2016

Mario Costa: bass.
Craig Fleming: guitar.
Kevin Grant: vocals.
Chris Helme: drums.

Michael Brunetto: second guitar on bonus tracks 10-18.

Album art: "Relentless Head" by Michael Hecht.

Recorded by Brian Cass and Corey Sherman at Overclock Studios in Middleboro MA on November 21, 2015.

All music by GASKILL, all lyrics by Kevin Grant except where noted. Published by BMI.

Haffenrecords 5.



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GASKILL New Bedford, Massachusetts

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Track Name: Worms
Some live in copper castles with diamond rings, and when they speak it's like hearing a caged bird sing. I eat forbidden apples and learn too much. I'm startled and and shake apart at the slightest touch.
If you see friendly faces, turn around, and if it tastes like poison, drink it down.
Like troubling waters tell you when the angel comes and Jacob is breaking it's bones 'til the night is done.
If you see friendly faces, turn around, and if it tastes like poison, drink it down.
We're feeding our babies on dreams of your buried dead as shadows fall out of the night and they mark your head. If you think I might stammer avert your eyes. I speak live and direct as a swarm of flies.
If you see friendly faces, turn around, and if it tastes like poison, drink it down.
"Three strangers walk into a bar," so the story goes. Three strangers go under the dirt in their finest clothes.
"There must be some sort of mistake," said the wealthy man.
"No, we serve all types," said the worms and they kissed his hand.
Track Name: Long Lost Friend
We've been so lost so often. In vain we tried to see. Our long lost friend is present. No harm can come to me. I crawl across the desert. I walk against the storm. I do not burn in fire. You all have been forewarned.

Our long lost friend is in the hollow. Our long lost friend is very near. We sing the secret song of power. The ancient key becoming clear.

This is the gift we carry. The code cannot be cracked. A cypher spinning madly. The quarry can't be tracked. All arrows fly at shadows. The sun is sapped of light. The fish is pulled from water. The painter loses sight.

The wind is howling through the thicket. The rain is whipping through the pines. The worm is hungry for the bone. I read the book and learn the lines.

God bless me here in time and there eternally.

You should not question in the silence of moonlit nights that there will be a span of tempest in the future. Your boat is wedded to the sea.
Track Name: Immigrant
A stranger is wearing your clothes in the garden. A double is wearing your bones in the night, loving your woman with immigrant fingers, smiling, convincing when held to the light. He's mimicking you but the moon knows the truth: he's wearing your shoes but the walk isn't right.

A stranger is staring at you through the window, writing down words that you mouth in your sleep; tongue against glass as his pen crosses paper. Roles may be fought for but bribery is cheap. Hands just like yours push the hair from his forehead. Secrets like yours buried five miles deep.

Spell out his name but the letters escape you. Call out to me but I cannot be found. Call to yourself in your hour of darkness: the stranger will answer disjointed and proud, one eyebrow arched in your cold morning mirror. The silence is splitting. The echo is loud.
Track Name: I'm Not Waiting
When I die, bury me in the sky with plenty of room to dance around and with plenty of air to fill my lungs and sing about my story.

I'm not waiting. I'm not watching. I am building walls of sound.

When I die don't box me up. I'll need to walk the highway and ask a stranger or even friend if they know where to find me.

Lord of Armies, I slipped away one night as I lay sleeping, and though I searched the wide world through I never learned to find me.

I'm not waiting. I'm not watching. I am scaling walls of sound.

When autumn leaves, like finger bones, begin to tap I'm riding over hills and valleys low; never resting, always hiding.
Track Name: Birds Suddenly Appear
It’s so sad, the light of the morning. I train the birds who circle overhead. I track their flight just as they track you. And it’s so sad, the blistering heat of day. I send you packages of unwound clocks, a thousand vases filled with sand.

You thought the water ran forever, walking a road that doesn’t end. The shadows never seem to lengthen and youth can be a fickle friend.

It’s so sad, as evening approaches. I write the words the birds will speak to you. A narrative that doesn’t cease. And it’s so sad, the end of a journey. I see the same things the birds see in you. We watch and wait in secret hunger.

I’ve trampled fruit and torched the orchards. I’ve poisoned silos and the well. I’m hiding knives and hiding hammers. The smoke is rising in the sky.

I remember, though, you used to love me when you did not know what I was waiting for. Whitest snow carpets my memories and muffles how I felt.

The birds are dancing close above you. They have the patience of the wise. The rising heat that gently holds them has an old familiar touch. Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be close to you.
Track Name: Memento Mori
Here is the child, playing with toys: dolls for the little girls, guns for the boys. Dungarees torn, ambition is frayed. Here is the child, digging his grave.
Here is the woman, makeup in hand, perched at the mirror. Called on demand. Trying to salvage what cannot be saved. Here is the woman, digging her grave.
Here is the painter, swallowing lead, with every image losing his head. Using a brush but it cuts like a blade. Here is the artist, digging his grave.
Here is the sculptor, breaking his bones. Chisel in hand, lifting the stone, but times wields a mallet. He cannot be saved. Here is the sculptor, digging his grave.
Here is the hunter, lost in the night, building a fire that just will not light. Ambition and pride have led him astray. Here is the hunter, digging his grave.
Here is the soldier, throat getting slit. Here is the plumber, covered in shit. Without exception, no one is saved. Here is the worker, digging his grave.
Markers stand like empty hands along a roadside ditch, and every night brings darkness as though someone’s thrown a switch.
Track Name: War and Knives
The winter moths are nestled up against the porchlight. The ice is hanging from the trees. The little lanterns that the city has ignited cast shadow outlines of the leaves. The pigeon meets the gull, the city meets the shoreline. The metal cup embraces tea. The blowing snow is like my breath and passes through me. The night is running cold and clean.

The gentle cloth of steady violence, the constant whisper of the stream. The kiss of shovels in the soil, ascending steam.

The summer comes, a blade concealed inside a pocket. A heavy tongue and beaten heart. The air is thick. You carry hair inside a locket. A human touch, a dying art. The sweet fecundity of fruit left rotting in the field. The ripened sky is hot with rain. For every sacrificial lamb we have an Abel.
For every Abel we have Cain.

The trees are straining at their moorings to finally drift away with clouds. The city falls, the land unravels, level now, and proud.

Every season. Every tide. Every birth. War and knives. Every flower. War and knives.
Track Name: Dog Heaven
Clouds in the sky weave themselves into a fabric, and the fabric forms a sling. See it lower to the ground, and it winds, it is wound 'round your body and it carries you off, in the night, to the kennel in the stars.
All the curs, they hear you coming. They are pawing at your breast. They are faithful and they wait for you. This is not a test.
And the stench of wet fur meets the stench of feral excrement. Light from the moon hits your eyes, and it glimmers from their teeth and the blood that runs forever to an ocean of immeasurable size.
Do the dogs reserve a place for you, by their table, as they dine? Do they ever drop a scrap for you? Bitter offal, rancid rind?