How 'Away'?

from by Pandas



You are a shark that has been circling and we all tread water at the surface. You are luring us with your coy desires as we all try to fend off this shiver. So what’s your point? There’s something caught between your teeth. A flag so regurgitated. Those broadband addicts are too pixilated to notice and the skyscraper worshippers all let blood into the oceans while lingerie peacocks sell strip-teases to distract us. Too much is never enough for you to swallow. Too much is never enough in a free market. Too much is never enough for you to control. Too much is never enough to fill your stomachs. Wait wake wait wake. He awoke from a dusty binge in the wet bowels of the bar light. The room breathed as the ribs all creaked to keep the walls all so airtight. He tipped and slipped from the soused and the soaked to crawl up the throat to the mouth, to the streets (past the teeth) and gaped at what he saw: Cola Molotovs; Factories spewing legislation; A balsa wood soap box and megaphones choked by infomercials of rubber bullet sales. So sell me. Sell me. Sell me a larynx untied. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me what’s worth my time. Sell me. Sell me. Sell me what once was mine. So what’s your point? It’s just a receipt. Registers ring us in. Registers count us up. Registers march in step. Registers drain us out. Fell out of a televised trance to wander from her apartment complex, towed towards the waterfront where all the stars were struck down by harsh neon. She ran along the slippery skin of wet docks and fresh vomit to the edge of the tongue of the town. To the rotting harbor, she was distressed at what she saw: Rescue-note bottles; Parched mouths of skeletal muckrakers; Strip mall runoff of asbestos mixed with artificial flavors. We’re all treading water and shooting off our last flare. We’re over here. Fins cutting through water. Jaws poised to devour. We’re over here.


from Brahe, released August 24, 2011



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Pandas Baltimore

It’s like punk, but with more musicianship. Maybe it’s actually prog, but prog that never went to Berkeley. Then again,maybe it’s metal, but without all the spiky leather. Or perhaps it’s hardcore, but more Greg Ginn and less Jamey Jasta.

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