Tourism

by McQueen

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RD3: Love is for dupes and songs are for finks. Here are some more drones, more loops, more haze, more dreamo bedtime pop.

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released March 1, 2013

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ROTTEN DEVICE Adelaide, Australia

Destruction rains from the heavens!

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Track Name: California Games
You danced up around and down in the heat and brought about the ruins of black concrete. You take great pains to deliver salt in grains so that's the way I take it. And I take it for granted that nothing will grant you relief.

Well baby what's your star-sign? Or am I impolite to ask how the burning suns align or is it just another farce to pass the time with? And how were we to know that on the California sand the future isn't something that we ever need to plan and if we do it gets away?

Well what a debacle to take this for granted! My earth is now blackened, my ocean has parted. I'll drink from the blood, take the dry with the flood. Another foul holiday crawling in mud, under mountains and plains. So I'll say it all again! You take great pains to deliver salt in grains onto open wounds and eyes, so does it come as a surprise to you when I say I'm sick of feeling sore?

Well baby what's your star-sign? Or am I impolite to ask how the burning suns align or is it just another farce to pass the time with? And how were we to know that on the California sand the future isn't something that we ever need to plan and if we do it gets away?
Track Name: Canada
You told me that music was the art of the possible.
"The impossibilities are no obstacle", you said.
So I grabbed my guitar and I counted out the frets
and you wrecked a car somewhere in the middlewest.

In the middle of the road
lay four of the best.
Two I didn't know and
you took the rest up

as you go further up the state,
to the Raspberry Capital of Canada.
And so sing-song! Yeah I never could relate
to your sincerity or how to handle "fate".

And ten years on
I get the point!
The children that I know
are the souls you anoint.
Track Name: Public Holidays
The still point of the turning world
is wasted on the young
and lines of poetry dissolve
like sugar on your tongue
and I could disappear for half an hour,
slip out somewhere in the back,
but tiny characters under Cable Co. towers
are your passive attack.

And all you ever wanted from anyone
was their pity on a public holiday
so on the year's first one,
you crawled under covers to watch
TV, half-awake,
film rereuns of Hepburn in her black and white and grey.