Daphne's House

by Daphne's House

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1.
04:34
2.
3.

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released November 27, 2016

Guitars and Vocals by Isaac Macpherson
Drums by Jacob Hughes

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Daphne's House Southampton, UK

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Track Name: justtalk
Something crept into my sleep.
I felt its arms tear down the roof of my mouth

Something crept into my sleep
I felt its arms tear down the roof of my mouth

Don’t you find it difficult to speak?
With all that wet concrete sticking to your teeth.

And as the afternoon sun
melts the words right off your tongue.
You know your just talk
When will that flapping jaw unravel and rewind.

Was beauty the word
of self validating frauds?
These holy profiteers.
By what right is tonight any different with our words and ideas?

Was beauty the word
of self validating frauds?
These holy profiteers.
By what right is tonight any different with our words and ideas?
Track Name: Academic Beasts
After dinners bated breath
their tongues lay loose.

The debate roars, only afforded by his self selected friends
You've heard all the great arguments, but you've cared for very few.
Eyeing his burnt blazers silly sienna,
the smooth ivory hide of an antelopes figure.
We faced over Soufflé and I pounced like a beat,
with a sharpened understanding, a hungered conceit.

I wonder I say have you tamed have you tamed, have you tamed?
The shifting sees of fashion, the finest new age passions?
I wonder I say have you tamed,
mother earth, language or meaning, mother earth language or meaning?
Track Name: Every healthy boy dreams of fame
And when she sees her broken boy, those arms stretch out in reply.
A wounding rouge has left his lips, a metals grinning in his wrist
The image shatters those reasoned lies, as you ask yourself tonight
Does our peace of mind mean more to us than his tiny little life?

And it’s just what you get, its just what you get!
When you cheat life’s faithful test…
Will heavens angry bureaucrats, ever be content?

But it’s just what you get, its just what you get!
When you face your punishment…
We wait with dread, trembling at the menace
of the tiny dispossessed

least he’s made the front page today
And every healthy boy dreams of fame.
But behind eyes so brutalized.
Mark’s the pitiful duplicity,

of the dead child’s yearly round.
The dead child’s yearly round.
The dead child’s yearly round.
The dead child's yearly round.