1. |
A Taste of the Knife
04:41
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Seven corners, seven cobwebs
Six are vacant. One is full
But no spiders. Just dead bugs
Such a waste of tiny life
Paint is cracking. White on green
Every day a little more
Walls reveal the years gone by
Walls that travel back in time
Kitchen clock is stuck at midday
'Cause the batteries are dead
But it doesn't even matter
Time feels like that anyway
Hear the faucet drip, ticking out the days
Wiping off the dead skin from every shelf
Watch the mirror show someone else's face
Yell and lose your voice talking to yourself
Dare not look into the cupboard
There's a chip on every plate
And a colony of red ants
Have reclaimed the bathroom grate
Hear the faucet drip, ticking out the days
Wiping off the dead skin from every shelf
Watch the mirror show someone else's face
Cry and lose your voice yelling at yourself
And I swear that when I close my eyes
I can hear every family portraits fight
But I'm grateful, because otherwise
It would all be awfully quiet
It's the rest of your life
So it shouldn't take long
Just a taste of the knife
Then the blood on your tongue
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2. |
The Inventory Song
03:00
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Five biscuits in a jar
Eight onions on a shelf
Twenty-two ice-cubes on the tray
Two and a half worms in the lettuce
One hundred and seventy-three teabags
Four jars of instant coffee
Eleven cups and mugs
One mouth
Eight forks, six knives
Seven spoons, four green glass plates
One childhood memory, two homes
Ten voices, twenty-six years
One breath
One breath
One breath
Always running out
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3. |
The Guests
06:41
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Weeks roll down from the ceiling
Like seven-legged spiders
Clocks are constantly reeling
Like horses with no riders
Like horses with no riders
Dishes done in midnight silence
With no help from the guests
The voices in your head, the violence
The dead ones and the rest
The dead ones and the rest
The voices yell and laugh and drink
And now your eyes are closed
The glasses in the cupboard clink
Perform the saddest toast
There's no use for names anymore
No-one around to use them anyway
There's no use for days anymore
There's only one day called Everyday
There's no use for names anymore
No-one around to use them anyway
There's no use for days anymore
There's only one day called Everyday.
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Agropio Buenos Aires, Argentina
Agropio es un músico independiente argentino que se mueve cerca del rock alternativo mayormente tranquilo, con algunos saborcitos electrónicos ocasionales. Cuando no sabe qué decir, escribe sobre sí mismo en tercera persona.
Agropio recommends:
Penando en el Tropico
by Divina Encarnacion
Divina Encarnación no se parece demasiado a nada. Pero además nada se parece demasiado a Divina Encarnación, y el mundo pierde un poquito por ello.
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Precioso disco de Palmer, 100% sentimiento genuino, 0% pretenciosidad hipster de esa que hay tanta. Indie rock con la fuerza correcta detrás.
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La poesía sónica que es este disco, de principio a fin, alcanza para cambiarte la vida. Shoegaze, dreampop, llámesle como llámesle, hay muchísima belleza encerrada en este disco.
go to albumIf you like Agropio, you may also like:
Sometimes I Forget You're Human Too
by Bored at My Grandmas House
Melodic alt-pop in the vein of Soccer Mommy is driven by winding guitar lines and augmented with dreamy shoegaze elements.
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Cermony's Ross John Farrar experiments with synths, bass, & percussion to make music similar to that from the '80s homemade tape scene.
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Oct 4, 2016
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