WONDERKID

by Carson Wells

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credits

released September 30, 2012

Songs by Carson Wells.

Recorded by Ross Middlemiss at Engineered Audio Recordings in April 2011 and March 2012.

Mastered by Carl Saff at Saff Mastering Services, Chicago - www.saffmastering.com

Design and illustration by Andy Hemming - www.andyhemming.com

Art For Blind Records (AFB032) www.artforblind.com
Black Lake Records (BL003) www.blacklakerecords.net
Cross Your Heart and Hope to DIY (CYH001) crossyourheartandhope.bigcartel.com
Eat A Book Records (EAB025) - www.eatabookrecords.blogspot.co.uk

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Carson Wells Aberdeen

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Track Name: Soul and Sword
Punitive words: he sits thoughts unfolding.
As that effect of his most recent wear off a pang grips him, and lures him in again.
Pale and clammy skinned he rises from a tired, broken throne. A rock sits in his stomach, playing on guilt.
It was a constant battle between those two old foes and one he had neither the strength nor will to endure.
One side always lost and conformity killed his conscience.

A hell sentence of black thoughts as innocence is seized.
An iron grip on locks is worsened by frantic pleas.
Now she's bent and broken.

‘Your shrieks could move mountains, but no one can hear us here.'

He asks her to stay calm.
He begs her to stay quiet.

Lucid images are branded on his victim's conscience.
Vivid memories of black shadows baring manic grins.
As her mind regresses - her body trembles and convulses.
Hands clutch her as she wakes up.
Track Name: Slim Charles
The document is littered with detail
Yet the conjunctions hold the most force

Put your hand out,
Tired friend,
This is the rest of your life.

Society believes in tragedy.
We meet with no greeting and handshakes, like you understood. No disposition, but you dream that you should

You don't seem to back away.

Finish him.
Track Name: A Great Weight
Drawn down by a great weight. Hands tied on a sinking ship.

A flutter of humour in a polite exchange of conversation
A genuine question from an old friend
A frustrated cry from lungs crippled by expectation
A movement to reconcile and he’s spent

Bouts of light are the only way to separate one from the next: like shards of glass through flesh.

Eyes glazed by similar sights and silence is granted by identical sounds

Hands tied on a sinking ship; drawn down by a great weight.
Track Name: Ten
Don't you wish you wouldn't wish summer months away?

Life trips on laces it was not taught to tie.

Life trips, solace, grey walls, grey sky
Track Name: Three Months in Canada
If only reason were so simple as to follow the tide, with a definite stance a decision is simplified. Heart shaped pupils reflect the sky ‘til we succumb, collapse then surrender.

We succumb, we collapse, we surrender.

Cut below, because severance is all too slow. Cold words. Top trumps tail.

Broken, bitter dreams of old. That’s as much as we were told. Broken, bitter dreams. Promises were made.

If this game of numbers is all by which wealth is defined, then I am a pauper and I’ll settle with the poor.

If this is what makes wealth then I am a pauper; if this is what wealth makes I’ll settle with the poor.
Track Name: Don't Forget The Super 8
Illusions of ghosts.
Passers by that passed away.

Car crash off a beaten path, crossed arms and closed eyes.
We converse through false mediums, where distance is juxtaposed with connection.
Friendship lost in synthetic smiles - there reality bows without breaking stride.

Shoreline enveloped by red sky, we write our names in sand.
This second is framed in film but film outlives love.

Four walls and a mattress cannot compare to this cyclical affair.

This is not freedom. This is not liberation.

That burning sensation, rising from guts to gutter is only stifled somewhat by the notion of freedom. But this is not freedom, this is not liberation.
Track Name: 2007
Look at a sky that's pure simplicity and picturesque.

"I feel like you've come to the end of your tether."
Last light glows and shimmers off a porcelain façade.
I can picture this moment in sepia tone; black and white.

Not a word; not a whisper.

He said "It's not like we haven't been here before,"
"Yeah, but it was working this time."
A knowing tear tumbled down her cheek and fell, alienated into the summer sunlight, and after an awkward silence and a reluctant goodbye, he turned and left - leaving only the overwhelming stench of bitterness and the lasting burden of hope.
Track Name: Home
Growth is stunted by the prospect of reality as introspection saddles old scars.
History perpetuates existence and reluctance undermines knowledge

Presence is limbo: a line of symmetry, a path of discourse - to come is only what we recollect. And so we holler, without pessimism or prayer, there is no means - there is only end.

These lives on pasts reflect. History. Progress.