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Small Hours

by Gandhi's Hands

supported by
Sam Rodwell
Sam Rodwell thumbnail
Sam Rodwell I’m in this band but I wasn’t at the time and even then I thought this was some of the most haunting writing I’d ever heard Favorite track: Don't Be Surprised.
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1.
Your thoughts, they are a part of you, you alone. Seems to me at a cost, the meaning is lost somewhere between your head and your throat. Just spit out your tonsils and scream "you're not part of me, in my body you will find no home" These words they dissolve me, they're always uprooting my teeth. When they try to inspire me they often just put me to sleep. I squeeze an apology out though my lips but it comes out hollow, though tomorrow I will fill it in. It's not mine to give, but it comes from a book that I follow, this bible has nothing but pictures inside, in each picture they hide a message for you to take home. But sometimes I wake up in the heart of the night, when dreams just remind me that no one designed me. But now I've learnt to accept it as it is. Listen to these words then repeat them back to me. There is always a companion, their kind words always true. Just keep them close to you. Keep them close to you. Your thoughts they are a part of you, just keep them safe, once forgotten they're rotten for good, only to be misunderstood as a careless mistake. It's a risk that I've always been willing to take, a promise my brain has always been willing to make. But sometimes I wake up in the heart of the night, when dreams just remind me that dreams live inside me. But now my lungs are as strong as they could be. Listen to these words then repeat them back to me. There is always a companion, their kind words always true. Just keep them close to you. Keep them close to you.
2.
Come on you'd better hurry along now, the calendar falls like a storm, and in a way it's just a reminder that time is a rhythm not a force. I've been crawling up this mountain longer than I can recall, and everyday it crosses my mind, the thought of crawling back down to the floor. But is there a top to stand on or just another slope to tumble down? Is there any room to stand up or just another slope to tumble down? The sky doesn't look any closer a thousand feet up in the air, I've always gravitated towards it but always I fall unprepared. But is there a top to stand on or just another slope to tumble down? Is there any room to stand up? I've always known it's true, that somebody's watching you sleep, watching you talk to your dreams. Each night, you say a little more. Because somebody's watching you sleep, watching you sleep. Come on it's never going to be easy, the moments you wait here are wasted. The air up ahead is refreshing, the road underneath you is tainted. But is there a top to stand on or just another slope to tumble down? Is there any room to stand up? I've always known it's true, that somebody's watching you sleep, watching you talk to your dreams. Each night, you say a little more. Because somebody's watching you sleep, watching you sleep. So don't be surprised when they take your voice away. Don't be surprised when they take your voice away.
3.
Aftermath 05:49
A hungry little man finds his way across the land, searching for a clue, a sign to lead him on to something else. He walks further everyday, kicks a can along the way. The daylight sets him free, but when he closes his eyes he sees inside himself. Beyond the evenings aftermath did satisfaction walk the path before him? But like the owl of the night, will he fly until the light of the morning? Always concealing his presence by leaving no footprints in the sand. And all he can hear is his heartbeat - it's in the right place, though several hours late after all. Always behind, always checking the time on his reliably virtuous wristwatch - it repeatedly tells him the same thing "if you snooze then you loose, exhausted and bruised evermore". But will the sunrise find its way over the path that has been laid before him? Like the owl of the night, he will fly until the light of the morning. Untouched by the world, and naturally released, an apple falls down from a tree. Only to bounce off the grass, into the hands of the cold and empty sea. Does fate present you with these opportunities which you then have to chase yourself? Or is the downfall part of the plan, part of the hope that your own temptation sells? It doesn't matter 'cause he can't catch anyway. It doesn't matter 'cause he can't catch anyway. Beyond the evenings aftermath did satisfaction walk the path before him? But like the owl of the night, will he fly until the light of the morning?
4.
Cavity 03:55
Odourless, without a face, without a taste, theres a cavity, some fundamental mistake. A thousand nights of ambitious fights with an overgrown fate. I see your legs are buckling, your hands, they are sore. But resting now is an unsuitable cure. The end is near, lets take it slow and start again. Asking for direction should be nothing new. If you can not choose you can only lose your way. You'll be rubbing your hands beneath the stars, waiting for the day. And if your cavity expands and consumes your desire, if it takes your fire and all the tools you require. It might feel like theres nothing more to keep you warm when the winter finds its way in between your bones. It'll force its way through the door to your home. But most of all it will not leave you on your own. When it's inside it magnifies pollution around the sterile swan boat ride, and it divides the cowards from those brave enough to swim against the tides. You'd better swim for your lives, because to stay is to fade away into the crooked wooden seats aboard this broken ride. Theres no escape considering the way it was designed. When these bad ideas lead you into doubt, just remember the way out. Asking for direction should be nothing new. If you can not choose you can only lose your way. You'll be rubbing your hands beneath the stars, waiting for the day. Waiting for the day.

about

'Small Hours' is the first egg to emerge from the giant chicken that is Gandhi's Hands - theres plenty more where that came from.

credits

released November 7, 2014

Pretty much everything - George Roberts
Everything else - Danny Brown, Sam Rodwell

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Gandhi's Hands Manchester, UK

Psychedelic overtones and jazzy undertones, wrapped in a blanket of fuzz. For fans of strange guitar sounds.

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