Attack of Opportunity EP

by Colporteur

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released March 12, 2016

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Colporteur Huntington Beach, California

We put too much effort into making music no one really listens to, then we give it away for free and beg people to tell us what they think about it.

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Track Name: Attack of Opportunity
My heart’s symphony’s so cheap that I pretty much give it away for free. It comes on heavy if you are really listening. Maybe you could think of, or about, me. Just please, I know the note that you’ve been singing is getting hard to hold, but when you hear it all, will you still call me every night to say goodnight? And though it’s rained the last few days, it’s still July, and kids are lighting fireworks they must have saved. When my temper screams, I can’t hear my own melody, and that scares me. And maybe you still possess all these fantastic qualities that make you someone somebody is lucky to know, but when you hear it all, will you still call me every night to say goodnight? I know I’m hard to hold, and it’s getting old.
Track Name: Digits
Tongue is licking lips. Breaking Heart is stuttering to the methamphetamine in his veins. We involuntarily move toward the kitchen sink, pushing the dishes away. There’s a first time for everything. We’ve been scratching at his forearms all afternoon.

“I don’t like this at all,” he says. “I was fine with alcohol, but this…”

Eyes are seeing double. It’s getting harder just to breathe. Lung is working overtime. Stomach is in knots, and Teeth grind like faulty gears. Finding it too hard to stand, he falls to the floor. His hands, we’ve been checking his pulse just to make sure.

Learn to count to ten. Take a breath and then start all over again.

Apology, he says a prayer to the tile floor he’s helpless on. He doesn’t mean to bother God, but he doesn’t quite believe in him.

“If ever I needed one of those messages in a bottle I used to throw out to sea to find someone, find anybody.”
Track Name: Stomach Ache
You all need to calm down. The boy’s been through hell. So let him have his fun. There’s some antacid in the medicine cabinet. Feed me your child abuse. Keep drinking those nights you want to forget. Swallowing your pride just whet my appetite. So Breaking Heart, don’t lecture me on what I can and cannot handle. There’s a bucket and a bottle of aspirin. Feed me that tab on your tongue. Keep sending the smoke to your lungs. I need something strong, so stay until the lights come on. Feed me the memories you hate. Keep drinking and maybe some day you’ll see that stumbling your way home is one way to control everything.