Lyrics to “That Old Pastoral” by Ganache
It’s not easy to remember, but a vision exists of a navy polka-dotted dress with billowy sleeves backlit by the death of Summer. There was a smell of friction in the air: the result of the seasons rubbing against each other. There was mascara and lipstick, a beauty mark—marking a weekend—and a suitcase full of cardigans in the corner (by a pile of rodent skulls and mason jars, and, somehow, every knickknack that could be found in the last few pages of a ten cent comic). Coffee and cold breakfast on the balcony by the tracks and their pillars: the same tracks that brought us here and the same pillars that we’ll slalom through in our escape.
And on the nape of your neck was the latch of a chain for a locket on the end you’ve worn for a decade. It all was nice: we’d say it was ten years if it was a day. It was warm and it was raw and we were too.
And a voice was yelling, “Hey, hey, hey: Did you feel that old pastoral coming over in the jetstream? Did you sing it to your daughter? Did you wear your old bedsheet like a toga? Did she ever find out why you sang the blues?”
“That Old Pastoral” will be released soon enough on a remarkable Awkwardcore Records compilation.
