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Michael

by Oxblood

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1.
Part One 03:33
lyrics
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As cold wind strikes the face of Michael with industrial sting, he wanders aimlessly through the barren fields outside of the campsite. With eyes glowing red in darkening skies, and while wrestling with the ark of a scarf around his pitiful head, he idly presses his forefingers into thumbs, as if to wake himself up from whatever nightmare he seems to have found himself in. It’s then that he stumbles across a burned down playground… Michael plays out after dark, Sashays through an empty park Swings and slide sets all burned down Ghostly Ash Chalk Outlines Torn up shirt and muddy face Navigating the sub-terrain Picks at berries, doesn’t know if they’re poison Hungers got the better of him, gonna learn a lesson Never went to school Never needed to He’ll pick up the family trade Wheels on the bottom of life Pretty good with a knife He’ll spoil like tubers Won’t survive like grain Baring witness to travesty and in the arms of an unspoken of future, Michael begins to realise that while there might be a life outside waiting for him, circumstances dictate he must tie it up inside a bag and let it fall into the river. Inside the camp, they’re all affable And outside? Well, that’s laughable Glaring thoughts in the eyes Of those that look them up and down, no surprise Never went to school Never needed to He’ll pick up the family trade Wheels on the bottom of life Pretty good with a knife He’ll spoil like tubers Won’t survive like grain No, he won’t survive
2.
Part Two 03:43
lyrics
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Fast forward fifteen years and Michael is now a young man, treading a line so fine it's almost imperceptible to his drunken sights and with the weight of a generation breathing on his shrunken shoulders, adorned with muck from "honest labour", he feels they might give way. Michael, there’s blood on your hands Michael, there’s screaming from the caravan Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know, Michael? Lifecycle, violence deep in the cans Air rifle, out of bullets, lost and found in the lowlands Do you know what you’ve done, Michael? He’s seen the tapes, he’s reneged, mind disengaged, There’s so much honour in the way of tradition The games they play, can’t run away, they’re here to stay Make a ring and cheer for this archaic perdition Michael, there’s blood on your hands Michael, there’s screaming from the caravan Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know, Michael? Lifecycle, violence deep in the cans Air rifle, out of bullets, lost and found in the lowlands Do you know what you’ve done, Michael? He’s seen their face, that deadly race, it goes unchanged He whispers words and he prays for some salvation Fists found their way, and night or day, they will survey All that will be found is swollen knuckles and an ovation The threat of violence follows him like a desperate pet, aching to gnaw at his ankles; he tries to kick it away, but its bite is sharp. Temporary release is found inside the tail end of a bottle and, craving the dark of an induced sleep, he finds himself regularly falling to the liquid ceasefire to grant him neurochemical peace. This peace, however, remains temporary, and with tensions rising like the static that builds upon the evening of an electrical storm, soon he finds that same desperate pet almost impossible to separate from his leg, and soon his torso and then his arms and then his head, and, in the grips of a drunken seizure, blinded by some undignified squabble and rallying for blood like a lynch mob, foaming at the lips, he… Michael, there’s blood on your hands Michael, there’s screaming from the caravan Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know, Michael? Lifecycle, violence deep in the cans Air rifle, out of bullets, lost and found in the lowlands Do you know what you’ve done, Michael? Michael, what have you done?
3.
Part Three 04:24
lyrics
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Caught in the upstart of a stolen glance It’s visiting hours when the monster’s dance Michael traces the Pyrex glass Plays paint by numbers, it doesn’t last Now that he's serving twenty-five to life He could’ve had a career, but never was the type He always wanted something, what he found was time Now time is running out, he can’t open his eyes Michael knows he’s on his last Wasn’t this supposed to be the better half? Grew up in a prison, here he is returned At the end of the day, the lesson’s still not learnt No, he won't survive Cornered by a factory of his design Who knows what it’s making on the factory line? He’d like to think it’s there so he can make up his mind But to make illegal contraband is still a crime Michael knows he’s on his last Wasn’t this supposed to be the better half? Grew up in a prison, here he is returned At the end of the day, the lesson’s still not learnt Torn in two by grief for his actions or maybe the regret of losing any possibility of surviving in a world that could never understand him, Michael is left to wonder over time lost, and, while the capacity to change can be found in his constitution, he deigns to confine himself to the same unspoken of future like a desperate pet, too old to learn new tricks. Instead, he contemplates the forced proximity of four walls and how they compare to an open, barren field… Never went to school Never needed to He’ll pick up the family trade Wheels on the bottom of life Pretty good with a knife He’ll spoil like tubers Won’t survive like grain

about

Michael by Oxblood.

The story of Michael is a sad one. Told over three parts and following him at three distinct points in his life (childhood, adulthood and later years), we see how he grows, how he changes and, perhaps more fatally, how he doesn’t change. While not based on any person, living or deceased, I feel that there are elements of Michael that could occupy most of us and I hope that included in these songs are lines, concepts, dare I say it truths, that people can and will relate to. There’s a Michael in all of us.

We recommend you listen to the three songs together to truly appreciate them to the highest degree - each movement was written with the others in mind and motifs can be found throughout the entire piece. We also recommend reading through the lyrics while you listen as there are several large blocks of spoken word and they are perhaps quite important to the story or at least essential to setting the scene.

We hope you enjoy the product of our blood, sweat, tears and any other by-product of the stress induced from writing and recording these songs. We’d do it again a thousand times over.

Love,
Oxblood.

credits

released July 18, 2018

Bradley Smith - Vocals
David Collier - Drums
LW - Guitar, Bass, Spoken Word

Music and lyrics written by LW. Recording and production by David Collier. Design and artwork by David Collier and LW. Based on a story by LW.

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Oxblood Essex, UK

Oxblood are a three piece band from Essex playing (un-) glamorous indie rock and roll.

Oxblood are:

Bradley Smith
David Collier
LW

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