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Give me Jesus … Give me Plague

by The Mid Season

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1.
I knelt to say just one more solemn hymn I wept and prayed to stay the devil's grin But every day my prayer would end the same as it begin Oh Jesus Christ, if we live twice, what a price we pay to sin I bled for days, drunk on rye and gin And tried in vain to love the highest's kin But every day my prayer would end the same as it begin Oh Jesus Christ, if we live twice, what a price we pay to sin A lifetime is too long To sing the devil's song once through But twice I've hummed this psalm to you And twice I've sung the blues I broke away and spoke some with His friends I told them they were wasting so much breath 'Cause every day my prayer would end the same as it begin Oh Jesus Christ, he may live twice, but twice he'll meet with death
2.
3.
I've been bled and hanged Weightless as I sang Jesus saves Jesus saves And I've heard words of praise Nameless as I swayed Eat away my hollow bones Oh these limbs have decayed though we've prayed for every one So we grin, what I am become Christ was hung in shame Craven, people sang Jesus Saves Jesus Saves And robbed my body breaks Faithless without shape Take away my shallow bones Oh these limbs have decayed though we've prayed for every one So we grin, what I am become Thin and hallowed face Limpid borrowed grace Eats away my hollow bones Oh these limbs have decayed though we've prayed for every one So we grin, what I am become Oh these limbs have decayed though we sang till we went dumb So we grin, 'cause I am undone
4.
The slipknot is tied, but the hangman has severed his hands He sits like a child as he hopes for just one phantom pain To tell him he once felt the world And leave him tears to love the dead Who stand indifferent The moss on his lips is flowering in shades of dusk And blood on the snow’s iridescent in final bloom To tell him he once felt the world And leave him tears to love the dead Who stand indifferent Pale insouciance, how beautiful He dreamed it each and every night Simpers fading, they’re a facade And we're all whores The words on his lips, wrapped in blankets to shelter the sound They sagged from the weight of his knowledge that the moss had spread Pale insouciance, how beautiful He dreamed it each and every night Simpers fading, they’re a facade
5.
Born Stray 04:34
6.
My tongue is swollen This mouth in full bloom Ripe blood, teeth broken Each pulsed, each moved Our breaths are pale sins Our deaths, our penance My skin is frozen These cracks on my flesh Begin to open Each bereft of what I've left What I've dreamt Our breaths are pale sins Our deaths, our penance Tearing away the flesh that remains God is a dream I forget when I wake Screaming in vain to rend what I take Father’s the name on my lips as I break
7.
This blood is slow and thickening This tongue is ripe Lips numb from cold are blistering These bones are cold and withering Bleached though not white Breathe slow and hope this winter wind Is light 'Cause in my spine, her fingers rust lingering for days And over time our lungs to dust, corrupt in slow decay Breathe still this voice is silk we leave Trembling slight Hushed noise like memories we weave Songs break once laced with bittersweet dreams Of waking twice Gone lame these legs may beg for release Or respite 'Cause in her spine, my fingers rust lingering for days And over time our lungs to dust, corrupt in slow decay
8.
Gentle night I breathed it slow as though I felt alive This heavy smile no shadows cast, no teeth to bend the light White snow on petals frayed As the autumn fades Like a summer's day Time froze so we chose the blame Though our softened blaze Moves slow Wasted flesh Strung about these limbs like limpid pelts Faceless wretch Hung atop this heap of needless self White snow on petals frayed As the autumn fades Like a summer's day Time froze so we chose the blame Though our softened blaze Moves slow Slight and numb I'm forfeit, my blood Forgot to breathe Forgot to speak I've gone dumb
9.
Father please, my blame Silent offers Silent praise On your knees, I sang Of empty coffers Of empty veins Ghostly parchment, this writing has faded Take my words Oh departed, this likeness so patient Sing this verse Gather leaves, bring decay Give me Jesus Give me plague Ghostly parchment, this writing has faded Take my words Oh departed, this likeness so patient Sing this verse
10.
Oh these eyes, these little stones, break Pale and thin, like brittle bones Holy light, shadow's throne These bloodless lips sing listless poems The lips of God know only Judas Fingers twitch in broken touch We sing of hope in stuttered tongue Forget that we've said goodbye Judas Left gently swings, left gently sings, gently writhes
11.
Coldest Sun 04:04
12.
Sister please believe me, I ain't lied I seen your sweetness bleed and I tried To dream the same beliefs the streams that Jesus Christ has cried But I can't see the light through all that we deny My voice is breaking with every curse Rejoice, you're sated with empty words Won't spurn the statements burned and hatred stained in turn and worse The waves of noise gave way to voiceless graves of dirt Fall to your knees and pray We'll bleed and sing Till we're feeling saved No no no no Call to the sweetest grave We'll grieve and sing Till we're feeling saved No no no no

about

The recording of this album was completed on June 4th, 2015, which was the 20th anniversary of my father's death.

I want this to lack pretense, and I want this to be a story about him. But my writing is bloated with purple prose, and I like my overwrought metaphors too much to trim them down. Besides, my memory is flawed. I’ve clung to these moments for years, removing them from context time and time again. After a while, they become noise; anecdotes screamed into walls that bounce them back in muted form. The echos are retold and retold, screams layered atop the reverberations of yesterday's screams. The dead become defined by recursive stories collapsing into themselves. Memories become a self-defeating feedback loop: a coping device for coping with the device itself.

Nonetheless, I tend to think that there's a core truth to be found among the constant whirring of inner-recontextualization. For me, that truth is this: My father loved his children almost as much as he hated himself.

The last memory I have of him in person is hazy. About six months before my father died, my sister and I brought him a gift for either his birthday or Christmas (they were too close together for me to know for sure). Candied nuts, if I’m remembering correctly. We stayed no more than five minutes, and he was virtually non-responsive. I’m not sure if that was because of his depression, how drunk he was, or both.

I remember being told that he was going to die. He had already been hospitalized by then, so the news was not really a shock. But confirmation and suspicion effect vastly different responses. There was no grace in the delivery, and no catharsis in the knowledge.

I remember the camping trip I was on when he actually died. I remember cleaning out his house afterward. I remember discussing cremation arrangements, and reading a poem from “The Hobbit” at his funeral. Each of these is a story that feels heavy in my throat.

But I also remember some of the words he spoke to me. How much he truly loved me and my sister. Sitting on his lap and watching cartoons and bad sci-fi with him. Reading books with him, playing computer games with him, and hugging him with every ounce of strength I could muster. I remember the food he cooked, and how much it meant to the three of us.

I remember how much I loved my father.

I still love my father. But he was a depressed wreck of a man, and in 1995, when he was 50, I was 11, and my sister was 9, he died after years of alcohol abuse. I firmly believe this to have been a deliberate, albeit slow, suicide.

Even so, this is a story about me. This is a story about draping my memories over the corpse of yesterday's reality. And these songs are about me and my depression, and my attempt to grapple with my father’s life and death. Most of all, though, I think that this is an album about how like my father I really am: I love some of you, almost as much as I hate myself.

credits

released December 9, 2015

All music and lyrics by S. Harold except as follows:
Track 2 music and lyrics by K. Masloski
Track 5 music and lyrics by C. Frena
Tracks 11 & 13 music and lyrics by G. Danzig
Performed, produced, engineered, mixed, and mastered by S. Harold
Cover design by S. Harold
With thanks to Ray Zvovushe

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The Mid Season New York, New York

The Mid Season is Sean Harold. Or, rather, Sean Harold is The Mid Season.

Live, Ray Zvovushe plays guitar too. He's a good dude.

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