Linear A

by Minoans

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03:50
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03:27
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03:11
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04:36
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02:34
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04:57

credits

released October 10, 2011

Jamie Parkes played violin and helped write the parts.
Beat Billson played trumpet.
Dan Cooper-Gavin and Simon J Curd provided additional vocals.
Artwork by Simon J Curd.

Minoans took care of the rest.

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Minoans UK

Three bellends from the Midlands.

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Track Name: Lost Cosmonauts
A slowing heartbeat. A last, dying breath. A lost cosmonaut haunts me.
Six months late, your distress signal reaches me and I hope you’re safe. But I know your fate.

I’LL RE-ENTER! (i was never there) HOW SHOULD I TRANSMIT? COME IN! I SEE A FLAME!
Two years late, Wisconsin takes you in.

It’s my breath, it’s my voice. I was left behind. I’ve become a ghost.

Why did you stay away so long?

I hope the light stays on for me.

The windows in the distance are ablaze. That’s a trick of the light and I won’t fall for it.
Trapped here in this orbit for the rest of my days, when I land please don’t look for me.
Track Name: Outpost
Oh, you kept me awake when I wanted to sleep and dream of myself caught between two fields, on a stile, with no one else, shielding my eyes from evening sun. Look to the woods.

Oh, open your eyes at the end of a prayer; then open your mouths. I don’t feel a thing when I hear the words that come out. You might find truth in books and songs? You might find warmth in warm arms?

“The forest was dark!” And you tried to hide it away from my eyes.
“The rivers were cold!” And these streams just pass you by; then they’re gone.

Before these leaves turn brown, not looking back nor down, I’ll find a girl to lead me down to the sea, describe some places she’s been, lie back and picture the scene.

Then I’ll just take her hand, stay there as long as I can, but she’ll look incredibly sad for me. Send signals straight to the trees, my brothers wait for me at the outpost.
Track Name: Sad Sewn Eyes
I’m spinning yarn and I brought a needle and a chart for you to make a woollen heart that I’ll pull apart, ‘cause I’m caught upon a nail and I’m unravelling.

Two minutes sleep in the company I love to keep is never long enough for me, but without air, or as an interval to hold a stare: it’s agony.

If I’m overcast grey, it’s just a windy old day and these sad sewn eyes conspiring against me. You must forget me now and my sad sewn eyes that you attached for me. Let your steady hands ignore me slipping from your grasp.

You can cut those threads, but what would be left without them?

So I fell for those pedals on the last chord, they whisper in the dark like children passing a secret that you weren’t meant to hear. “If you were awake would you stop me and sing to me quite softly? Or would you cast me off?”
Track Name: Bear
Eastern Bloc pamphlet on mimeographed paper scraps. Don’t look back. Don’t cling to my arm if there’s someone around.

You could sing to me your struggles and hard times. You could sketch me out in realistic tones.

Is that an argument? Pictures stay silent. You can’t stop your satellites from spinning out of sight. We’re here to document short skirts and no road signs. You can’t stop your satellites from spinning out of sight.

You could sing to me, I’ll listen politely and roll the shirt sleeves up and down my arm. Like a shy kid, who stutters a sentence, but when you hear it, he’s awkwardly intense.

When Winter rolls around I’ll be gone, gone to the west. We can make a film, all about your part in wrecking my heart. Eastern Bloc avant-garde; baiting a bear. When the rounds crack the ground, tiptoe around.
Track Name: Sula Sgeir
The sinking – distant lights blinking desperate secrets home. Damned if I know. Reflected in my eyes they’re less well defined, but I can see the outline of a lantern.

The twilight – no sun to trouble her sad horizon and her eyes were the skies projected. Over centuries the sea just burrowed right through.

Please don’t let me die alone here; open my chest to make a nest. Now this population is monochrome.

Cathode rays from the sea just swallow me down. Cold coffee swims around a longwave radio. Cold fingers crack.

There’s a dæmon haunting my obsolete, black and white TV. There's an imprint, hidden in test card screenburn; my ghost.
Track Name: Exe
A row of lights; little hands are clasped, still look lonely 'cause they're miles away from anyone. These damn reflections are plain deceitful; I only see you, but you see past to where the Exe waits and her brackish mouth swallows the sea.

The harbour lights, murmuring to me, "northwest by west", as you were typing through the night and these tiny arms are flexed. Ribbon swathes each phrase - inked in black or inked in red.

Box the compass, take your bearing down and follow the line.

It's only been four. You've only been gone four days now, but the scent of you has gone from my things. "Awake! Awake!" The waves break across the bow of my boat; singing songs. "You could've stayed landlocked and safe."

The seas are cruel; they keep who they take.
Track Name: Icy Path
Here is the first cold day and I forgot the leaves ever existed. And it’s not at all the right place for me to walk with my hands screwed up.

Here is an icy path. Here is an old school building. And I’m not going to leave you. Not now.

And I had been waiting for that lake to freeze, so it was my lucky day. For me, you know, the whole world stops with phone calls and notes that I collect. So it was my lucky day.

Here is an icy path. Here is an old school building. The place where time stopped like frozen blades of grass. Footprints we left on them. And I’m not going to leave you. Not now.

Why don’t you lie down in the snow?
Track Name: Lowercase
A still photograph of a low grey building, that my hanging words obscured on colder autumn days. And I admit I fumbled; I must try to keep my hands warm.

I remember when the secret spent was more important than the words being said.

In lowercase, we wrote our names on all our letters.

Travelling at this pace makes the heart beat faster. I was meant to save, but I wandered from the path, now I can’t find my way back, though my steps were pretty small.

I remember when the secret spent was more important than the words.

In lowercase, we wrote our names on all our letters home, and shook our heads, ‘cause half the time I’m like a child and the other: I’m lost.

The shadows grew sharper at the end of the day. I traded my good traits or gave them away.