daysofsilkthreadraining (find a way to try)

by Walking Bombs

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this was captured improv freestyle to iphone just acoustic guitar and vox in my bedroom. sort of inspired by wordy poetic indie stuff from bright eyes' "lifted" era to patti smith.

my friend jay bounced it out to live room sound in the studio where we are making my new EP+LP and gave it a live room mic sound to emulate a live cafe performance. Added a Viva/Warhol moment and that was that.

I was in a delicate place but it was a hot summer night alone with a guitar and happened to capture something raw and special. All spontaneous off the cuff. It's different from the more studio stuff I'm working on, just guitar and vocals w no harmony track...shot from the hip/heart.

enjoy.- MYE


released August 30, 2016



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Walking Bombs Woodstock, New York

Singer and music journalist Morgan Ywain Evans (and friends) genre jumping solo/collaborative project from the Hudson Valley, NY. Stay calm and don't explode.

"The band name is about discussing mental illness and culture divides. A kind of fuck you to hate and also a rebuke to people who have called me a loose cannon.” - MYE.

#propeace #blackmetal
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Track Name: daysofsilkthreadraining (find a way to try)
some words are information on a wiped hard drive
faded newsprint in the flow of time's lost lives
but some feelings never die
and i'm not afraid to begin to live again
well, maybe i am but i know i have to FIND A WAY TO TRY.

Does it matter where or when or why when the ache remains
and after details fade are we bound to run away?

I know what matters to me? Does it make me strong or just more flawed.
I don't need to take myself out on anyone but I want to find a way to try.

Is it selfish to do anything? The other option is the death of everything.
Or it might be just to try... to prevent disaster... it might seem more callous to me even though I
never want to flip a coin and run in like a stupid boy dressed in childish demands but never undressing the fear of real romance.

Afraid to look it in the eye.

Vulnerability means getting close to mortality but in there we can find a way to live
forever and the truth of consequence is...truthfully you blow my fuckin' mind.
Even If only in a snapshot.
So far as I can see. Let's suspend the fight or flight.
Suspend disbelief.

Flood lights/first light. The fear adrenaline. An x ray cut right through me but i
went with it. Let it reveal my insides. I don't want to stop my intuition from telling
me things. I don't want to stop chasing your brain.

I just want to try to pick apart things we conceive. Even things that have nothing to fuckin' do with me and that's ok.
Got a sensitive heart an empath, call me a "cocksucker" in the middle of a bloodbath.

But you make me feel just doing what you do and it's bright like a floodlight...when I
was on the brink of feeling hopeless.

And even though I don't want to believe in taking that road and I care about myself
without being measured against someone else for validation, sometimes we fuckin' dry
up. Curl up instead of studying the sacred.

Call it a lack of water...there's so much death and people need inspiration instead of
being such ghosts.


But I'll never force the game in these days of silk thread raining. I don't want to force anything...

...and I can't stand one dimensional cardboard houses with people cut out paper dolls.
shadows burnt into the walls after Hiroshima of anxious fears and withered fucking
compassions. Perfect televised family in full porcelain with cracks around the edges
of their faces.

Fuck that shit.

So here I am in an empty room. fresh from the shower and a little death before emptiness sets in, but it's only
for a moment...and I wanna study the sacred. In me. And in you.

Not just a flashlight held up to the window of a car pulled over. state yuor business,
motherfucker. license and registration. What's your occupation?

I'd rather get to know you better than some drunken driver thrown through a fuckin'

windshield...but I want to let the dirty rain in, let the flood back in and what rises

to the surface...if we can express acceptance for the scars or lack thereof...what is

left will be picked up, cherished, not picked over like vultures on a fuckin' carcass.

Study love as sacred.

With each breath even with the simple tools we have, hands and cluttered hearts...I just want to drive with you with wide eyes, dare I stare or say goodbye? Plunging into words someday grown faded but even more sacred for dissapearing like a fuckin' photograph in Back to the Future , MF's. We are fucked in this timeline...

So thank you for your time as we say goodbye. I don't want to say goodbye.