Year Two

by The Culprit Life

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1.
02:00
2.
03:56
3.
(free) 04:16
4.
04:00
5.
03:42
6.
7.

credits

released April 7, 2012

All songs written by Trey Penton

Kenny Mitchell:
co-wrote and co-performed
guitar on 1, 2, 4, 6
co-write and performed
ebow on 1, 6
co-wrote and performed
keyboard on 5, 6
co-wrote and performed
bass on 2, 3, 6

Luke Ragsdale:
co-wrote and programmed
percussion on 2,3,4,5,6
wrote and performed synth
introduction on 3
wrote and programmed audio
manipulation on 4

Emily Lenck:
co-wrote and performed electric violin on 2

Ashton Bjaranson:
performed guitar on 5

Kevin Reich:
assisted in production on 2, 5

All other music written and performed by Trey Penton
All lyrics written by Trey Penton
All songs © 2012 The Two Keys Press

Produced and Mixed by
Trey Penton and Luke Ragsdale

Art Direction and Design by Trey Penton

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The Culprit Life Tampa, Florida

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Track Name: Tabula Rasa
How far would you go to add two letters to your name?
Ask me everyday and everyday the answer would change.
Track Name: Spit It Out
All the lies we tell ourselves are bandages to mask the bruises on our broken ribs. Everything I’ve seen says that they don’t possess the thread we need to suture up our sins.

Well I’ve got everything I need to know already inside my bones.

It’s more an avalanche than a numerical cascade that’s triggered when they let out all the bodies from your veins and lacerate the chords with which we swore our vows. Well if there’s blood inside my mouth then you can bet I’ll spit it out.

‘Cuz I’ve got everything I need to know already inside my bones. There’s nothing that I need to know that’s not already in my bones.

Now, I can taste the iron on my tongue. It’s not right but it’s alright because I gave you the gun.
Track Name: Integers
We mapped it out with silver tongues we slipped into the willing arms of a thousand plus daughters and sons.

We spun it down just to watch it fall like the sediment inside your walls. If you give me blood I can read your palms.

What were those things we said? Oh, I don’t remember them.

We’re a formula, concise and clear, a predictable reaction dear. A derivative of what we fear.

And every hue of your emerald eyes is an integer I’ve memorized and the beauty is that the numbers never lie.

What were those things we said? Oh, I don’t remember them. Well they must not be important then.

We were cultured with a cerebral lust in a centrifuge of love and trust where they analyzed it out of us.

Have we lost the part of ourselves that was most like everyone else? Have we sacrificed a sacred right just to make it through this hell? And if we save a thousand souls with the numbers that we know what’s the point if nothing’s beautiful? What’s the point if nothing’s beautiful?

What were those things we swore? Was it all before the war? Well I don’t think that it matters anymore.
Track Name: White Mass
Caught in the cathedral early in the morning under the fluorescent glow. Praying for forgiveness from the hired healer for the names that I don’t know. Hands folded together, walking toward an altar I could maybe make my home. The bread and the wine, the holiest chyme, the King on his chloride throne.

The confession of sins through a microscope lens when the stain speaks as loud as your heart. Talking in tongues to the daughters and sons, to the husbands and wives in the dark. The calcium stripped from the bones of believers; the devil inside of your neck. A sacrament given before exorcism: I’m washing my hands of the death.

Then Cosmas and Damian said, “What good is a leg if you’re in the grave? To earn our patronage sever yourself, amputate everything that makes you trip if the autoclave’s proven ineffective. ‘Cuz ambulating with a limp isn’t half as bad as the infection.”
Track Name: We Were Boys
We were boys. Our slingshots in our pockets, running hard. Shooting marbles outside on the blacktop. Nudging each other in the ribs when we got one.

And after class, waiting for the bus by the backdoor, you showed me all your bruises and I showed you mine. They were nothing that couldn’t heal with time.

It started slow. The wearing of our souls (soles) beneath the weight. The forgetting of the world we held onto. They did everything we had paid them to do.

Sure enough, they stuck us in our sleep, everyone. And I could feel it, the ice water was replacing my blood. I hate how nothing fazes me anymore. I hate how nothing fazes me anymore.

Now I pass you in corridors and parking lots. You’re not who I once knew but, God, if I were honest, neither am I. I think something deep inside us must have died. Something deep inside us must have died.
Track Name: Amputated / Counterfeit Soul
Who’s gonna pull the chute if you don’t, if I’ve amputated every last second hand with a joke, with the time I’ve wasted chasing after chemicals in my brain with my fleeting focus? Can you make it so I no longer need to change to become something better?

Searching through your signature scribbled down in those tiny black boxes. If I find it parallel with the ground would you resurrect it? Please don’t ask me what I’ve done with your name or that piece of silver ‘cuz you know I hid them in the dirt and I’m afraid to become something better.

Now that it’s a waiting game, I can feel where the friction’s carved a notch into my shoulder blade. Will it heal when the weight’s been lifted? What if I have bent your will so far that you can’t reshape it? What if it begins to break apart? Would you find someone better?

Now I believe that you have been knitting me outside the womb. And through everything the patterns in fabric will show how you’ve moved inside of me every stitch that you threw is still working to hold each artery back from making a mess in my counterfeit soul.
Track Name: Tabula Inscripta
How far would you go to add two letters to your name?
Ask me every day and every day I’d have to say,
“Whatever it takes”.