We Are Small


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released August 24, 2015

All tracks written, recorded and mixed by BURIERS.
James P Honey, Jamie Romain, Laura Mallows, Jamie Gillett and Ramon Sherrington


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Buriers are a London based cvlt led by poet and singer James P Honey.

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Track Name: We Are Small
we all die twice
the first time when we cease to breathe
and the last time is the last time someone speaks our name
the last time
the last time

and the cloud is a halo about the mountain’s cold crown
and we are small
the cloud is a halo about the mountain’s cold crown
and we are small

we grew together strong as a storm
we grew together, strong as a storm
grew and grew and grew
grew and grew and grew

so started out slowly all coming down silent in a tacky kind of hue made out of nothing of a uniform
cradling a sky torn open wound broad by the city park sitting down trying to be whatever man
let it all silent as a halo as cloud or the heresies of snouts sniffing pyramids of money see
never going to be the same. never going to be the same. never going to be the same let them roll down
in the end all colour like colour tv a kind of scratch made out oblivious and stick them all upon a shelf
always in the end you'll find. always in the end you'll find. always in the end you'll find.
that we grew together as strong as a storm
Track Name: Fool's Errand
we are a cheap suit, we are a soup kitchen, we are a jam jar raised to the lips of a hipster sipping cocktails in some pale imitation gentrified joke. these pokey tales of failure, flavoured with sweet promise, curled around tongues tasting defeat as deep as a news anchors hot tub. the drunk girl on the bus attacks some crushed accomplice as we slip by all gold and red by the mad breadman pecked to pieces by the pigeons in the park. re-enacting the backstabbing of a best friend in front of a panel of industry big dogs while media power couples snog and hold hands under poster of post-war hollywood heartthrobs. yes, it can drift into something like a shopping channel at a wedding flirting with a chemical weapons expert. your music sounds like it’s made to be played in shopping arcades on bank holiday weekends - silly singer songwriters writing rhymes that read like middle class fridge doors. and when god looks the other way we’ll be playing babel fishh on cassette tape, running with scissors, standing naked at the window urinating on your parade.

they said we looked fed up and bored and they were dead right of course. girl being sick in a limousine, lonely lad walks around room. what was i to do? it won’t matter come the morning a glorious failure, a last blossom blown loose, the final tear, a tango, a sword fight - finding a scratch card in a british heart foundation purchased blazer in a warm winters day. and here’s another song about me taking myself too seriously throwing parting shots at lost children in super markets. and the river looked to be sleeping so still and deep. the ruins of a resort town and ten foot advertising slogans over faces. you don’t work your job your job works you... blah blah blithering idiot fool’s errand.

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