I was overhearing this guy talking on the phone directly outside my window, and I was playing these chords over and over. The two combined in my head. Sometimes we just need a little bit of hope. This is the second single for the upcoming Rose with Teeth album. LYRICS: "It's a huge trauma thing with him—I'm not a therapist." There's nothing in our blood that determines who we are. This pain is not a natural outcome of existence— to be honest, it's incredible we've gotten this far. This is our chance, listen here: all we have to do is wait, wait here and listen to me. (That's an annoying trait!) Wait, what are you doing there? GET THE FUCK DOWN FROM THAT TREE Splitting little hairs isn't fair! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME? "There's a future for both of us unencumbered— unencumbered by the pain of our pasts." I know that everyone's days are numbered, but you'd be shocked by how long we could last. Personnel: • Angie Sutherland ──vocals, guitars, bass, synths, lyrics, composition, production, mixing, mastering, cover art • Spencer Rider ──saxophone, composition Notes: Instruments and equipment used: Shure SM57 and SM58 microphones, Steinberg UR22mkII and Behringer U-Phoria UM2 USB audio interfaces, a Line 6 Variax 300 electric modelling guitar, an Ibanez GSR200 bass guitar, a Guild G37 acoustic guitar, a Yamaha Advantage YAS-200AD tenor saxophone, and Ableton Live using presets, the sforzando and Dexed VSTs, and the soundfont/library Virtual Playing Orchestra. Wherever possible, care has been taken to tune all instruments to the Werckmeister III well temperament.

The Russian and Chinese governments have been profoundly involved in the global opioid trade, as has the United States government. Chinese and Russian actors have been known to mass-produce carfentanil, a highly potent synthetic opioid, not only as a drug and cutting agent, but as a chemical weapon. Carfentanil and other fentanyl derivatives are the most common agents in what have been termed "deaths of despair" in the poorer, neglected regions of the United States and Russia. The drug trade has always been wrapped up in political intrigue, and the role of the United States, specifically the CIA, is no exception. As Peter Dale Scott has written about, the so-called War on Drugs has mostly been an excuse for intelligence agencies and cartels, often in alliance, to enrich themselves at the expense of other people. Iran-Contra was only one small piece of the gigantic puzzle, and even then, it goes deeper than assumed. For instance, the CIA in the '50s and '60s was deeply tied with the business of psychedelics manufacturing and distribution, in part because the recreational use of such enabled them to gather a large recruitment base for experiments involving combining drugs, electronics, and various forms of torture and abuse in order to determine if the individual mind, and society at large, could be controlled. Maybe it was these experiments that fed into worldwide delusions about electronic harassment, or what is often called 電波 in Japanese... This is the first single for the upcoming second Rose with Teeth album. LYRICS: Александра Элбакян, моя любовь – милость твоя. Знание заставляет меня потерять себя в странных занятиях, что отвлекают меня от боли, и волн, что они вещают. I don't know what I am trying to do with my time, with my life. I am waiting for you to tell me what my move is, but I don't even know who you are. Tell me when it is my time to go and I'll go without a fight, but the horrific light makes me wonder if it's worth having eyes and eyesight. And I know that I'm waiting and I can't stand the wait 'cause the drugs are pumping in and I know I'll suffocate. みんな楽しもうとしている。 でも、うまくいきません。 誰もが泣きたい、でも、 涙管が壊れている。 彼らは私の涙を盗んだ。 彼らは私の楽しみを盗んだ。 涙が出ない。楽しめない。 誰に何が残るの？ Russian transliteration: Aleksandra Elbakian, moja liubov' – milost' tvoja. Znanije zastavliajet menia poteriat' sebia v strannyh zaniatijah, što otvlekajut menia ot boli, i voln, što oni veščajut. Russian translation: Alexandra Elbakyan, I am in love with you. Knowledge makes me lose myself in strange preoccupations that distract me from the pain and from the waves they broadcast. Japanese transliteration: Min'na tanoshimou to shite iru. Demo, umaku ikimasen. Daremoga nakitai, demo, namida-kan ga kowarete iru. Karera wa watashi no namida o nusunda. Karera wa watashi no tanoshimi o nusunda. Namida ga denai. Tanoshimenai. Dare ni nani ga nokoru no? English translation: Everyone is trying to enjoy themselves, but it's not working. Everyone wants to cry, but their tear ducts are broken. They stole away my right to cry. They stole away my right to enjoy. If we can't cry or enjoy, then what's left for anyone? Personnel: • Angie Sutherland ──vocals, guitars, bass, synths, lyrics, composition, production, mixing, mastering, cover art • Spencer Rider ──saxophone, composition • Liz W. ──translation assistance (Japanese) • NEKOSATTVA ──translation assistance (Russian) Notes: Instruments and equipment used: Shure SM57 and SM58 microphones, Steinberg UR22mkII and Behringer U-Phoria UM2 USB audio interfaces, a Line 6 Variax 300 electric modelling guitar, an Ibanez GSR200 bass guitar, a Guild G37 acoustic guitar, a Yamaha Advantage YAS-200AD tenor saxophone, and Ableton Live using presets, the sforzando and Dexed VSTs, and the soundfont/library Virtual Playing Orchestra. Wherever possible, care has been taken to tune all instruments to the Werckmeister III well temperament.

Sunny Sheu was a Taiwanese immigrant to Queens, NY who was the victim of a mortgage fraud. In the process of attempting to secure justice for himself, he came across evidence allegedly documenting improprieties on the part of the judge on his case who refused to return his house to him even after the fraudsters were arrested. After compiling this evidence, he was harassed by NYPD officers and then died under mysterious circumstances. Even his cause of death is controversial, but evidence points to deliberately inflicted blunt force trauma. No investigation has been carried out. Most of the media has refused to take this story up so far; only a few independent outlets have been willing to report on it. You may read their reporting in the links below: • http://www.truth-out.org/news/item/10943-the-death-of-sunny-sheu • https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2011/06/sunny-sheu-murdered-for-investigating-ny-foreclosure-judge-joseph-golia.html • https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhDrff84ZAA DISCLAIMER 1: Rose with Teeth has no affiliation with the family, friends, or associates of Sunny Sheu as of the time of writing, and as of such time this song is not officially endorsed by any of them. I became interested in this case a couple years ago while researching corruption at various levels of government and it's stuck with me, haunting me ever since. I believe that any story like this is in the public's interest to be disseminated and understood widely. Thus I wrote a song about it. DISCLAIMER 2: For legal purposes, neither this song nor any accompanying media (images, descriptions, etc.) is making any allegations against anyone. This is an artistic work based on speculation and imagination. This is likely going to be the last "non-album single" released before my next album, but that, like everything else in existence, is subject to change. • Lyrics: You said, "Get off my case, I've got evidence against you. Mr. Justice got a lot on his hands." Tried to arm yourself with paper self-defence, you found yourself in a bad circumstance. No one knows what happened to you— (No one knows what—) cracked your head right on the ground. (—we can't be sure.) There are a lot of questions here, (We don't know what happened;) but someone doesn't want answers found. (we can't be sure.) A witness said you fell, so no need for investigation, even though it's proper practice and that is the expectation, but the judge committed fraud and the cops are on his side, and if the gang wants you dead, there is nowhere you can hide. No one knows what happened to you— (No one knows what—) cracked your head right on the ground. (—we can't be sure.) There are a lot of questions here, (We don't know what happened;) but someone doesn't want answers found. (we can't be sure.) It goes all the way up to the top— no one would report it. From coroners to street-level cops— no one would report it. From the media up to the feds— no one would report it. He wanted justice, now he is dead— no one would report it. • Credits: • Angie Sutherland ──vocals, guitars, synths, lyrics, composition, production, mixing, mastering, album art, design Notes: All lyrics written by Angie Sutherland. All music composed by Angie Sutherland. Instruments and equipment used: a Shure SM57 microphone, a Steinberg UR22mkII USB audio interface, a Line 6 Variax 300 electric modelling guitar, and Ableton Live using presets and the Surge Synth VST. Wherever possible, care has been taken to tune all instruments to the Werckmeister III well temperament. The sample at the end is taken from this video, produced near the end of Sunny Sheu's life. Rest in peace, and may he find justice. • https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Tr3QChAy4Y

I made this over the course of about 5-6 hours, just to have some fun and make myself less mental health. This is sort of a teaser for the new directions Rose with Teeth is going in, although at the same time it's a lot sillier, more lighthearted, more guitarless, and less focused than anything that'll be on the next album. • Lyrics: What is here again? I don't remember what I'm supposed to do. It's December, so I should be enjoying the snow, but everything else is breaking the flow. Now I want to have some nice fun on my own. Nothing quite like the sun as my hair is blown out of all proportion; I don't like this game that you are playing with me. It's full of pain... Now I get the idea of what's going on. Can you translate it though? I don't speak Klingon. Welcome to a new world—I'm feeling deceptive. It might reach out to us, but we're not receptive. Everything is under my control. Everything is under my control. Everything is under my control— wait a sec, nothing is under my control. Nothing makes sense when you have a part to play that doesn't make pence. Everything is something that it shouldn't be too hard to fake, so make your problems here and now before they pile and break the bough; you can't expect to be infected in your brain now anyhow. (Holy hell, it's here to stay...) Nothing makes sense when you have a part to play that doesn't make pence. (...should've fixed this yesterday.) Everything is something that it shouldn't be too hard to fake, (Nothing makes it go around...) so make your problems here and now before they pile and break the bough; (Might just fix it anyhow.) you can't expect to be infected in your brain now anyhow. (Holy hell, it's here to stay...) So make your problems here and now (...should've fixed this yesterday.) before they pile and break the bough. (Nothing makes it go around...) You can't expect to be infected (Might just fix it anyhow.) in your brain now anyhow. • Credits: • Angie Sutherland ──vocals, synths, lyrics, composition, production, mixing, album art, design Notes: Lyrics written by Angie Sutherland. Music composed by Angie Sutherland. Instruments and equipment used: a Shure SM57 microphones, a Steinberg UR22mkII audio interface, and Ableton Live using presets and the BBC Symphony Orchestra Discover, Dexed, ComboF, and TX16Wx VSTs.

All three of my guitars—my electric, my acoustic, and my classical—are broken in some way. This sucks a lot, because everyone's stuck inside due to COVID-19 and I wanna try to capitalise on that by making music. Plus immediately before making this song I realised that I have no fucking clue where I put the screw and spring that keeps the piezo attached to the saddle on my electric, which is just dandy. So I made this with three broken guitars. • Lyrics: There's a stupid fuckin' virus and everyone's trapped inside. That's never been a problem for me 'cause I'm too fuckin' shy. But I like to do some shit alone, like wailing on guitars, but now I can't even do that 'cause they fucking broke. A while ago my piezo decided to break on me— the strings you hear in this song are only the first three. My classical's been having buzz and a string change made it worse. The other day while playing "Ana Ng" my acoustic's string went burst. All I want is to make some fuckin' songs. When oh when did this all go fuckin' wrong? • Credits: • Angie Sutherland ——vocals, guitars, production

Last month I found out that I still have markers for Lyme disease. I was prescribed antibiotics, and when I began taking them, it hurt. A lot. Living with various mental, physical, and neurological problems has not only impacted my daily life but shown me how badly the world fails to take care of the people who need help the most. I took musical inspiration from Takako Minekawa's song "1.666666", which is the theme song for Hal Hartley's film The Book of Life, about the apocalypse taking place on the last day of 1999. This is probably my cleanest and most technically accomplished song yet. I'm quite proud of how it turned out. • Lyrics: The other day I took a pill that set my body on fire. It will burn away my impurities and wrap me round with wire, plug myself into the mainframe, zap out all the pain, electrocute the tiny bugs that eat holes in my brain, and if i will not understand my somatic mystery rites, the only thing that keeps me alive is continuing to fight, so take my hand and walk again, the fog will soon abide. There's nothing much that we can do so let's go take a ride. Let's go, let's go, L-E-T-S-G-O. Let's go, let's go, L-E-T-S-G-O. Nothing here is set in stone: the blood rite might be overthrown. Let's go, let's go, L-E-T-S-G-O. Let's go, let's go, L-E-T-S-G-O. Nothing here is set in stone: the blood rite will be overthrown. The way it goes can't be the same since I set my body on fire; now it's a discordant harmony like a polyphonic choir. I can't say if I'll live or die so let me simply be. Who woulda thought we'd be stronger if we lived our lives more free? I wanna make a melody that rings throughout the world, I wanna speak twelve languages and kiss some pretty girls (and boys), and if I have to conquer just to do the things I love then wait until the fire comes a-raining from above. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, production

I wrote this on 21 December 2019, worried about whether I'd be able to visit one of my friends again and about whether I'd be able to see another friend at all. It really does seem like the world ended in 2012 in some sense. Back when I was a kid, I could see myself doing things and living in 2012, but never after that. That seemed to be the cutoff date. For whatever reason, for the longest time I lost the ability to see myself in the future. Only recently have I regained it, and it's exhilarating. Still, it often feels like everything's changed. There's little continuity for me from my past to my present and future; it seems like a series of cut-up segments of tape with little relation glued end-to-end. What I've longed for, aside from human connection, has often been the ability to connect myself with my past and my future without losing the here-and-now. • Lyrics: As this disease runs through my arteries, I ache so much for my home away from home, for that fateful place where there is no disgrace. But for now I am and shall remain alone. I am relaxing here, yet I am filled with fear that I will never see his face again, that I may never kiss her dainty lips. My only friend here is the freezing rain. All I want to do is make love on the seventh anniversary of the end of the world. All I need to do is make love on the seventh anniversary of the end of the world. And I contemplate this strange old date which marked the turning of a strange new dawn. The life I knew evaporated like dew. All I'm certain of is that world is gone. My love, it cries for something that ties me back to the world that I left behind, but as well someone anchored in the Sun who is unafraid to take the rope and bind. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, synths, production

This is an attempt at an effective summation of how it often feels to live in my body in this world with this history. Such pressures and experiences often cause the death drive to become stronger. This may cause some people to "perceive themselves as being driven by internal fears, but banish those thoughts into bottomless pit of eternally repressed emotions that eventually reaches critical mass and propels them to become the fiery suns of all-conquering megalomaniacal psychosis", which of course may have either positive or negative effects. Musically and lyrically this was inspired heavily by the early work of kiss the anus of a black cat, which I have effectively lovingly ripped off in creating this. (Seriously, go listen to them.) • Lyrics: Everything has cracked; nothing here but pain. It's come time for a change. God is on His throne, watching here below. Nothing but His tears falling low. In this hopeless life living just to wait, everyone above us set us bait, and we will keep on picking but the floods, they will not stop, the Earth, it opens up, and the cruel space shall suck us dry. Nothing will be left of us. All the world's a farce; it breaks your bloody knees and it dares to claim it's destiny, but nothing could be further from the truth won't set us free when it's all trivial words, words that we can neither hear nor see, and half of it is still a lie. Nothing here will last, eroded by the tides that beat down everything to proper size, and soon I will go under. I don't know what I want; my brain is all a blank. Oblivion is when I feel most free. What is left for us but to do or die? Seven years, my tearducts have run dry, and soon my body falls apart. My brain is melting down, dripping in the dirt. All my soul is screaming in alert (and no one shall deliver me). Hell is the true name of this dying world. Let the old red standard be unfurled, for we have come to take it. And we stand up on our legs, broken by malaise, preparing to begin the End of Days. And we stand up on our legs, broken by malaise, preparing to begin the End of Days. Running toward the end of this bloody place, nothing holds us back— we're gone without a trace. Blowing up the exit as we take our leave, we'll set this world on fire. Crushing every castle, burning every mansion, we're running through the trenches— this ain't a time for dancing. The blasts are our alarms to wake us from our sleep. We'll set this world on fire. Am I well-equipped to understand this fate? Destroying everything I see, all creatures small and great. No end is there in sight, just the wheels of flame. I'll set this world on fire. We're calling no retreat; there is no turning back. We'll either crush the rulers or be crushed by their attack. Break this drowning world. Seal its thorny fate. We'll set this world on fire. What do I have left? Nothing left to lose. All that's needed is to light the fuse (no time for hesitation). All I want to do is see the sky turn blue, but first it has to set ablaze again (and I will stoke the fires). There's nothing left for me except to wait and see what the final word is from above. And I stand up on my legs, broken by malaise, preparing to begin the End of Days. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitars, synth, timbrel, production

This is a straightforward revolutionary song I wrote in Ladino and English. I found that writing in Ladino, even though I don't have a great command of the language, is extraordinarily fun. I'm hoping people will continue to sing it for a long time. I'm releasing it early thanks to the strike on Iran. No war but the class war. • Lyrics: En la marcha del mundo al inferno, en el interminable invyerno, muestra lucha apenas komienza. Veremos ke muestro opresor venza. Afilu la noche es larga i oskura, no emos perdido muestra ternura. Pronto verash salir el sol otra vez kuando rompemos su arrogante altigüez'. Even though it seems like defeat's our only choice, a hymn to revolt shall be raised by every voice. We will prevail above their wealth and their power. In every heart there lies a bud waiting to flower. We'll pull down the tyrants and the robber barons alike. Their day is over, it's our time to strike. So come and give us the worst of your abuse, for we are stronger; we have nothing to lose. En la marcha del mundo al inferno, en el interminable invyerno, muestra lucha apenas komienza. Veremos ke muestro opresor venza. English translation (first two verses): In the march of the world into the fire, while the winter seems like it won't expire, our struggle has really just started. We'll make our oppressors know their plans have been thwarted. Even though the night seems far too long and dark, we have not lost our brains or our heart. Soon you will see again the Sun will rise, when we break down their haughtiness and pride. Ladino translation (last two verses): Afilu pareska ke seremos vensidos, todos kantaran de revolta unidos. Venseremos kontra rikeza i poder. En kada korason hay brote asperando floreser. Venseremos a la djente de piron. Folgaremos kon un ardiente batayon. Venish i dandos la peor ke tenesh, porke mozotros somos mas fuertes. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, timbrel, production

This is a remake of a song (original: https://clyp.it/tmsvewpb) I made for my friend Nicole a couple years ago to encourage them. I decided to rerecord it to test out my Line 6 Variax. It's also available as a general pick-me-up./ • Lyrics: I believe in you. You can do it! I believe in you. You can do it!! I believe in you! You can do it!!! And if you don't believe, I believe in you. And if you don't believe, I believe in you. (You can do it!) • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, production

Three things converged: one, my friend Yael gave me the idea for the title of this track. Two, I challenged myself to write "math noise neofolk w/ blast beats and occasional shrieks". Three, I wanted to write a song loosely around the theme of exploding head syndrome. My lyrics here are more nonsensical and disjointed than usual, in part because my main motivation was musical experimentation; verbal expression took a backseat here. • Lyrics: Everything is so chaotic here. All I want is for a little peace: Aldebaran is shining in the night, cherry blossoms will bloom so sweet. Drinking black milk in the morn, awaiting strike at the break of dawn. The lyric sheet is lying ripped and torn: my brains are dripping through this song. Spike my coffee with some opium, sprinkle sugar on my rosy thumb— everything is crashing through my head, one of these days you're gonna wake up dead. Aldebaran is shining in the night. Cherry blossoms will bloom so sweet— spike my coffee with some opium. Sprinkle sugar on my rosy thumb. When I sleep, my head explodes. All I want is for a little peace; cherry blossoms will bloom so sweet. When I sleep, my head explodes. Everything is so chaotic here... all I want is for a little peace. Aldebaran is shining in the night. Cherry blossoms will bloom so sweet. Drinking black milk at the break of dawn, my brains are dripping through this song: spike my coffee with some opium. Sprinkle sugar on my rosy thumb— everything is crashing through my head— one of these days you're gonna wake up dead. My head explodes. My head explodes. My head—my head—my head explodes—my head explodes. Everything is so chaotic here... all I want is for a little peace. Aldebaran is shining in the night. Cherry blossoms will bloom so sweet. Drinking black milk at the break of dawn, my brains are dripping through this song: spike my coffee with some opium. Sprinkle sugar on my rosy thumb— everything is crashing through my head— one of these days you're gonna wake up dead. Spike my coffee with some opium, sprinkle sugar on my rosy thumb: everything is crashing through my head— one of these days you're gonna wake up dead. Everything is crashing through my head. One of these days you're gonna wake up dead. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, synths, production

I initially made this track over the course of about 10 minutes as a sort of affectionate pastiche of blackened crust bands who have thoughtful and intelligent lyrics shrieked in such a manner that they're incomprehensible and you have to read the booklet to get what's being said, as the music proper is made more for cathartic sonic violence than anything. Unfortunately my initial lyrics were already pretty thoughtful, my lyrics ended up being pretty coherent, and I'm not sure that the result can really be classified as blackened crust!! And to complicate matters further, I already strongly agreed with the message in the lyrics and I started to genuinely get into the performance!!!! So, in the end, please do support Critical Resistance. Any proceeds made from this song's sales will be donated to them, or if you want to skip the middleman, please donate to them here: https://donatenow.networkforgood.org/criticalresistance Their main site can be found here: http://www.criticalresistance.org/ • Lyrics: Human rights abuses are endemic in the United States. For example, the prison population is higher than that of China, a supposedly more repressive state. Most legal repression is directed at people of colour and other vulnerable populations. We must fight against this unjust and corrupt system with the objective of abolition. Total prison abolition now. (Thank you very much for listening; please support Critical Resistance.) • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, synths, production

I wanted to make a neofolk song this morning, so I did. It took me 3 hours. Proud of myself. A little existential song for weary times. Like recessions. • Lyrics: This is the world that time has forgot. I am the cream that's left behind to rot. We are the ones that look for an out but we get thrown roundabout. This is the way we have to live: all that we have, we must give, all for this world we must leave. There is hardly any time to grieve. Find your time, find your life, find your place to collapse from running in this race. Find your time, find your life, find your place to collapse from running in this race. Find your time, find your life, find your place to collapse from running in this race. Find your time, find your life, find your place to collapse from running in this race. Find your time, find your life, find your place to collapse from running in this race. Find your time, find your life, find your place to collapse from running in this race. Find your time, find your life, find your place... • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, synths, production

Google "jury nullification", "Sibel Edmonds", "Operation Gladio", "BCCI bank", "MHCHAOS", "Continuity of Government", "Ptech", "Far West, LLC", and "Otto von Bolschwing, Helene von Damm". • Lyrics: I am the man from the Propaganda Due lodge. I am here to throw you in a big hodgepodge of lies and truth and strange reality. It's far too odd for your little eyes to see. It's a clear and able danger to follow as it keeps getting stranger. You'll never know the world, you'll never know what's real. You'll never get better if you have no time to heal. We are here to put you in a deep state of mind, and what you're about to know is very hard to find 'cause nothing in your head is safe from prying. It takes a lot of blood to get you crying. It's a clear and able danger to follow as it keeps getting stranger. You'll never know yourself, you'll never know what's there. You'll never find rest if you always have a burden to bear. It's a clear and able danger to follow as it keeps getting stranger. You'll never understand, you'll never get away. You must make peace, 'cause your only option's to stay. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, synths, production

Sometimes I get flashbacks. This is part and parcel of having C-PTSD. One of them came after a nightmare. For some reason, the "predicate event" (thing that I remember happening in the dream, but which never happened irl) was that I had viewed a video of a trans woman being murdered outside of my apartment. All my friends were posting on Twitter about largely trans topics and I was trying more and more to conceal I was having more and more and more paranoia/ill feelings due to having seen the tape, becoming more and more and more afraid of even sitting in my house. And then I began viewing the contents of the video in my dream, and the interesting thing was I wondered about if the perpetrator was a cis woman, at which point I found myself outside my apartment, at the scene of the crime, first running toward the woman about to be killed, and after she was killed running away from the murderer. Then I started to wake up. But I immediately went into a liminal state, saw myself in relative darkness, and felt like I was being raped while being pushed down on my side; I felt smaller than usual too. Then I tried to struggle, realised I wasn't actually moving, relaxed a bit, thought, "Fuck, I'm gonna have to try to enjoy this, huh," and then realised once I was slightly more awake that this was a temporary state, so I stretched out my body from foetal position, woke up, thought, "Well fuck, that was a flashback," then thought "Oh fuck, that was sleep paralysis, haha," then put my hand on my chest, and realised I felt deeply embodied and for some reason very feminine. This is an Arc song. • Lyrics: Inside my friends are joking with me, outside the Sun is starving to death. Climbing in kitchens and filling with fear, losing my memory, losing my breath. Outside she stands, alone, under threat. Inside I watch her murder unfold. Stabbed by a woman consumed by fear, her life's story forever untold. I crouch and curl up and cower in terror— the hands of the Empire reach into my dream and make me a hypnagogue, trapped 'twixt realities— the truth I must face is not what it seems. (Even in dreams, I am not secure; the safety of sleep offers me no cure or refuge for my broken head. Perhaps devils lurk within my bed.) The murderess pins me down to the table as flesh enters flesh and I can't move away from the NOTHING inside me, realer than real, that breaks me, transfixes me, seizes my day. I move to escape but I'm held back harder. Darkness increases, brutality swells. I'm supposed to be safe and snug in my bed, but I'm gone in my head, plunged into Hell. I say to myself, "Well, just lie back and enjoy it, you're not getting out of this anytime soon." And I couldn't move, and it just hurt so much, reality itself seemed to be out of tune. And then I awoke, and I felt like shit— At home in my body for the very first time. This kind of suffering can shape who you are, but it's without reason, it just has no rhyme. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, guitar, timbrel, production

John Bolton, Trump, and the rest of their fetid administration are pushing for war with Iran. As of the writing of this, all non-emergency State Department personnel are being recalled from Iraq. So I got really angry and recorded this in approx. 20 minutes. It's wonky and the timbrel is off-beat but [insert ms paint star with "i tried" in Comic Sans here]. This administration has been nothing but a massive operation to get disgraced Reagan and Bush administration warmongers and criminals back into positions of power and influence even though they should actually be rotting in a prison in the Hague. Say no to war with Iran or any other country. No war but the class war. Permanent free download (with original files): www.archive.org/details/BullshitWar Lyrics: FUCK THE GOVERNMENT FUCK THEM ALL LINE THEM UP AT THE FUCKING WALL FUCK JOHN BOLTON AND HIS WAR WITH IRAN EVERY WAR IS A FUCKING SCAM BULLSHIT WARS BULLSHIT REASONS IT'S HUNTING TIME POLITICIAN SEASON WE DON'T WANT YOUR FUCKING WAR INSURRECTION OF THE GLOBAL POOR ALL OF THEM SHOULD BE DOING TIME IN THE HAGUE FOR THEIR STINKING CRIMES WE WILL NEVER KISS THEIR ASS LET'S MAKE WAR ON THE RULING CLASS BULLSHIT WARS BULLSHIT REASONS IT'S HUNTING TIME POLITICIAN SEASON WE DON'T WANT YOUR FUCKING WAR INSURRECTION OF THE GLOBAL POOR BULLSHIT WARS BULLSHIT REASONS IT'S HUNTING TIME POLITICIAN SEASON WE DON'T WANT YOUR FUCKING WAR INSURRECTION OF THE GLOBAL POOR Credits: Personnel: • Evangeline Sutherland (except where otherwise noted) ——vocals, guitar, timbrel, production, art, design Notes: All lyrics written by Evangeline Sutherland. All music composed by Evangeline Sutherland. Instruments and equipment used: a Shure SM57 microphone, a Steinberg UR22mkII USB audio interface, a Kona K394D acoustic guitar, a Remo timbrel, and Audacity.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

A song of the Partisans who fought fascism in Italy. As they recruited people to fight against the despotism of Mussolini, they would sing this hymn to rally the people. This song emphasises the universal human longing for freedom and equality. Today, the torch is carried by those who wish to overthrow the oligarchy and its evils. Dedicated to the brave warriors of the YPG and YPJ in Rojava, who are fighting fascism in the form of DAESH, to all anti-fascists wherever they fight, and to Stjepan Filipović, martyred by the Croatian Ustaše, whose immortal last words ring out through history: 'Death to fascism! Freedom to the people!' • Lyrics: Una mattina mi son svegliato— o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! Una mattina mi son svegliato e ho trovato l'invasor. O partigiano, portami via— o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! O partigiano, portami via, ché mi sento di morir. E se io muoio da partigiano— o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! E se io muoio da partigiano, tu mi devi seppellir. Seppellire lassù in montagna— o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! E seppellire lassù in montagna sotto l'ombra di un bel fior. E le genti che passeranno— o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! E le genti che passeranno ti diranno «Che bel fior!» «È questo il fiore del partigiano— o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! È questo il fiore del partigiano morto per la libertà!» «È questo il fiore del partigiano morto per la libertà!» • English lyrics: It is one morning that I awakened— oh bella ciao! bella ciao! bella ciao! ciao! ciao! It is one morning that I awakened and I found the invader. Oh my dear partisan, take me far— oh bella ciao! bella ciao! bella ciao! ciao! ciao! Oh my dear partisan, take me far, for I know that death has me. And if I die as a partisan— oh bella ciao! bella ciao! bella ciao! ciao! ciao! And if I die as a partisan, I want you to bury me. So bury me upon the mountain— oh bella ciao! bella ciao! bella ciao! ciao! ciao! So bury me upon the mountain under the flower of beauty. And all the people who pass my grave— oh bella ciao! bella ciao! bella ciao! ciao! ciao! And all the people who pass my grave will tell me, 'What a lovely sight!' 'This is the flower that guards the fighter— (oh bella ciao! bella ciao! bella ciao! ciao! ciao!) This is the flower that guards the fighter who died for all our liberty!' 'Oh yes, the flower that guards the fighter— who died for all our liberty!' • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, production, guitar, translation • Anonymous ——lyrics, composition

'History is a tissue of base and cruel acts in the midst of which a few drops of purity sparkle at long intervals.' —Simone Weil, 'The Need for Roots' 'And all the time—such is the tragi-comedy of our situation—we continue to clamour for those very qualities we are rendering impossible. You can hardly open a periodical without coming across the statement that what our civilisation needs is more "drive", or dynamism, or self-sacrifice, or "creativity". In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.' —C. S. Lewis, 'The Abolition of Man' Late capitalism has produced masses of uprooted people without moral fibre, with little conscience. Communities have fallen apart. Trust has all but evaporated. Millions of human beings, deprived of meaning in their lives, have filled the holes in their hearts with drugs, alcohol, and mindless entertainment. Billions sacrifice themselves and their children to Mammon in return for a fraction of what they produce. Education is no longer about training both heart and mind, but training the child to be a complacent worker with no aspirations, with no thymos. And yet some dare to make chests for themselves, to learn compassion, to strive for their fellow human beings. These people will lead the future. • Lyrics: Saw a homeless guy and gave him a sandwich. He refused but I insisted; he thanked me profusely. Snow on the ground—wondering if he was too cold; hope he's all right now, seemed like a pretty nice guy. Good old fashioned תִקוּן עוֹלָם, putting it back together piece by piece. It's kinda rare to see these days: person-to-person, neighbour-to-neighbour. Found some war crimes, downloaded the footage, got court-martialed; seven years being tortured. People calling me a traitor—what'd I do wrong? The president hates me and orders more missile strikes. War crime after war crime, no justice, no peace, black and brown people slaughtered in the streets. Protecting what? Property. Serving what? Capital. Maybe, just maybe, it was a joke from the beginning, starting from genocide, doing nothing about genocide. Men without chests in the halls of power. Pray to Jesus something might change, maybe… Seems like a farce to me. That glimmer of hope just keeps on fading, fading away from sight. 'You must love your neighbour as yourself.' —Mark 12:31, Lamsa • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, production, guitar, synths, lyrics, composition

'Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! 'Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! 'Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities! 'Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind! '[…] 'Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!' —Allen Ginsberg, 'Moloch' '"The Empire never ended," Fat quoted to himself. That one sentence appeared over and over again in his exegesis; it had become his tag line. Originally the sentence had been revealed to him in a great dream. In the dream he again was a child, searching dusty used-book stores for rare old science fiction magazines, in particular Astoundings. In the dream he had looked through countless tattered issues, stacks upon stacks, for the priceless serial entitled "The Empire Never Ended." If he could find it and read it he would know everything; that had been the burden of the dream. 'Prior to that, during the interval in which he had experienced the two-world superimposition, had seen not only California, U.S.A., of the year 1974 but also ancient Rome, he had discerned within the superimposition a Gestalt shared by both space-time continua, their common element: a Black Iron Prison. This is what the dream referred to as "the Empire." He knew it because, upon seeing the Black Iron Prison, he had recognized it. Everyone dwelt in it without realizing it. The Black Iron Prison was their world. '[…] 'Once, in a cheap science fiction novel, Fat had come across a perfect description of the Black Iron Prison but set in the far future. So if you superimposed the past (ancient Rome) over the present (California in the twentieth century) and superimposed the far future world of "The Android Cried Me a River" over that, you got the Empire, the Black Iron Prison, as the supra- or trans-temporal constant. Everyone who had ever lived was literally surrounded by the iron walls of the prison; they were all inside it and none of them knew it—except for the gray-robed secret Christians.' —Philip K. Dick, 'VALIS' May the Empire fall, and may the Kingdom be inaugurated. • Lyrics: Woke up this morning, opened up the newspaper. There's no good news today, just war and genocide. Roman Consul lying, people blindly believing, conquering for Empire, making sure that millions die. Just makes me wanna sing the blues all day. Just makes me wanna sing the blues all night. Just makes me wanna sing the blues every hour, just 'cause there's no respite. Went down to work and did some mindless drudgery, just alienated from God-damn everything: Doing work for Cæsar, not for my own self, not for anyone else. Ground up inside Moloch's jaws. Just makes me wanna sing the blues all day. Just makes me wanna sing the blues all night. Just makes me wanna sing the blues every hour, just 'cause there's no respite. Just makes me wanna sing the blues all day. Just makes me wanna sing the blues all night. Just makes me wanna sing the blues every hour, just 'cause there's no respite. Just 'cause there's no respite. Just 'cause there's no respite. Just 'cause there's no respite. • Credits: • Evangeline Sutherland ——vocals, production, guitar, synths, lyrics, composition