We’ve been playing new songs on the past two tours we’ve done. They’re not on any records, but probably will be soon. If you’ve been curious, wanted to sing along, or were looking for some progress on our end, please check out the following, but please, don’t borrow or steal.

Dutch Guts Nodding off on Hudson in the corner of the room. Suddenly, the world comes into view and I push through the crowd. Push through the crowd. The more you listen the sweeter it sounds, yeah. What’s wrong with singing? A song born of my soul? We believe the words we know, hum along the one’s we don’t. These are the chords, these are the chords, the chords that scar our throats. And who knows where we’ll be tomorrow? Who knows when the pain will end? We’ve got these scars to show we’ll be here tomorrow. We’ve got these scars to show that the pain does end.

Empathy (Eyes to an Empty Sky) I lit a candle in church just to watch it burn. Light up the room! Empathy is more than faith in words or prayers whispered to statues. The sky is empty, we’re alone in the world.

We’re Rooted Here and You Can’t Pull Us Up On the roof of America all I could do was yell at each church for each God fearing highway had become a blemish on the face of itself. I can’t sleep in other people’s homes. I have trouble sleeping everywhere I go. All the leaves are all gone on a rotting tree grown too tall. If I can make it through fall, count the rings because we’re rooted here and you can’t pull us up. There’s a scar that runs down my face and I can’t recall how it got this way, but memories fill the wound. Most of them are of you, and now white hair spills forth as if from a vase. My heart is a forest green. At night foxes pray on the deceased. My thoughts have teeth; they consume me. Under a flag that reads “Come and Take It,” we’re rooted here and you can’t pull us up. If I fall down then count the rings. Make something beautiful out of me. Separate the branches from the leaves; a blossom born to bloom unseen. Don’t forget the songs I taught you how to sing all those times you swore you were bound to leave the blades of grass beneath your feet. Where are you running?

Hope We were promised something from our flesh and blood. We were promised something from the ones we love, and I held up my end. We were promised something for our flesh and blood. We were promised something for the ones we loved, and I’ll keep that promise. I promise.  

When The Hammer Comes Down I stretched my skin, and dried, sewed myself up, and filled it to the neck with wine. Still we lie. Back’s to Hell facing the moonlight. Has the well ran dry? No, the well’s half empty with a boy trapped inside, alive, scraping the surface trying to see the light. And when the hammer comes down will it bend the nail at the neck? Or scar the hand of the martyr that you’d hoped to resurrect? When death is infinite will God ask, “What did you expect?” And when the hammer comes down will it only leave a dent? I heard the truth once, and like a lucid dream I awoke one morning to hear the prophets plead. “So much to say. So much to sing. So, what’s to think? Nobody’s listening…” And when the hammer comes down will it bend the nail at the neck? Or scar the hand of the martyr that you’d hoped to resurrect? When death is infinite will God ask you “what did you expect?” And when the hammer comes down will it only leave a dent?

All song written and performed by Caleb Lionheart. All lyrics written by Tony Bucci. (C) Copyright 2010, 2011. All Rights Reserved.