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Pas Du Tout

by sittingthesummerout

supported by
Erich Kuehl
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Erich Kuehl Amazing music, even more amazing people. Heartbreakingly honest. Favorite track: Fatima.
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1.
Well, I didn't get to tell you how much I hate funerals. I think from then on, we avoided memories from that day. I never wanted you to believe that I drove you all the way there because I needed to prove that I am something more. Eventually, we learned that I was nothing more, or at least nothing more than the images of others in your head. Nevertheless, when I opened my car door and let you in, and half in silence we drove towards the sea, all I really needed was for you to find peace. You didn't know you would break down, and I could see you dreaded what your reaction could be. It warmed me to see how close you'd stand to a friend in need. The church was filled with ghosts. I know you saw them too. I know your ghosts were raising up again. But you are brave, you've always been. With a heavy heart, you clenched your fists and did your best to stop the tears. I looked at you halfway through, and beneath my eyes was a younger child, in a similar church, shedding the same wounds. But these places all look the same, don't they? With their tall ceilings, where the pastor's voice rings; their majestic composition, built upon centuries of lies. And you remain you, with differences of sorts, crying the same honest despair. As much as it couldn't change the course of things, like I'm sure you had 4 years before, I wanted you to know that you had a shoulder to lean on. After dinner with my family I drove home, all alone, clutching at my sanity. I confess, I felt afraid - and this, I'm positive I told you before you left; I am ashamed of the instinct that kicked in. The impulse I know all too well. It's all I know, how my mother wishes I hadn't turned out to be. How I was taught to deal with things. I stopped at a gas station, and in retrospect, I think it was the look in your eyes that came to me. I thought once more, and couldn't find a reason to hurry out of it, out of you. Did it mean I wanted to remain? That I wanted to stay? Dwelling on it, I hit the gas again. I hope that to this day, you understand what that meant for me. You can't begin to imagine how much I'd love to tell you that the ghosts won't come back, and that I'm not haunted by the ghost of you. I'm a liar, I'm a hypocrite, but I've never lied to you, I'm not going to begin now. When we drove home, your hands felt like the most delicate dead weight. A weight I was willing to carry until you felt alive. When in truth, just like the waves we didn't even catch a glimpse of, we were alive, and we were there. We knew we were.
2.
It's starting to feel like you've hogged all the sheets away, but I'm sleeping by myself. // And no, rewind // I wish I could say I was sleeping. I'm only running through my mind, spinning restlessly trying not to fall down. Yet maybe, falling down would help, somehow. If anything, then I'd be forced to find my feet, forced to get up, open the window, and see if there's something more to August. The way you left me sitting - looking at my toes, afraid to raise my gaze - it hindered the upward look. I've since struggled to find an excuse to get a grip, to be strong enough to get past this last half, and exercise the willpower I've for so long claimed to have. If I had completely fallen down, or if you'd find a way to stab me further, then it'd be down forever, or up again to see the light. Two choices can often be better than several ideas, and crude obstinacy is known to have saved lives. I'm thinking I could get there if the bottom opened up. Sinking lower could just be the push I need. If I were to call you up again, and tell you what's been going on, you'd hear my words, and I know exactly what you'd say. Bend or break? It's getting hard to tell the difference. All I know is I won't stay, and there will be no need for blankets anymore. I'll be left out in the cold again. How fucked up is that it's all I've ever wanted? In the meantime, I've realized that I've lost more than I ever thought I'd bargain for. But we both always knew that I'm a sucker for bets, even though the stakes are never clear, even if there was no need to jump the cliff. Now I'm stuck here, in the middle, wondering if the answer lies under my shoes. I keep thinking I'd get better if the bottom opened up. Sinking lower could just be the push I need. If I were to call you up again, and tell you what's been going on, you'd hear my words, and I know exactly what you'd say. "That's enough self-loathing for one day, Sam". Enough. That's enough. Enough. That's enough for one day. Enough. You're better than this. Enough. That's enough.
3.
Fatima 02:54
There's a story behind the bracelet on your wrist. About the bravest of women. About never giving up. About falling, and standing up. There's a story behind the bracelet on your wrist, about the bravest of women. And there was a story in the notebook where I sloppily scribbled down the stolen words of how Aaron misses Dianne, how it's draining the man that's left in him, and how the South brought him some answers. But this crossroads doesn't look too promising for me, and I can't say I'm hopeful. With every heartbeat, the sun comes down a little more, and Paris steals my secrets one by one. Walk by the tower, the moon dims out all other lights, and this bottle drowns me as it comes. I'll leave the panic attacks in August, at nights near Place de la Bastille, while all my friends are sleeping, and I've used up all the oxygen in this room. I'm not alone in this bed, but I find myself falling off it, in the middle of the night. Grasping at the thinnest hint of air, trying not to wake anybody up. I don't need pity, I just want to find a way to drift asleep again. But this city's confident that I'll come back, she knows I can't stay away for too long. And I'm sure you're not wearing it anymore. With every heartbeat, the sun comes down a little more, and Paris steals my secrets one by one. Walk by the tower, the moon dims out all other lights, and this bottle drowns me as it comes. I know you're not wearing it anymore, but I'm fine with that, as long as my letter's still stuffed inside one of your boxes. You left that night and it rained the next morning. I guess that tracks, but I'll take it as a good sign. When September comes by, we'll play pretend it's still August so you can smile again, even though I'm dying inside.

about

sittingthesummerout is:

Luca. He plays the guitar on this record. Both lead and rhythm. He sings. He also wrote part of the bass lines. Stop trying to take over the band, Luke!
Samir. He speaks. A bit too much.
Andrea. He plays the drums. And does backup singing. He's not good at remembering things.

credits

released November 19, 2015

Produced, Recorded, Mixed & Mastered by Fabrizio Pan @ Pan Music Production Studio
www.facebook.com/panmusicproduction
www.panmusicproduction.com
Fabrizio was also kind enough to help us write the bass and record it.
Co-Produced by Mimi the Cat.

Thanks to Bruno Sciarrone for his help recording some missing lines.

The recording before "Wearing Black in June" was kindly provided by:
Owen Cousins of Fierce Morgan
www.facebook.com/FierceMorgan
and Hope Thackray.

Artwork by Luca Della Foglia.

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sittingthesummerout Milan, Italy

sittingthesummerout is a post-hardcore band from Milan, Italy.

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