Continuous Winter

by Burning Ghats

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Sekator Killer stuff. Imagined the technical aspects of Dillinger Escape Plan, but mixed in with a more brutal, grind-fueled attitude.

Exceptionally clean tech guitar playing, no low tuned mush here.

A very impressive achievement. Favorite track: Less Sunlight.
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credits

released July 25, 2014

All Songs Written By Burning Ghats 2013 - 2014

Kevin - guitar
Chad - vocals
Cam - bass
Ryan - drums

Piano and Organ on "Continuous Winter"
by Jesse Gander

Recorded and Mixed by Jesse Gander at The Hive Creative Labs - R.I.P., and Rain City Recorders
Mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege

www.facebook.com/burningghats
burningghats.bandcamp.com

Cover Photo by Chelse Kirchmayer
Insert Photo by Kevin Grindon

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Burning Ghats Vancouver, British Columbia

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Track Name: Less Sunlight
Less Sunlight

Too many secrets have been whispered in here.
Man-made slaves are at it again. Getting by on
getting weaker.Soon we will all be a void.
Down in the dumps ,we couldn’t be more alone if
we tried. These constant disappointments are
triggering to survivors.Less sunlight, it feels like
less sunlight. Live like hell and beware of nirvana.
No roses for bodies that weren’t buried deep
enough. There’s no money in the cure if there’s
no sickness in the herd.Down in the dumps we
couldn’t be more alone if we tried.
Track Name: Suburban Daydreams
Suburban Daydreams

Dear empty hearts (suburban daydreams), I hope
the calm is almost gone.I hope it’s worn out to
the point where we could walk across the buried
chains and slow suicides.With rabid verse from
heads in palms spilling praise, “busy planning minds
are busy planting graves”. Excommunicated from
the soul in a rat maze. Brilliant urns leave empty
hearts.Suburban daydreams stay numb above all
things. I hope the calm is almost gone. I hope the
sedation that tries to occupy us turns around
and spits out the blood that’s been running
down our face. From worse to worse in time and
dust. I won’t pretend we live in solace. I can’t.
Track Name: Absence Lives Here
Absence Lives Here

Absence lives here. It does what it wants to.
It’s hard on the inmates.To be your own worst
enemy. You can name it hell and it will stare a
hole in the back of your head. It won’t work
to stand up. It won’t work to sit down. Just
existing to breathe, a cold comfort disease.
Underground medicine taker, your self
absorbed but you call it the devil. In the
human rust and isolation the blue healer is
bored again. And when I look into your eyes
I see those wasted sleepless nights. They remind
me of myself. And a place where I chose not to
go.
Track Name: Gastown Piss
Gastown Piss

So, we’re what you call bodies. Pendants just
hanging restless. My skeleton struggles worse
than I do. The vapor, the skin… And for the sore
down losers.That spend their shattered spirits
in the line. With those scours that were made
for me. I am feeling dizzy looking at this eyesore.
Eyesore vertigo. Cling to miserable lives.
Pretend there is no other choice. Sharpen your
imperfections and crumble in your effl
orescence. There’s pills to make the advent end.
Clearly there’s no easy way out. Walls down
body language. Endless knots rip the heart, sow
the wounds. As a leper. As a father of climbing
walls under water.
Track Name: First Hand Lows
First Hand Lows

I will move away from here. The world that
wants to make me addicted. I used to want to be
someone, sorted out/cleansed from myself. First
hand low’s, second hand smoke. Harmful and
waiting until I choke. You can never make a
better human until your left with none. Now I
can only let confusion be me and learn to send
love back to myself. Now I’d do anything not to
be addicted. Now I am an ace of my condition.
Everything unsung is what is beautiful. Where
once my arms could never hold on tight. I feel
nooses loosen and the ability to scream my mind
clear. Unbury myself from insecurities and all
the wrong answers for all the vain reasons.
Watch me fail and live again to fail again.
I used to be my biggest problem.
Track Name: Continuous Winter
Continuous Winter

I’ve seen future lives lose an early start to the
hidden hands of the sickness in their heart.
And instead of love the world won’t try to
see this. In the blacked out rooms where the
real pain grows, the shooting gallery yearns
in droves. While the torn families can’t
understand everything. And instead of love
the world won’t try to see them. For the few
that try to push past it’s malevolent glow,
there’s a hundred mile waiting list and
disappointment in tow. And instead of love
the world won’t try to see this. Instead of
love, we have too many ways to hide from
wasted lives, because it hurts to see them. It
hurts to see them go. What if everyone could
finally see them . Wouldn’t it be less appalling?
Anyone who’s heart beats for somewhat long
needs to help to be helped to be here. I am
trying my hardest to be here.