Reach Forever Failing (Old Songs Vol. 1)

by This Glass Embrace

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Wake up. You wonder how long you’ve been sitting there, sprawled on the floor. Casually; like you’d been dropped. Tossed aside. The words ring more true than perhaps they should. Blink. Memories come back in a rush. The feel of the cold, lifeless phone in your cold, lifeless fingers. The voice on the other end. The feeling in your gut, like your stomach just dropped through the floor. Blink. Your eyelids scrape agonizingly, the surface of your eyes bled dry of tears. Leaving only a stinging pain and a hollow, numb sensation. A void of empty indifference that you can only pray is temporary. (Pray.) You’ve been doing a lot of that. It’s your last refuge against despair. The safety line that held you from the edge. You just pray that it’s enough. Blink. How long have you been lying here? Days, weeks, years? Could be, but probably more like hours. From some distant place you hear a mournful cry. Eyes stained by the death of hope slide to the indifferent floor. The disconnected phone lies on its side, inches from your outstretched fingers. The cold, muted scream of the dial tone echoing through your mind. Or was that you screaming? (Faster than your eyes can follow faster than your thoughts can go faster than the rain can cleanse you faster than the falling snow.)
I wish that I could tell myself that everything will be okay but I never really was much good at lying. You know that I would die for you, and now I know you’d let me if it only meant you never had to see my face again. And this is the last time I’ll lie and say I’m fine just to ease the weight of guilt upon your shoulders. (Can you hear me screaming?) Ten days without water ten weeks without food ten years without sunlight for each day without you. Now that I can tell you how I really feel, I realize that that’s what I was doing all along: every time I said that you were everything to me, and every time I said how much I need you. I wish that I could take it back… shrug it off… and calmly walk away the way you can. But when I told you that I loved you, it was never once a lie. Not even this time.
“I never thought it’d come to this,” is all that you can say, but the statements carved into your face (“I can’t explain…”) reveal more than all your words could ever hope to. And hope is something you’ve learned to live without. You thought that you were in control. You thought that you were fine. But the steering wheel’s come off in your hands. Now the sparks outside the window light up your face as your lips repeat a single phrase: “this is all wrong…” And while she always tells you: “there’s nothing there to hide”, there’s something different in her eyes. It feels like you’ve been holding on to the ghost of what she was. (the ghost of a ghost of…) What’s left of her. (What’s left of you?) And tell me, is it fair? Or is the truth as bitter as eaten fire? Tell me! Fear not that I should quaver, for I dare - I dare. (Faster than these pills you swallow faster than your eyes can close.)
Rain still beats against the windshield. My haunted eyes stare through the glass. Lights and shapes race the twilight, phantoms in the weary haze. The images that fill my vision aren’t mirrored in the world outside. Because you’re not here. I’m left empty. Memories spinning through my mind. Alone I drift past rows of streetlights, their glow obscured by pouring rain. Like endless tears against the window, their music bittersweet with pain. A silence filled with words unspoken. Your voice still ringing in my ears. We used to fill the hours with laughter. That sound is just a memory here. My heart still longs to break this silence; to scream at the indifferent stars. To confess to you how much I miss those nights spent with you in my arms. The sound of rain brings thoughts unbidden and memories of distant times. That first night that we shared together the sky looked like it does tonight. On the same stretch of rain-soaked road our smiles would meet in nervous joy. But on that night, so much like this one, the darkness never felt so cold.


Part of the Old Songs series of EPs, "Reach Forever Failing" contains the first four This Glass Embrace songs ever, re-recorded fresh with the current lineup and brought out into the light of day.

"The after math", a piano and spoken word piece interspersed with recorded noise and sounds, has been used as a live intro at many of the band's shows. The two part epic of "Between the space of two frames" and "The eye persists in seeing" shows the band's two vocalists trading lines over a rise and fall of post-hardcore riffing, punctuated by the screams of drummer Zoey LeFevers. The closing track, "Something that was never there", delves into altogether new territory, Jackie LeFevers’s powerful alto vocals backed by layered synths and drop-tuned guitars.

These four tracks originally appeared on an excruciatingly limited edition 2004 demo that has been lost to the sands of time.


released February 20, 2009

This Glass Embrace is:
Matt LeFevers: vocals, guitars, programming, keyboards.
Zoey LeFevers: drums, screamed vocals.
Jackie LeFevers: vocals.
Kenny Rice: bass.

All songs written by Matt LeFevers. Copyright 2004, registered 2009.


all rights reserved


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