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When the search for women’s suffrage was denied, by the conservative majority of 1905 Emmeline demanded deeds not words, and the voice of women’s suffrage called out to be heard. So they gathered around parliament and started to peacefully protest, But the police crashed in and caused the civil unrest. And they said “No! no! no! We don’t want to go! We’re not leaving here until you give us the vote!” Oh Emmeline, Emmeline can you hear me? Through the depths of time, I’m standing by your side. They were accused of disruption in the quest for state, by the liberal majority of 1908 Emmeline demanded answers and quick, so she marched to confront Earl Asquith. She was charged with obstruction and sentenced to six weeks in jail But this only served to strengthen her spirit to prevail.
A gift of a white feather so your cowardice should never go unnoticed by your neighbours or your kin. There’s a war on son, so go grab your gun without spilling Europe’s blood how will we win? Be it moral implications or religious indignations, neither’s gonna stand up to the test. What right do you think you have to avoid a national draft? England kills her sons with the best. Objection! Emotion overruled. Keep your feelings to yourself cos we’re ignoring you. England’s gripped in war fever hence, You can die in Flanders’ fields with the rest. Fighting in France in ’16 and the ranks are running thin so we’re recruiting with the bachelor’s bill. But you could work at home or rot in a prison with your lot, must be a coward if you don’t want to kill. And your lofty dreams of fighting for the glory Have drowned with your pals in the mud. It is just another war story. And you’re swallowed by the fire and the blood.
In the second civil war, the peasants knocked at the door of the castle at good old Ponte town. The guards let them in, but then found out that within, the peasants disguised they were soldiers of the crown. 1648, Marmaduke Langdale, tried to break the siege at good old Pontefract. The flair of Royalist rebellion piqued at Cromwell’s succession, so he marched his army there to take it back. And with three long sieges, three hard fights, the people of Ponte burnt and bled Till the peasants of the land decided to take the power back and smashed down the castle in the end. Running out of food and running out of good luck, the soldiers fought all day and all night. Until the people of the area, forced on by mass hysteria, made what to do what was right.
It takes a lot to take me back to when the next ten years were already planned. When I was wrapped up, warm and weak minded, you were still finding out what you really wanted. Mistakes were made but from them we each found our own new routes to take. I still see you from time to time through these computer screens. The conversation it seems to fall apart after the first few “what’s new?”, “how you been?”, these broadband wires are pushing us together in a modern mess, and we take a little comfort from what little is left. You still call me a friend you need a break, when your confidence hits rock bottom again. I'll do the same, act like we did then. Forget all that has changed, we just cling to remains of these teenage fleeting memories. Hanging on in case we need the sympathy. Then back to silent screens in case we find that we've got nothing else for each other to be.
"What good are these distractions keeping me from what I'm hoping to achieve? What are these books, these films, this getting enough sleep? The truth is I don't know the worth of filling my time, the morning stretch and the evenings fade until there's months of tired times" Until now. These words are tied to a few shit months, you've gotta let it slide. We can feel the ceiling as the waters rise. I've been cutting myself off from a social life. I'm drowning in defeatism. It's time to feel real again. Without sense of irony I'm letting my shitty mood control me, when what makes me angry is being locked into these boundaries.
There's a sadness in the family, the shouts they rip through these paper thin walls. Little brother is quiet for a little while, young mother just can’t bare it all. As the Fathers fists they hit the walls the neighbours cower and turn up their T.V She's a sensitive sort they say, this strong heart that slowly fades as she forgives more than she can take. Because she never found the comfort or the strength enough to leave. She finds no solace in religion, these cigarettes are her rosary. I fall back into my bed and try to read, because it’s the only escape that I've seen. If these people are my family then what does that mean for me? Am I just another rat hanging around with all these neighbourhood creeps? Little brother where did you get the grace to be so proud? Do you not notice how your silence drowns our screaming out? We're screaming out.


released June 26, 2012

Duncan Ward - Guitar/Vocals
Andrew Chilvers - Bass/Vocals
Alfie J Crook - Drums/Vocals

Young Attenborough
Murf Murphy - Guitar/Vocals
Harry Partridge - Bass/Vocals
Jay Cavalier - Drums/Vocals


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2012 - 2015

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