Aviator​/​Spirit Fangs split

by Aviator

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credits

released June 12, 2012

TJ Copello - vocals
Aviv Marotz - drums
Mat Morin - guitar
Mike Moschetto - bass, vocals
Mike Russo - guitar, vocals

Aviator side engineered and mixed by Mike Moschetto
Recorded at The Office (North Andover, MA) March 2012

Spirit Fangs side engineered and mixed by Alex Estrada
Recorded at Earth Capital (Los Angeles, CA) May 2012

Mastered by Jay Maas at Getaway 2.0 (Haverhill, MA) June 2012

Cover image/layout by Mike Moschetto

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about

Aviator

Fluent, tasty, assured, mature, authoritative, individual, big, bustling, hard, virile, very masculine, sinuous, sinewy, muscular, thoughtful, modern (yet rooted in tradition), imaginative, sensitive, consistently fine.

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Track Name: A Thousand Monkeys
In their eyes I am holding onto what is dead and gone.

For them to say what is dead and gone is none of their concern.

I've awoke in a dark room; the sun is going down.

My mind's becoming its own tomb; my body's stuck in the ground.

I've had issues recalling dreams, not all involving sleep.

What's happened to me? I haven't had a solid thought in weeks.

I said I'd write and I swear to God I tried; I'll apologize when the time is right.

All there is to find will be found
And all the books will come unbound
And all that we have built will fall
And all of us end up in the ground.

All we have is our foolhardy dreams, but that's neither here nor there, it seems.

We are just a disease.

In their eyes we are holding on to what is dead and gone.

It's none of your concern.
Track Name: A Thousand Typewriters
With shards of broken hearts, we carved a map in our arms and followed the scars home,

Where we were once convinced to blame our shadows on ghosts.

I have yet to justify a reason why I feel this way (a steady loss of faith)

And I admit I have yet to find a reason why I tried in the first place (a fucking hopeless state).

Life is a grave when you're digging for a meaning - you'll die alone before you fully figure it out.

It's gotten hard enough to ask without screaming.

Our throats are fucking worn out.

And how disillusioned I feel forced to feel.

There never was a purpose, just stop the noise in my veins.

To us bleeding hearts: will we ever stop the bleeding?

After all the healing starts, we are still beating.

I am still beating myself up - over everything, over nothing at all.

These gaping holes between the lines, the constant weight falling upon my eyes.

We carved a map in our arms and we followed the scars home,

Where we were once just kids who blamed our shadows.

Supposed we're happiest when not obsessed with anyone,
(I have yet to justify a reason why I dug this grave)
I'd still feel valueless, unimpressed with a single thing I've done.
(It's gotten hard enough to feel without bleeding)