Sipson

from by Way Through

/

lyrics

Sipson

Under heavy hawking shadows, Sipson sits avoiding.
Empty houses running into overgrowing fields.
Fallow fields for hungry horses, waiting for crash landings,
A three-piece hayrick and a wheel arch bursting ragweed.

Garage doors turned open, filling with the seasons.
Obliterated concrete between the well-kept plots.
Weather worn and waiting, faded dated gardens,
Flattened into memory, bound for total loss.

Force you back upon yourself,
Back into the village.

Daubed black letters on makeshift banners
Betray a sad suburban echo
Of lawns to mow and passing traffic drone.
Landfill, raked into a hill,
I know.

Abandoned garden centre, cleared as if some horror
Had befallen the Portacabins, the watchful cliff face, the Holiday Inn.
A brace against uncertain fate, hogweed and cow parsley.
Alleys littered with crab apples over which control towers loom.

Please drive slowly through this village.
Dangerous substances, explosive atmospheres.
Brightly painted tyres full of seeds and rubble.
A queue of transporters waiting for the shuttle.
Glum islands of hospitality.
Twenty four hour bowling.

Heavy hawks shadow the carriageway,
Their lights in a line.
Hanging on, hanging on.
Heart in mouth,
Engines cascading.
Hanging on, hanging on.

credits

from CLAPPER IS STILL, released November 11, 2013

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about

Way Through London, UK

WAY THROUGH are Claire Titley and Christopher Tipton, a pastoral punk duo originally from Shropshire, now residing in London. Informed by the field as much as the flyover, Way Through write songs which phase out with guitar, tapes, damaged drums and vocals. Using wrong-footed repetition, rapid interplay and free-looping happenstance the band create a ragged yet intuitive tapestry of sound. ... more

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