Tremulous Futurity

by Spaewife

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Spaewife: Josh Bueckert, Eric Clark, Lealand Grauwiler, Jesse Rhodes.

Recorded at Rude Haus.
Engineered, mixed, and mastered by Nick Rozka.
Artwork by Jesse Somfay.


released September 11, 2015



all rights reserved


Spaewife Edmonton, Alberta

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Track Name: Neasden
"Make me not like the things forgotten as they had not been
Make not the thing that loveth thee. a tear wiped away"
— William Blake

You and London's dismal sky; forever intertwined.
Overclouded, unrequited.
My parting gift was understanding.

Will you remain the muse of this fleshbound heart,
or will I write you out of memory?
Our great love diminished.

Fumbling with rosary beads —
reduced to prayer, begging for peace.
Fumbling with rosary beads —
undo our knots, reward my faith.

This indefinite gulf — tremulous futurity.
My love will not wither, its roots are too deep.
This indefinite gulf — tremulous futurity.
Souls tethered, but unchained.

My heart still beats the syllables of your name.
Track Name: Cipralex & Clonazepam
How long have I worn this cowl of dread?
How many nights of longing,
how many packs of listless cigarettes?
Another month, another two empty vials of pills.
The sudden unraveling of my mind's torpid coil.

White knuckles gripping the wheel —
bloody premonitions.
White knuckles gripping the wheel —
dark highway ruminations.

Sickness and death planted their vile seeds.
Grief stowed away: buried, rotting, festering.
Track Name: Requiem (Prairie Sunrise)
The dead never truly leave us,
their voices live within our depths,
waiting for our souls to listen.

If I close my eyes, I’m speeding down the highway,
two sips of whisky on my breath, running through the hospital.
If I close my eyes, I'm embracing your family as my own,
sharing brandy and memories around your kitchen table.

I'd always held such pride in this contorted mind,
but death and absence bled me dry — I became a husk.
I fell into a morbid stupor — darkness swallowed me.
Saturnine hearts need to feel every inch of their wounds;
I buried mine beneath the murk of the subconscious mind.
Melancholia became a canker I couldn't see or clutch.

Kneeling down in the dewy grass, I watch the sunrise with you.
I place a hand upon that stone, and I come undone.
I'm sorry I failed you — I tried so hard to make you proud.
I should have been here so many times last year.

I didn't earn the right to call you mother,
but I looked upon you as one.
You taught me that sacrifice and forgiveness
are the truest kernels of love.
Gifts of grace imprinted on my heart.

How will I ever forgive myself?
Track Name: Dark Matter
Time collapses and folds inwards.
We defy its great antiquity.

Why do they turn towards Mecca?
What lies beyond Pluto, Charon, and Styx?

An eternal search for something beyond.
Faith is the bones of our souls.
If you converse with the dead long enough,
you'll hear them talking back.

Forever vying to quantify
the unknowable and undefined.
What have we lost in our need
for answers we can grasp and read?

How many dark nights of the soul make up a dark year?
Every hour is numbered and counted.

What is more human than prayer?
Eyes turned to the heavens,
clasped hands trembling,
strained voices crying in the dark.
Track Name: Benson & Hedges
Smoke 'em if you've got 'em,
and I've always got 'em.
Two packs for a dollar off.
Grandfathers' vice passed down.
I'll quit once I get through this.
Smoking kills but so does love.
Is this all that's left of us?
Ashes to ashes, a pile of butts.

And yeah — fuck cancer,
but pass me the lighter.

Two pills, six smokes, nine prayers —
gets me through the long nights.

And yeah — fuck cancer,
but pass me the lighter.

I'm still lighting up.

Breathing in fumes, exhaling death.
This disease doesn't only favour the bad eggs.
I've seen its blight consume one so pure, so undeserving.
Forlorn injustice, irreconcilable —
what makes me worth saving?
I think of her every time I suck one back —
why am I still lighting up?
Track Name: Flagellant Penance
If my body is a temple, my mind is a ruin.
If my body is a temple, my heart is a stone.
If my body is a temple, my soul is a sieve.
If my body is a temple, my bones are hollow.
If my body is a temple, my being is voidness.
If my body is a temple, I am a flagellant.

How long can a man live as a machine?
Running on protein, caffeine, and nicotine.
My joy a phantom memory.

Lacerations carved into mindflesh —
the penance of a flayed and broken spirit.

I stare at these calloused palms,
and wrap my hand around an ever-thinning wrist.

How will I still these seizing tremors?
When will this heart exhale?
How will I scale the strangled peaks of my ambition?
When will I feel stillness again?

Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.

Veins, muscle, skin, bones.
I am a displaced shade of myself.