Footnotes of the Wet Snow

by Day 4

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    Side A: Footnotes of the Wet Snow
    Side B: Live recording of a show

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released June 29, 2016

Recorded, Mixed, and Mastered by Michael Briggs at Civil Recording in Denton, TX
Artwork by Nick Luevano



all rights reserved


Day 4 Denton, Texas

Chad Anderson
Charles Tobias
Cade Arceneaux
Melissa Whitted
Christian Daigle

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Track Name: Footnotes
Overcasted skies blanket a starless night
And I stagger down the roadside captivated by the overwhelming silence pervading the empty streets.
And I'm unsure why,
I confess myself to the sky but refuse to hear the winds reply.
The barren trees sway in defeat.

Aimless, I drift along sidewalks accompanied by the burden of searching for answers to things I don't know.
While an ominous stillness consuming the forsaken homes, refuses to leave me alone.

Fuck the worn pavement for forcing me to falter my footing and refusing to accept the fault,
or rather the absent moon for not exposing it, but doesn't that just excuse me to fall?
Instability will be the death of me,
But I am terrified that I'll be out one night,
And I'll be unable to recognize
The flicker of the lamplight.

When will the wet snow dissolve off the ground?
I'll just continue on for now.
Track Name: Deciduous
Swaying, gracefully, to the rhythm of the wind, a lively body fades into a skeleton, once again, it begins. This relic planted within the sacred grounds of loneliness seems unaware that its rendered itself defeated. All the roots that've desperately delved beneath it, recede, knowing what the future brings, its weakening, yet this appears to be routine. While, emerging limbs stretched towards the sky, in an attempt to penetrate the night, have carelessly chose to cast aside, all that was keeping it alive. Those once vital appendages, descend before it, now lifeless. Dispelling insignificance or unjust callous selfishness?

When the soil said... did the branches hesitate?

When the soil said, "discard the dead" did it shake the uncertain branches?
Were they even in a conscious state, or were they just obedient?

How could something once so beautiful and resilient willingly relinquish every single thing that it was held dear? Does it not understand the hollowness in the promises that the soil will replenish it the following year?

But, it must survive.

I must survive.

I can't dwell on this anymore.
I can't promise I'll stay doubtless in these absences but I swear to God I'll try.
Track Name: Vacancy
Once a place of warmth and refuge,
now a bleak decrepit ruin.
Long deserted from its purpose
and depleted of its usage.

Built upon uncertain grounds
taunting its own existence
the remnants spoke in monotone
pleading for the attention.

Indistinct moments of vile anguish manifest across the brick,
despite efforts to conceal the flaws dilapidating it.
Unwanted vandalism shattered out the window pane.
Weathered nails to weary wood refuse to satisfy the frame.
Makeshift repairs blanket the wounds that mar a mangled roof.
Relentless rain coerce new lacerations to bleed through.
An anchored latch fixed to the frame fortified the way
inside. The door was pried open…
Reinforce the place,
or let the door give way?

Welcome to where my heart resides.
Welcome to where my heart resides.
Track Name: Intermittence
Overlooking the pavement below, a bro-
ken fixture hung from the head of a wooden post,
Roadside, ghostlike, beneath a midnight sky,
the vessel emits an apprehensive glow.
but the lantern soon began to fade
and oscillate in the silence of the street,
wavering in and out of sight
at an unprecedented tempo.

Rage against the dying light.
Rage against the light.
Rage against the dying light.

And do the ones who stumble alongside
where it lies, on the lonesome curbside,
notice the void and try to sympathize
or continue passing by, in spite?
Even the insects that circle around
the presence of the vibrant lamplight,
flee in search of a new source
once the fickle flame has run dry.

Carved into the side of the post
an illegible name, with a post scripted note,
but the anecdote still read clear:
“______ was here" “______ was here"
Well, where are they? Where are they now?

Should, I clasp my fist around a brick
lying there silent in the street,
and hurl it upwards toward the glass
and watch it shatter at my feet?
No one will gather up the fragments
to reassemble the remains,
but rather sweep them off the pavement,
until it’s quietly replaced. (Forgotten and erased).
I grabbed the piece of broken concrete,
and held it firmly in my hand,
I gazed up to find it fading
is it not better off dead?
I stood there pondering in silence,
then raised my arm behind my head,
were those sirens in the distance?
Will they understand? (Will they understand?)
I felt the rock slip slowly from my hand.
Track Name: The Wet Snow
Well, I continued on,
I left my footprints in the street,
in my front yard,
and all the spaces in between.
but tomorrow they’ll be gone,
melted over in the sun,
and I’ll have to start over again
back where I fuckin’ started from.
But is it worth the expense?
I have to start again,
no matter where it ends,
but won’t the wet snow still linger on my feet?
but won’t the wet snow still linger on my feet?

I thought I dealt with everything as it was handed down to me,
but see, I guess they were misplaced, somehow erased, as I shut off from everything, emotionally.
And now somewhere far down the line, I realized that I was hiding,
from myself or someone else? I can’t decide, but I was not alive, I did what I did to get by.

How am I supposed to be a man
when who I have to emulate’s a recreant?
And I don’t want to be him
But when someone calls my name don’t it ring out the same as his?

And I now witness this, her self-destructive motives, the way,
she raises half-empty bottles to her lips, discreetly in urgency.
And now I take notice, how my bloodstream, it claims to be,
half-empty in need of something else, to be functioning properly.

And all of this hesitation
in every single friendship or relationship that there’s potential in,
it confines me isolation,
but I can’t seem to shake from this thought of not needing anyone.
Stay too close to leave, but not close enough to stay.
Stay too close to leave, but not close enough to stay.
I’ve always been much better off that way,
I’ve always been much better off that way.

Aren’t these things nothing but meaningless
Trivial hardships and grievances?
Is my hindrance self-inflicted?
Aren’t these nothing but meaningless?
And the barren trees sway with content
Knowing the soil will let them flourish
And the breeze sings to me without end,
Says, “Aren’t these nothing but meaningless?”
And the forsaken structure still stands
Hoping soon it will be amended.
And the lamplight flickers regardless.
Is my hinderance self-inflicted?
Is my hinderance self-inflicted?
Have I grown too accustom to this?
Have I grown too accustom to this?
And the moon, it slowly emerges,
Says, “Aren't these nothing but meaningless?"

These are nothing but meaningless.

I can’t continue in this constant process,
every venture made afoot ends at the place I left.
I’ll drive away and leave this place in silence,
even though I’m so of unsure what lies ahead,
I refuse to let myself justify unhappiness.
I refuse to let myself justify unhappiness.
I turned the engine and backed out the driveway,
released the clutch and pressed the gas down, unafraid.
I can’t pretend that I won’t return someday,
but I know that on that day I’ll be a different man.
I refuse to let myself justify unhappiness.
I refuse to let myself justify unhappiness.
I refuse to let myself justify unhappiness.
I refuse to let myself justify unhappiness.