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Hungover at Mass/ Names of Things

by Junior Brother

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  • Hungover At Mass/ Names Of Things
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Hungover at Mass + Names of Things CD, in Slipcase with a Different Sleeve Artwork on each side.

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1.
I cannot face communion, I have to go away, The food in my intestine, does not want to stay. Maybe it was the mulled wine, gone off since the fourth, I have to get up and leave, shit this is awkward. Hungover at mass. Hungover on a Sunday. Hungover at mass. I made it through the river, of old people's knees, Now half the church is looking, directly at me, Standing by the altar, I think they think I know, That I want to do a reading, but I just want to go. Hungover at mass. My body's in a bad way. Hungover at mass. I can feel the Devil in me. O a fear has gripped me, I feel everyone's eyes, Even the baby Jesus statue comes alive, I'm nearly fucking sprinting, how long's this fucking church. Does God want me embarrassed? Does Jesus have me cursed? All the lads from last night will think I can't hold beer. I'd rather be seen legless, than seen throwing up here. Hungover at mass. Trying to get the head straight. Hungover at mass. Maybe I drank the devil, Maybe the devil got in me Maybe I drank the devil, Maybe the devil got in me Maybe the devil got in me Last Night.
2.
So much older, and still so much the same, The size of things get different, but the names of things remain. My head is full of stories too simple to sing, Or even to be spoken, Devoid of anything. Curled up like a spider, grippin' the pillow. Trembling in my jocks like Sweeney in the snow. Then to thinkin', thoughts on fire, Lit by reticence. Love, imagine Getting past the guards. The garden wet with rain, In the height of a heatwave. My head is full of notions, too buoyant to drown, Let me in easy, And I will love you if you let me. Curled up like a spider, grippin' the pillow, Trembling in my jocks like Sweeney in the snow. Someone rob the clock-hands, no one will ever know, The morning will not come then, and night will never go. Now to sleeping, thoughts on fire, Lit by reticent desire. So much pity, seeing the back of town, Like a living cliché, away is where I'm bound. The road is full of potholes, hidden and plain as day, Some of them will trip you, But the others lead the way.

credits

released September 28, 2017

Recorded, Mixed and Engineered by Christopher Barry at Ailfionn Studios, Drumcondra.
Mastered by Richard Dowling.
Ronan Kealy - Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Foot Tambourine, Piano.
"Names of Things" Artwork - Matt Talbot Statue by James Power.

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Junior Brother County Kerry, Ireland

Singer from Co. Kerry, Ireland with an acoustic guitar and tambourine playing alternative Irish folk.

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