Blackwood - Native Wildlife

by Native Wildlife



Oh Well Record's first release, will be on 7" soon


released December 31, 2012

Music and Lyrics by Native Wildlife
Additional writing credit to Jacob Davidson on Devil's Daughter.
Special thanks to TJ Copello and Michael Russo of our good friends Aviator for additional vocals on Devil's Daughter.

Produced by Native Wildlife and Mike Moschetto
Recorded June-August 2012 at The Office Recording
(North Andover, MA)
Engineered and Mixed by Mike Moschetto
Mastered by Jay Maas at Getaway Studios
(Haverhill, MA)

Artwork by Erik Rojas



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Oh Well Records Boston, Massachusetts

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Track Name: Devil's Daughter
brown eyes never looked so bitter, so lovely, so fierce as when I first saw you at the Blackwood with that wicked company.

you were always at home among cowards and thieves, bastards and drunks. but you scorned this life and you scorned us all. though the devil's daughter, you were silent and calm, and somehow sobering.

now speaking in hushed tones, I say, "we could leave this lion's den, these thieves and the honor among them." just ask and I would say, (if only I could say) "I will never touch another bottle as long as I live."

and I'd only ask one thing: stay with me as we grow old, grow tired. and when we are weary and ready for rest, we'll put down roots and throw up branches. harden over, intertwined as oak and linden, finally say:

"farewell, companion."

but we still stand. we mark this house as a home of faith and passion, of love and open locks.
Track Name: Bitterwork
and then the devil said, "when you were broken I took you in. gave you a purpose, a family, a new home." his teeth clenched, his veins swelled. I'm oaken-hearted for a moment but my nerve slips. "we all have someone we try to protect. if that was your boy on the altar, you think a father wants to take that risk?"

so we crept up in the dirt just like a rat or a thief, falling in upon the preacher like a sudden disease. spilling blood and fear and fire with reluctance and ease, we strung him up outside the Blackwood to avoid the police. we fought for my soul.

curse that weakness and desperate men, tempted often and easily. it's a shame you were lost, my son, led astray so easily.

our hands weren't meant for this,
such dark and bitter work.
they're for digging in the earth,
planting seeds,
working with wood,
or fashioning bricks.
mending broken tools,
tending to the sick,
but not this.

it's not God's mercy that keeps my son alive. it ain't your pity that keeps him safe at night. it's my wrath and my fury that keeps him safe from harm.

how can that be wrong?