“The Bush” drifts through the haze of memory and myth, a torch song wrapped in dust and data. Frillici leans into the Lynchian ache of distance and unraveling codes of connection, with echoes of Lou Barlow’s confessional murmur and JJ Cale’s dusky ease. It’s a slow, cracked hymn for the beginning and end-times campfire. A call for the return to the godspeed and an unlikely Irish Luck Shanty.

GET AWAY FROM THE PAVEMENT

ENOUGH OF ENSLAVEMENT

WHEN I SAY THAT THE KEEP

IS A SEVERIN ARRANGEMENT

DU TY TO MANKIND

AND FOOD FROM THE GARDEN

DOGS OF THE WATCH

AND THE PSALMS OF THE HARDENED

WON’T DO ANY GOOD

NOW WILL IT

AND THE ECHOS BEFORE IT

THE GLORY THAT TORE IT

APART FROM THE HONOR

ABLE TANK OF A GONNER

DOWN SOUTH

OF THE GOOD TIMES

AND TRECHROUS

MIND CRIMES

AND THE GOOD FEELS AND BAD

YOU MET YOUR MATCH

NOW GO ON

goooooo onnnnnn gooooo goooooo onnnnnn

THE ASTROIDAL IMPACT

OF ME IN YOUR HEAD

AT THE WORK AND THE BED

IN THE LIVING

AND DEAD

EVEN IF

YOU PRETEND

THAT IM FAR FAR AWAY FROM IT

THE BUSH SPEAKS OF FIRE

AND THE RUSH

FROM THE BASEMENT

IN VENUS AND CHOIR

OH COME NOW

OH COME

IF YOU’RE THINKING IN CODE

AND THE BLASPHEMOUS ODE

HANG ON TO THE LAY LINES

INVISIBLE THE ROADS

THAT WHISPER THROUGH THE BONES

AND HUM THROUGH THE STONES

NOWWwwww

COME ON

AND REJOIN THE PARTY

THE KEGS IN THE BACK

BY THE BOMBASTIC HACK

Now COME ON

OHHHHHHH

Now COME ON

oh ohhhhh