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All of Them Witches

by Arroyo Deathmatch

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Sitting throne made for scorn, for the haunted ones, the ones we’ve known, the course we took, the strangers look, they pray for rain, obey and gain. We’re stewing in blood, we’re the fortunate ones, this privilege is your curse, oil, blood, to dirt, the richest the worst, there’s sinew under our nails, and you who hurt, it’s as you thought, we’re petty and proud like old gods, and as you work our influence spreads, to every continent’s end. No peace, no friends, empire without end. we ask again for the ancient rite, another body laid out on the floor, no good will come from the fortunate sons, a cow’s throat slit for a pint of blood more. and when you wish I hope the star, that carries your white burden falls, crashes, burns out, and the sky goes black, without a sound. I smell a dead bird, it’s you and me, given everything, spoiled beyond belief.
A turtle kicks against the glass, all turtles swim for freedom, all animals know not how to ask, we all yearn and we all say no. Someday soon we must say yes, and not stop to block the path, limitation is repression of all we are, government is civil war. How to make this denial the last, under the specters of fear and freedom? the webbed foot, the vibrant dream, the shell, the glass, we all ask and I know I’ve said no. In the end all we have, are the things we choose to do, call it agency, sovereignty, autonomy, anarchy, the only part of you that’s you. Be it in the defiance of a young girl, or the dreams of a turtle, self-determination’s meant to bloom, stand aside or be consumed. and I say, if I follow my dreams, the police, they will kill me someday. I’ve been infected by something sinister and true, I’ve been dreaming of saying yes to you. Instead of standing in each other’s way, what if we let each other go? Oh well, I guess we’ll never know.
El-ahrairah, your people cannot rule the world, for I will not have it so. All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed. (Richard Adams, Watership Down)
Abracadabra 03:39
Oh, my faltering few, Words, lies, ideas, Formed fumbling and free, birthed forth from introspecting. Thus I destroy, with the passions that burn me up, Now they spit and flash, black smoke pours out my mouth. Not a heartless thought, but a hate filled heart, been biding my time for this, annihilation divine. Let this plan be the ending of words, let this action the undoing of guards, let this fire be the burning of flags, let this moment be the freedom of man. My eyes, for all your eyes, blind or not tonight we die, To the potential broken glass in every jaw, we will sing a smashing song. with fate you lay in a bed of webs, neglect dictates where you go next. With arms tied together, we ride wherever. ideas fly between us, we both need this. finally our minds unbound, we understand the sound. reality be reshaped, this wish this curse this spell, break fate.
Jagged Edge 04:40
My straight edge is a jagged edge, my straight edge is a denial of god, my straight edge is a Molotov, my straight edge is a roadside bomb. State-sponsored oppression will start to crumble, when the only thing we brew is trouble. My straight edge is a jagged edge, my straight edge is a wrench in the works, my straight edge is a blazing torch, my straight edge is a burning church. the scene’s a party, anarchy’s a fad, pass me a beer, I’m just like my dad. more smash the state, less shit your pants, defend yourself, say fuck the man. they won’t need guns to destroy us when we drink ourselves to death, hiding wounds with intoxication do you really think that’s best, starting over just to give up and start over once again, what they did to us now we’re doing ourselves with addiction. the lives that they’ve deprived us of, exhaling smoke our eyes are blood shot, just another victim in this recreation war, and every day we work to pay the killers more. there are places where water is dumped on fields of poppies, while the workers die of thirst, and their oppressors would like to thank you for your contribution, to systematic global oppression. and I agree that voting’s full of shit, but there are many ways to cast your ballot, and every day you give these fucks the means, to kill, rape, oppress, torture in the name of greed. to fight them there are oh so many ways, in the bowels of this dark and depraved maze, we soberly decolonize our minds today, so we can open up our mouths and say, I’ve never needed more than nothing.
Royal Flesh 02:44
I wrote an evil song, but you didn’t know the words yet. Couldn’t sing along, but your hands were slick with blood. The hesitant were gone, left with the genuine and fervent. Spoke in secret tongues to communicate as a forest. Tonight is the last night they’ll leave either of us alive, onwards toward a clear-cut, manslaughter, bunker-busting bribe, blacklisted barbarians beyond the bosom of the borders. we’re out here alone. I wrote an evil song, but you didn’t know the words yet, Put your hands together if you know how this ends. Tonight we’re sliding blades, into our hungry hearts. They make claim to my life, I’d rather tear myself apart. Pray tell, officer. Where’s the medicine? Under lock and key and dead like skeletons. This is the sacred rite, my religion of incidence, there are no rules, only experience.
Searching for the hand of death, there’s no hope for those who rest, when you seek to close your eyes that’s what you’ll get, the taste sweet to sour, the cold caress. Pry it from my trembling fingers, steal it from my lips with a kiss, vex this captive form into submission, take the throne of mine with your arrogant smile. Look forward, all you bring is the lie, creating reality to match your verminous, eyes all around. Witness to the sound, of the crown falling down. All kings get your bones in the ground. Control is just coercion, and coercion is just a threat, the threat comes true once again, for those that threaten back. but as a threat let me say again, so you do not misunderstand, your cruelty will be turned on you, when we take our cities back.
Sounds pulled from strings, strings pulled from bodies, bodies pulled from skin, leaving a red lip under my lowest right rib. There was once blood on the front, I’ve since scraped it off, by playing hard, harder than when I bled, to see where those efforts led. Screams pushed over chords, chords pushed out the soul, heart strings, plucked in 4/4, arms pump in primal toil. I get lost in the vacuum of possibility, so get fucked if you can’t keep up with me, there’s one hope, one hope for punk rock, so jump off, jump out into nothing.
I looked hard at the heart of every person I’d known, and I said what is this? In the darkness I thought we’d remember who we are, the blackness between the stars like the distance between our hearts. These tragedies change the way we see ourselves, but they don’t change who we are. You and I are like we’re fire in the oil fields. So used to parting ways we come to fear the love that stays, in the parts of us that live untamed, her whisper comes as a crushing wave. One is not enough to be defined by anything but difference, which is not enough for anything but suffering. Curse this solitude, for betraying my nature, for dividing me apart, the sum wretchedness of man, like the black between the stars.
Every citizen is a criminal, Every criminal is a human being, Every prison guard and soldier, Was a little kid playing dolls with his sister, Man has made many laws, law has unmade many more men. From the prison yard to the gallows pole, punishment is not reform. And let them come! With their torches pitchforks and guns, Let them burn us at the stake, For it’s their own qualities that they hate, And let them come! With their laws prisons and guns, Their own shackles are the sign All of them witches all the time. and no matter who’s elected, the problem stays the same, putting shackles on all the people, in a sad attempt to be safe. and where you witness difference, I see divisions none, the golden calf to the holy ghost, the demon, the goat, witches all. Think of prison less like a trash can and more like a mirror, we’re all just one honest moment from ending up here. ("The killers judge the killers and the dead rise up to offer their executioners' heads to other executioners. The world is in fact a vicious circle. 'Father, I blame myself for being a man' 'I forgive you, my son'" -René Laloux - 'Les temps morte' 1964)


Alex: uke, vox, banjolele
Beth: flute
Leon: drums
Matt: bejota

witch choir: Missy, Jes, Beth
recording: Miles Bodmer
mastering: Raul Cuellar

This fire was nurtured in the heart for over a year, and we hope you feel the warmth that we do. All the sounds present on the recording were created acoustically (without the use of electricity), which represents our dedication to one of the aspects of folk punk we find most interesting.

Thank you to Miles 'is the Enemy' for recording us, Missy for singing and putting up with two weeks of non-stop yelling in her house, JMAR for singing, Emergency Ahead for lending us equipment, Jett for knitting hats, Ander for his ear, Riff-Raff for mastering, the Wagon Wheel family for encouragement, and thanks to all past, present, and future members of Arroyo Deathmatch.


released December 21, 2012

Recorded at the Wagon Wheel - Albuquerque, NM - December 2012




Arroyo Deathmatch Albuquerque, New Mexico

evil folk for evil folks

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