Pity Upon a Hill

by Brock Winthrop

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03:50
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03:03
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recorded 1993-2016

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released January 30, 2016

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all rights reserved

about

Brock Winthrop Massachusetts

He spent a large sum of inherited money in publishing books to prove that he was a prophet sent by God to redeem the world, and that he would not die but would be translated. In one of his most lucid spells he enlisted and died in the hospital insane. His last letters home were insane ravings signed "Jesus Christ." ... more

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Track Name: Fall Town
sighing pines whispered scripture loud enough to ease your mind and it almost worked
distant fires sent up clouds of smoke and burned your father’s portrait and treasured rites

eunice every riverbend tells me how you longed to die
and still flows with the memory of your mother’s lullabies surrounding you
what could you do

christian life earns the right to have a house not made with hands in the crimson snow
scarlet plumes dancing through the dawn but god will be here soon and the water’s warm
Track Name: Beverly
i drove two hours to get to beverly
to see art school girls who can’t draw and watch too much tv

when you heard my voice through ergot rye
my protestant brain and i
every flower crown dissolved to dust
god hates us

your blue and green contaminate my red
your fear of taxidermy is stuffed inside my head

when you said you hated rothko’s art
i ran right into your arms
and though i figured out you’re not that smart
i like you for who you are

you played imagine dragons on your roommate’s tv
but i was nice about it cause you were nice to me
and at your house i found out that i prefer your mom
she’s more well read and she likes me and you just want me gone
Track Name: Audrey Horne/Hester Prynne
reverends writhing in an ergot rye field
courtesy of cromwell’s reign through the summer of love and the love of pain
stone walls and indian raids forever
swallows carry clapboards miles to their autumn nest
in a witch’s chest

a stained glass window of calvin in vibrant reds
his neck goes limp and he falls dead
all my sickle cells conspire to keep me still
a silent sermon on christian hill

reverends living on the edge of empire
living with the left brain plague so they need caffeine so they feel okay
reverends haunting all the roads to guilford
driving by the black prince grave, deacon baker’s ghost, only browns and grays

a stained glass window of calvin in vibrant reds
his neck goes limp and he falls dead
still a thousand men weren’t able to figure out
you bathe in comfort, you drown in doubt

i walked past my old house and for a moment i thought that if i walked inside it would still be 1995