Collected

by Locktender

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BUY CD: locktender.storenvy.com/products/984108-collected

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This CD/Tape will collect songs from our first three upcoming vinyl splits:

'Visions of the Daughters of Albion' from our split 10" with Brighter Arrows
'The Strangest Secret' from our split 7" with Cassilis
'The White Dam' will be featured on our 4-way split 12" with Oaken, Coma Regalia & Wounded Knee

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released 28 March 2012

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about

Locktender Cleveland, Ohio

After taking a two year hiatus to pursue family/travel/school/work, the members of “Men As Trees” have relocated and reformed as Locktender in Cleveland, OH. Locktender is a concept focused hardcore band concentrating on artists and their works interpreted through music, lyrics & art. Every album is an artist, every song is a different work. ... more

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Track Name: Visions of the Daughters of Albion
I lovèd Theotormon,
And I was not ashamèd;
I trembled in my virgin fears
And I hid in Leutha’s vale!

I pluckèd Leutha’s flower,
And I rose up from the vale;
But the terrible thunders tore
My virgin mantle in twain.

With thine hand, wrench forth with force, and pull my flowers. By virtue of Leutha, let desire be hers- unencumbered. A woman, bare, her soul as just. Laid forth, strong, vulnerable. She lays vulnerable. With love…

Bromion rent her with his thunders; on his stormy bed lay the faint maid, and her woes appall’d his thunders hoarse.

Just as lust wears itself thin, grief and disgust emerge. Such as this fair maiden is, She remains pure no more.

The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs.

At the edge of the cave sits a man, all alone by his own accord. he weeps.

Theotormon sits on his self-righteous throne, looking down on the woman that he once called Oothoon, refusing her help, ignoring her cries, compiling his own.

She tries to call out, but her voice becomes mute she turns to her love, but is met frigidly. His grief becomes hers, and hers voided be. Repent.

She prays to her god at the foot of her love “forgive what i’ve done, forgive what’s become of my chaste, and send forth your justice to purge all of my sins.”

“I call with holy voice! Kings of the sounding air, Rend away this defilèd bosom so that I may reflect.”

And the eagles prey upon her flesh; rending forth.

His smiles of approval in himself, not for me
my sighs, my pleas, trapped by my sexuality. From birth until death, we creatures young and old desire to be free as nature intended it be.

Why does he weep? if not for me?
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs

Why do I weep? if not for me?
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs
Track Name: The Strangest Secret
“I’d like you tell you about the strangest secret in the world. Some years ago, the late Nobel prize-winning Dr. Albert Schweitzer was being interviewed in London and the reporter asked him, “Doctor, what’s wrong with men today?” The great doctor was silent a moment, and then he said, “Men simply don’t think.”
It’s about this that I want to talk with you.”

Imagine a field devoid, providing to no one the fruits of its toil or the shipyard filled to the brim with its fleet, yet no one there to captain them. Wandering aimlessly we only endure the same fate that we make. We welcome change, yet spurn it away when it becomes too much for us.

A lion will rear its kingly head because that’s the only role it knows. But why then does man insist to lay waste to a guiltless freedom that binds its soul?

A good farmer must tend earnestly within the soil, starting simple from the ground up.
A good captain must guide the best way for the ship to endure the trip to its destined port.

The people who get on in this world
are the people who get up and look for
the circumstances they want, and if they can’t find them, make them.

Build – Work – Dream – Create
Be of Service

Take from my hand, the pen, and write down your own story with it.

“We become what we think about. Now let me say that again: We become what we think about.”
Track Name: The White Dam
Skies are wrought with storms of the soot, and sweat, and pain; The wrath of industry. Look outwards…See them build. Footprints across the sky; crying foul poisoned tears. Rein nature to nurture. Onus Refuge.

…and that’s the way things go; build world that thrives in bleak estates and common causes. We have learned to live in a house ransacked and hollow. A joy that can quickly turn the curse. The white walls we build today become our gray Bastille tomorrow. Nous comprenons la Nature en lui résistant. Resist it. Resist.

With coal as dark as night, we harness the power of the sun and use it to blacken out the sky.

To secure their wealth they fall in line with plundered lives, with fettered arms, and shackled legs and broken spines. As crimes bereft of standards gain, they’re not the worst that man has made.

We gorge on slavery; our greatest import.
Malignant pride soils what was built in modesty.

Lowering black clouds press down naked shoulders. Oceans crossed for this. Build, breed, break, seethe, this is what it feels like to dream, dream, dream.

Oh Say, can you see, can you see that there is no American Dream. We can do better than this.