Everything Takes Forever

by Future Envy

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The brief re-emergence in of Liam, the prodigal son, in Hobart and the permanent return of the unstoppable force that is Matt Cocks from the north-west in the spring of 2014 was seen by me (Dale) at least, as a sign, and more than enough reason to start jamming some hardcore. We wrote a couple of songs, threw a bass at Richie, which luckily he caught, and played our first show to punters not too long after that. By December we were dead, but like zombies we re-awoke in January, shook off the dirt, and ran the last electric shivers down the throats of microphones one last time to produce this, the swan song of a group who continue to look at what is still to come with a lust and fire that cannot be sated.
Everything takes forever, but in this, we captured moments, and they are now your moments to re-live.


released July 21, 2015

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Nic White. (He threw in some backing vocals too.)
Matt Cocks-drums, percussion, maracas, harmonica, singing bowls, vocals
Liam White-guitars, thumb piano, singing bowls, vocals
Richie Cuskelly-bass, singing bowls, vocals
Dale Evans-vocals, singing bowls
Chris Ryan-vocals



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Future Envy Hobart, Australia

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Track Name: Vampiric Tendencies
Jesus tried to save the world, got hung up on a cross, but his death, if it even happened, meant four fifths of fuck all.
Hang yourself high, crucified on stars.
Keep refusing to learn the lessons from your past.
You may think it connects you, makes you part of something.
But your cross, it makes you no-one's saviour, your cross makes you a racist dick.
You won't see them twinkle when the rock's rolled over the entrance, and your national identity doesn't even exist.
Your crosses all disgust me.
Track Name: Knights of Love
I no longer own any clocks with hands, but I still feel them there in quiet moments; ghost-like tendrils wrapped around my neck, holding my arms and legs pinned down.
Idle hands do the devil's work. But time's hands can make it impossible to even do that.
You're watching the minutes tick by at your shitty job, and though these days I like mine, I still feel your pain. There's a lot to be said for packing it in, stick your thumb out, eat from bins, scam some dosh from Centrelink, there's no better time to quit.
Put the wrists of time in hand-cuffs.
What I do for a living is live, and I still think it's cool to read Crimethinc.
Track Name: We May Never Be Browncoats
I'll be old and infirm before our ship's ready, alive for the space race, but not the rewards.
On a ride to Earth-that-was that won't stop. Pedal pressed to the metal, no way off.
We've got copies of Rocket to Russia, but no rockets of our own. But the little kid inside me still wants to see the moon.
Was it too quick or too slow? The progress scares but I want to go.
I'm a troglodytal green-eyed monster. A hypocrite with future envy.
Track Name: Not to be Taken
What we wallow in or ignore could be marked, evermore, not as fault lines but as no through roads. Letting go of even our most dismal memories is letting go of what we are.
"What's the word for the exact moment you realise you forgot what it's like to have sex with someone you loved?" She asked. And I don't know the word, only that the time for it has passed. Our pasts are ourselves, but ourselves don't last, so hold on. Hold on. Don't let what we've learnt be gone. Don't let go of the best, don't let go of the hurt. To do so completely would just be the worst.
Track Name: Greylead Conversations
The words come easy when life comes hard. Act hard, love hard, hard love, hard drugs.
"And I knew then that I had to stop," he said, and we all knew the words left unvoiced.
"It was my dream, my whole life, or at least I thought it was. But real writers don't stop just 'cause they're not sad."
As she tells me of pages of times unpublished we compare old notes on both truths.
Black coffees we never used to drink, and the words we use to describe the words we never used to have trouble laying down with a pen.
But both glad we never have to live them again.
If a picture's worth a thousand words, these smiles are worth more than anything we've ever written.
Track Name: Take, Take, Take
There's no sing-along anthems, so the words can't ring false. Talk is cheap, singing a downright fucking bargain. Pay at the door, or don't, but if you don't then don't expect much back.
If I had a cent for every time we'd played this riff, I'd nearly have a buck by now. I could give it back to a band that believed in the words written on the lyric sheet you got at the door on your way out.
This is the way in to a life that's worth living. An over-driven soundtrack to giving something back.
Destroy what destroys you, but support what supports you too, don't take the easy way out. You can talk about what's wrong with the world all you fucking want, and objection doesn't mean that you have to be alone, you don't have to be alone.
Track Name: Here, Then Gone
Here, then gone.
These are the fleeting moments that last lifetimes, the Reaganomics of emotion, the trickle down effect. But on top of the trickle the old cycle's back, and the trickle's a snowball as well as a tap.
It's hard to remember when the immediacy is past, but hard to forget when the chips are all down.
You can be a welfare system.
Hug with conviction, engage, talk, love. What's asked for is needed, but you should also ask.
We are all the back-up system.
Track Name: Crowded Face
From misunderstood motives, the same old story. Heading for an endgame (that's) self-explodetory. Fear-mongering intentions rot our brains.
The wood's cross-checked, screws in place, eyes straight forward, crowd to face. Make the justification speech without realising there's a job you can't finish; there's a hand you can't reach.
Shot yourself in the foot, there's an arm left feebly swinging, one hand already nailed up, one on the trigger.
Track Name: Oooh, the Colours
Even rose coloured glasses can't make this look pretty, they just darken the sky blood red. Closing in, closing in. Dark clouds of political spin.
An Elephant never forgets, but the Elephant in the room is forgotten by the election, like that statement by Abetz on abortion, or that fricken awesome budget.
Leave your rose coloured glasses on, but take a good hard look around.
Never forget.
This picture ain't pretty.
Track Name: Something About Dinosaurs
Wandering Hell Creek, quadrupedal sprawl. Grazing on the low growth, knocking taller plants with horns.
Today has been a good day, I dodged Tyranosaurs, and a strapping, strong Triceri admired my bones.
Today has been a good day.
Rock falls through sun rays.
Collision, last days.
Ash looms as sun fades.
Night falls as cold grey.
Last steps thunder out.
Last food beyond doubt.
K-pg extinction, and my time is finished.