The Prescribed EP 1

by The Prescribed




released July 15, 2016

The Prescribed is:

Shane Malone – Vocals/Guitar
Jake Styles – Guitar
Dustin Stasiuk – Bass
Josh Nickerson – Drums

Recorded and mixed by Tyson Travnik @ Prarie Fire Events and Two Bodies of Water, Alberta Canada
Mastered by Jason Livermore @ The Blasting Room, Colorado USA

© Copyright 2016 The Prescribed



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The Prescribed Alberta

An alternative rock quartet hailing from Camrose, Alberta. The Prescribed takes the emotional sounds of bands like Jimmy Eat World and Brand New and adds a progressive tilt. Complex chord progressions and unique song structures enrich the heavy hearted lyrics to create something new.

Shane Malone - Vocals/Guitar
Jake Styles - Guitar
Dustin Stasiuk - Bass
Josh Nickerson - Drums
... more

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Track Name: Tiny Goth III
It's well past time I learned to knit my ribs back into a reasonable shape. Reasonable enough for the heart and lungs to find a comfortable place to lay, decayed beyond all recognition. It is far too late to vow to no longer medicate. Vow instead to obsess and then to hate, cyclically. My intentions much too vague to substantiate. I am betrayed by the teeth I clench until they break. Waylaid, my insides are churning. Smile to sigh. It's just an oath that's ratified. The spring's wing's brush between your thighs. It's the rose-dots on the i's of adoration's double suicide. We are the shit you're ankle deep in. We are the aftermath of secrets you've been keeping. I want to hate you. Every kiss is a spider bite. You're still the only song I'll ever write, on a loop repeatedly. You better keep quiet, let me frame the agony. Maybe we could break today, the half-choked monotony. The wet dream to which I cling. The way you lead me on. The way that you don't love me back. Backwash swallowed. The knife buried in my gut is medicinal. Heartful hollow. Being with you is like being alone. Bottle baby, drink yourself sick. I can't stand the runaround. The sutures are tearing. The words I can't take back. String me along. I can't sing these songs. It goes on and on and never decays.
Track Name: :@
The bruises and the aftertaste. The promise I'm breaking. I wish I could go to sleep but I'm fucking shaking. You always feel so cold. Replacing love with arson I burned down the house to purge the moths and mold. You're always so fucking cold. I deserve this. These fake, hollow embraces. You can't fall out of love with him. Clench your cold fists, I'll warm them regardless until you forbid it. A sour touch, touched a touch too much. Disturb me so I don't have to think about the words. My lungs hurt, but I can smoke and I can scream until my enablers realize that I'm not paying for the drugs. Trying to chip away at love. This city will have you dead. For now, alive, we huddle ache and pray. Carve our names in stone. Build us in rhyme. Embrace the suffered cold, torn up inside. You don't care it's ending, you just care you broke it in the first place.
Track Name: Lucy
Lucy didn't say she wouldn't run away. She never said that it wasn't temporary. A clarified end, but we can still be friends. I'll never see her again. Your moon eyes wide as I apologize for taking up the time you could have spent ending your life or mine. Sick to the touch. How long have they whispered within your gut? How long have you listened? The voice signals an end to the songs we played. The charade. This dull and rusted blade we scraped against our necks all night and day. Eviscerating, gouging self portraits in your frame. Envious of the attention, I do the same. In a blink our eyes roll back in our heads into the gaze of someone else with whom we could decay. Lie down, blister and flay. This storm will not abide until it's had its say. The blood it left to swoon upon the page. It remained a lie on the day we died, these counterfeit plans for February. Amputate the thought of this cherished rot, you can't tie a tourniquet in a lover's knot. Lucy never said that she'd watch us play dead, she never visits the mortuary. She couldn't stand the smell of this sour hell she never realized was voluntary. These weighted words shortening every breath. Second best. You're standing on my chest confessing he's the only one with whom you're committed to undress. Your heart's been repossessed.