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Black Dogs

by Boys Night Out

supported by
Brendan Pinand
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Brendan Pinand That eerie bridge reminds me why I love Boys Night Out. Feels Favorite track: Obsequiarch.
Ryan J.P.
Ryan J.P. thumbnail
Ryan J.P. Trainwreck is one of my favourite albums of all time. Then, to me, they lost something with the self-titled album, it was enjoyable, but forgettable.
Had no idea what to expect so long since their last release, but this is a good EP.
Aaron Bilbrey
Aaron Bilbrey thumbnail
Aaron Bilbrey It's everything I wanted and more. I was turned on to you guys around 2006 so when you called it quits, I was heartbroken. Always wondered if you would return with something new someday; and this EP is the absolute best follow-up you could've made. Arguably as good as Trainwreck and that's in my top 5. This is seriously perfect.
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credits

released July 8, 2016

Ben Arseneau - Drums
Dave Costa - Bass
Jeff Davis - Guitar/Vocals
C. Charles Lovat-Fraser: Vocals

Produced, engineered and mixed by Derek Hoffman @ Fox Sounds
Mastered by Alan Douches @ West West Side Music
Layout and design by Matthew Hay for Forefathers Group & Cody James Finney

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Track Name: Of Waves
A sullen tide caressed the shore. The waterline is my nightly guide to the horrifying other side where shadows sigh and sing along to a lullaby to cull and bind you and I. Loaded; they beg for more as you and I, we rowed the oars. Straight down, the ocean floor beckoned like an open door. I cry out to all of you; “Feel me here. I feel you, too. I feel all of you.”
Will we grow together now? Will they lash out? 
“We'll just drown together?”
“No...this is suicide.”
The hull, it lies parallel to Hell. Inside; unsightly lies and the horrifying other side. With shallow sighs, we sing along to the lullaby to cull and bind you and I.
Loaded; they beg for more as you and I, we rowed the oars. Straight down, the ocean floor beckoned like an open door. I cry out to all of you; “Feel me here…I feel you, too. I feel all of you.”
As we grow together now…as we all lash out.
As we drown together now…this is suicide.
We are of waves. The waxing. The tidal slaves.
We are of waves. The waning. The tidal slaves.
Track Name: Carried Away
Their cocaine hearts are about to blow. The palpitation party is bumpin' down the line. It's a hard-lived life housed in highs and lows. A perfect powdered promise with premise undefined. An addicts lie leaves a longing hole where pleading leads to bleeding out. Tongue tied to the trembling trope of misleading and appealing drought.
Somewhere washed out and carried away. Carried away; carrying down. 
Wails weep out of their waifish forms while the foxes in the henhouse have trouble on the mind. Sighs seep out like a sheepish song. A misleading and appealing drought.
Somewhere washed out and carried away. Carried away; carrying down to the awesome awfulness of silence where their sighs seep out. Their sighs seep out.
Track Name: Obsequiarch
"Go on ahead,” she said. “Love will meet you there. Be steadfast, swift, safe and self-assured." “So long,” She said,
and set it all adrift. I swear, bad luck and longing are a lonely pair whose hollow little white lies light the room.
Skin muscle and bone all die on their own. Enter beating heart to send blood to the source as veins steady the course. It’s an Obsequiarch leading a march of cold, cowardly cells. “Tell nobody else about the story arc.” Sigh...say goodnight...be nearby.
Beyond the bed, I leapt, fled and found myself untethered. Attempts to resuscitate were met with a deafening tone. Wait. Recalibrate. Wait. Nothing. Wait. Stop. It’s the only way. Hollow little white lies lined the room. “It’s too soon.”
Oh, the horror…
At night-time stars align and the tide rolls out to sea. I'm barely alive. At night-time I'm colour-blind, so I don't know where I've been or how I survived. The night-time drank me dry. Now I'm drowning but I've never felt so alive. It's night-time all the time at the bottom where the dead lay but I am alive.
It’ll come for you. Oh, the horror when it comes for you.
Track Name: Deadman Songs
These hands are mine. Waving means I’m alive…that’s the signal. Thieves, snakes and I are the same thing. We tow the line while lives are taken.
Bottles high, singing dead man songs like, "Cure this coma craving calmly coming on." Say goodnight and let those black dogs run. We're wild like forest fires howling at the dawn.
We take the timid in our jaws. Violent gnashing takes us over. We're the worst parts. Our slakeless thirst for leaving scars starves our hearts of basic feeling. We're the worst parts.
Bottles high, singing dead man songs.
Wheezing; breathing so hard. You've been so blind. We feel so right. 
We're wild like forest fires howling at the dawn. We’re wild like forest fires.
Track Name: Lust Phenomenon
The sunny summer siren songs summon the slumbering sloths. Something is wrong. Sound the alarm! They’re gathering their forces. Patios and porches thick with smoke, hormones and whores of both sexes bloat and become swollen. The young libertines run in desperate droves; all desperate hope and desperate loathing.
It’s a lust phenomenon, broadened far beyond honest confidants lost in opulence.
It’s over. Hungover, hollow and half alive.
Beyond the shame it’s not so bad. Shower it off. It’s never enough. Cover the loss of self respect with drugs and booze and choosing someone new to fuck. They’re waiting wasted all weekend…weathering all manner of storm just to become somebody’s source of heat between their sullied sheets.
It’s a lust phenomenon lost in opulence.
Wake up alone when it’s over. This is love. This is the end.
Track Name: Prayed All Wrong
Some bizarre solace comes from a life spent living with the odd promise of a God who’s waiting for us all; the hordes of small minded little zealots.
Deep down there's a hard-fought feeling that your heart's just giving in. Dreams shrouded in a life-long dealing with a God who's not listening when it all goes down. 
When it goes down, say your prayers; sing along in that too-true hymnal voice. Faith is where nothing's wrong if you never make a choice. When the warmth washes o'er you on that woeful final day, if you're wrong, you're wrong…and you'll never have to feel it.
When it goes down - if you wait too long - your heart will detonate and lay you down a ghost who can't relate to anyone anymore. It's just not the same. You've prayed all wrong to a God who just can't relate to anyone anymore. It's just not the same. You’ve prayed all wrong to a God who just can’t relate. You’ve prayed all wrong.