Black Money

by Cellarghost

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first single from In the Whiteout


Oh the etiquette of growing cold!
Wooden idols of a time where we kept things close and dear,
Faraway from here,
Lit them on fire,
They said it made us weak,
What of the vultures
who terrify me more than I would ever let on in front of you?
They feast on our egos, live in id and always hold us back.
Absent hallways filled with noise still eating at my will.
Pay no mind to men in suits who live under your bed.
You say you hear them typing on their adding machines.
Always counting, always watching.
Put the car into reverse, fall asleep,
and dream of driving off into the sun again.
It's only in the movies where it ends,
It just goes on and on.
Will we ever leave this chemically altered loveless town?
Has any better been found?
We're dragging our heels,
And smoking darts,
We're wasted in the sun.
If I'm dreaming, never wake me.
Company of friends.
Leave the ocean for the mountains,
Oil in the sand.
If I had the option, I would stay here
with you.
Walking through the halls of denial,
Cellophane the walls and bathe in black money.


released April 19, 2016

performed by Cellarghost

recorded by Evan Hansen and Brad Perry at The Recordery

mastered by Corey Bonnevie


all rights reserved



Cellarghost Fredericton, New Brunswick

Sombre post-punk from Fredericton, NB.

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