Nuclear Summer
Youngblood Brass Band Lyrics

From the left shoulder of a nation; from skies lacking the mechanisms of death; from the burdened bellies of wrought iron angels we come, we drop. Were bombs
We come as bombs from the left shoulder of a nation, from the skies that do not yet have the machinery for death, and from the bellies of iron angels. Our mission is to destroy.

And were in, hordes of us scraping over the walls
We are here and ready to take over, swarming over walls and obstacles.

There is no darkness so deep that we cannot paint it present.
There is nothing too dark or difficult for us to face and overcome.

There is no cause so bleak that we will bail in vain.
We will never give up on a bleak or hopeless cause.

We are the brain's army, dispatched in vein and we c-c-course
We are the army of the brain, sent out on a mission without purpose and running through whatever obstacles come our way.

Dead eyes run through. Ink and pigment splattered on barren ground.
We run through with lifeless eyes, leaving splatters of ink and pigment on barren land as we go.

Swords aloft. Screaming battle cries in all tongues lost.
We raise our swords and scream battle cries in lost languages.

The old blood boiling over timeless ideals.
The old blood is boiling over timeless ideals, ready to take action.

We are staining every soul present enough to look up.
We are leaving our mark on every person present and paying attention.

Go home scarred and tattoo the sound all over your body
Leave here with scars and markings representing the sound and sensation of this experience.

For these sun-dipped blades herald brighter spirits coming
These blades, touched by the sun, symbolize the arrival of brighter spirits.

And that gray lump you call a head is sliced clean off.
Your misguided thoughts are being cut off and replaced.

Once a benevolent president tears open your cheek
When a previously benevolent leader turns against you and causes harm, leaving you vulnerable.

A tongue will come flopping out.
The truth will come out and be exposed.

It will lay on the ground licking slush off our frozen streets.
The truth will be exposed and will be present and everywhere, like slush on frozen streets.

Then it will die. Your love curdled already beside.
And just as quickly, the truth will die and your love will turn sour.

I'll kiss your hand, but you won't see the smirk beneath my lowered eyes.
I'll kiss your hand, but there is hidden disdain behind my lowered gaze.

Nothing can get wise: all of my children are carrying knives.
No one can outsmart us, because we are all carrying weapons and ready to fight.

More pressure more fire more peace more vibe. More people more free more heat more live. More voice more feet more song more rise. More echo more cloud more test more sky. No quarter no vote no power no vice. No king no vision no womb no right. More signal more move more center more light. More pressure more fire more peace more vibe
We want more pressure, more passion, more peace, and more energy. More people should be free to express themselves and bring heat to life. We need more voices, more movement, more songs, and more upliftment. Keep pushing for more progress and testing the limits of the sky. We reject hierarchy, voting, and power imbalances that stop us from moving forward. We don't need a king or a certain vision to succeed. We support signals, movement, centering, and light. We just want a world with more peace and more vibe.

How about a little warhead in your abdomen? Ooh! How about a stain? How about armada is to javelin what battle is to game? Oh inverted world I'm thinking Nobel Prize, because the marriage of pre-emption and commercethat was mine.
Why not experience a little bit of the warhead in your stomach? How about a little bit of chaos or destruction? Imagine an armada set against a single javelin like a game. This twisted world is so backwards that the artist is even considering the Nobel prize for combining preemptive war and commerce.

I prefer a phallus to a circle every time. I prefer to make a beat that wipes a village from the map. I prefer a fallen payload when it's dancing on your lap.
The artist is perverse and enjoys creating music that is destructive enough to wipe a village off a map. He prefers phallic shapes over circles and enjoys visualizing a fallen payload, metaphorically meaning a missile or bomb, dancing on someone's lap.

Are you perverts having fun yet? it all comes out gray and matters less with each sunset.
The artist is addressing other perverse individuals, asking if they are enjoying themselves. However, in the end, everything will be gray and meaningless as time passes.

Here come a bomb. The sound above language. The sound off-kilter with casualties pending. The patented death.
A bomb is about to be launched, bringing a sound that transcends language, and causing potential casualties. This sound and its destruction is something that is unique to this speaker and his mission.

The action-packed ending. It's not sarcasm. Were training eyes. Hands where we can see them. ass in the sky. Asinine lies for assassins in need of motives for making that human ink bleed. Champions, fly.
This violent and intense ending is not a sarcastic joke, but rather a real call to action. The artist is searching for dishonest assassins who hold motive in committing murder. He is looking for victorious champions to rise up and finish this mission.

Calling all living. Affirming all dreams Screaming all hell. As real as it seems. Rescind those explosions. Get up off toes.
The singer is rallying all living individuals and giving support to their dreams. He is screaming with all of his energy to get everyone's attention. He is calling for an end to the explosions and for everyone to stand up and take action.

Kids are at attention tending towards prose. Smolder at shows, shoulder all comers. Dirty old bushmen your season is waning.
Everyone is paying attention and listening to the message of this mission. The kids are taking the message to heart and are ready to take action. The singer is asking everyone to come and show their support. The season of the bushmen, or corrupt and harmful leaders/authorities, is coming to an end.

Sorry about peace big fuckin' bummer. Ignite a new kind of soul fusing father and mother.
The singer sarcastically apologizes for the idea of peace, believing that it is a waste of time. He believes that a new type of person with a fine balance of both masculinity and femininity needs to come forth to ignite some sort of change.

Here come the heat. nuclear summer. More pressure more fire more peace more vibe. More people more free more heat more live. More voice more feet more song more rise. More echo more cloud more test more sky. No quarter no vote no power no vice. No king no vision no womb no right. More signal more move more center more light. More pressure more fire more peace more vibe. More pressure more fire more peace more vibe. More! x13
Here comes the intense heat of the nuclear summer. No matter what, there needs to be more pressure, more passion, more peace, and more vibe. More people should find their freedom and live with more heat. Everyone needs to express themselves more and take action to rise higher. We need more echoes, clouds, and tests that go beyond the sky. We reject hierarchy, voting, and power imbalances that stop progress. We don't need a king or a certain vision to bring about change. We support signals, movement, centering, and light. We just want the world to have more peace and more vibe.