Broken Promises - Joy/Disaster



     
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Broken Promises Lyrics


So I've blown it all on cures for pain and I've learned to regret the choices I've made. I want
to stay awake for days until the sunlight washes over my face. Forgive, forget, all of our broken
promises, we run to lose it all. These days are darker and they draw me in. I left a trail, but
no one missed me. In the end I'll blend in with a shade I've been, but where should I begin, if I
want to learn to forgive? I felt a chill in the air and you turned as I said your name. A glance
turned to stare and you hardly knew my face, a blank page, an empty safe, things will never be
the same.

Enjoy the lyrics !!!
Joy Disaster starts to report that the 80's are not dead, that there remains of these books something to sustain. But the French trio, experienced, star his roots of this dark Post-Punk, yesterday, the tribalism of Joy Division, today the Interpol more swaying melodies (" Falling Angel" or "Hang Around", sound of the low ones for nets of guitars). This six inaugural titles CD brings back thus on the rug, with freshness, the sources of an inspiration definitely very in fashion these three last years, but of which the fortunes themselves various facts to the taste of the gone out of younger groups than Gang Of Four, less crazy than Killing Joke. Joy Disaster belongs, somewhere, to this revival; but it contains – in contrast to number of other formations of this kind - something precious, like a promise. Even if the combo has not the slice of Joy Division (" Black old Thief", hypnotic anyway) or the heroism of the first Ikon, we are far to think that this cure will maybe coming soon. There is a source to breadth projections, and that the some noisy sound that improves these litanies (the introduction of the final one "Human Robots") can well to sign the return of some demons. There is well here, it is sure, a small flame that does not shake, that nests itself to the hollow one of these acids guitars, of these turns of which despair perspires without falling in the game of excessiveness. Not any higher bid, never: beautiful emotion that the one of a "Senseless Tales" (one of the titles of which the guitars motives do the more reference to the gothic one of first generation, without rejoining his theatrical pose); beautiful urgency also than the one of the rhythmic d' "Artemis" and of these grades of guitars that insist, support there where that does poorly. Writing by Emmanüel for (www.obskure.com) (France)
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Joy/Disaster