Carry On, Caulfield

by Nowherebound



"Carry On, Caulfield - N.B. Five & 1/2" is a collection of acoustic demos and b-sides from Nowherebound's fifth album "Hearts & Arrows". Recorded in Nowherebound bassist Clint Baker's studio, this six song offering is reminiscent of early Nowherebound recordings but with more clarity and a higher caliber of production. While some of the tracks may be originally recorded as demos, they stand alone on their own and offer a depth and additional aspects to the final imaginings. There are four acoustic versions of songs released on "Hearts & Arrows" ("Carry On", "78702", "Burnt Out Stars", and "Nothing But Good To You") as well as two tunes that did not make the final album release ("Battle for the Republic" and "18 Countries").


released August 17, 2016

Nowherebound is:
Chris Klinck - Vocals
Natchet Taylor - Guitars, Harmonica, Vocals
Dylan Karn - Guitars, Vocals
Clint Baker - Bass, Vocals
Rob Williamson - Drums

All songs written by Nowherebound
Produced by Nowherebound

Engineered, mixed, and mastered by Clint Baker at Heartbrake Studios.

Album Artwork and Design by Chris Klinck at CK Graphics.



all rights reserved


Nowherebound Austin, Texas

Musical magnets for each other, this punk rock band ignited in 2010. They sing to you all over the world but always return home to their roots in Austin, Texas. Featuring members of Born To Lose and New Disaster, Nowherebound integrates traditional punk with rock and roll while weaving in threads of gritty country and folk. Featuring members of Born To Lose and New Disaster, ... more

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Track Name: Battle For The Republic
Battle for the Republic

So take your place...history waits for no one, and its ushers, all, are showing age

Avert your gaze...if you just came here to watch, well, I'm afraid you're a few sins too late

Bathe the pacifist in kerosene
Then fire up the war machine
Diplomacy's for cowards,
And reason’s, circumspect.

And juris isn't prudent for
Muhammad's children anymore
The bill of rights seems high,
So we'll just walk the fucking check.

So set the stage...for dunce-capped politicians, come to save us all with vitriol and hate.

And we won’t break…we’re skilled in forced attrition, for all you antagonists of state

And a Congress of obstructionists
Watch progress die of loneliness.
And to her heirs it's self apparent
We're inheriting the wind

Build walls to keep the bigot safe
And laws to bridge our church and state
As we all sing Hallelujah
Lady Liberty, amen.

So build your Walls of Jericho,
Let eagles scare away the crows,
From amber waves of grain,
From sea to shining sea.

And rifles utter thunderous sounds
As seven order three more rounds
At the wake of one more martyred
At the hand of you and me.
Track Name: Carry On (Acoustic)
Carry On

To you Devils born of whiskey,
To you angels left to watch
Well the genie left the bottle,
And tonight he's pouring scotch
He'll grant a wish for a few dollars,
A few for a few more,
You won't wish alone
To you cynics born of romance,
Hiding from your gods,
Wearing talismans of past sins,
Trying to navigate the fog,
Just follow pieces of your broken hearts
To these busted barstools,
I'll take you home
Carry on, carry on, carry on...
From the top of the bottle,
Till the end of the song,
If you don't have the words,
You don't have to sing along,
Just carry on.
To you Caesar's of the days
Who fill a stein each night,
To you Philistines who ponder
If this whiskey's worth the fight?
But, “Whatever doesn't kill you…”
Were Neitzsche’s last words
On his way to fly
To you Kerouacs and travelers
Sipping pints of wanderlust,
To the last of you Mohicans
Wearing studs now wearing rust,
Let's raise a glass up, in remembrance
Of our 'Death or Glory' days, and
Sal Paradise
So Carry on, Carry on, Carry on
We'll turn up the volume
Once the fat lady's gone
She'll sing her tired tune,
Then we'll sing a few more songs
Just carry on.
Leave the graveyards to the sailors,
Leave the heavens to the saints,
Leave the haunting to the ghosts of all the ones that got away,
And all you Caulfield’s still beholden
To the rye fields and the fakes,
Please Carry on…
Track Name: 78702 (Acoustic)

Remember Clarksville? In 1928,
Austin mapped a “section” for minorities to concentrate.
And in Wheatsville, rich men saw dollar bills,
And promptly bought into a plan to steal up all the real estate.
And all the highways ripped right through,
Communities and neighborhoods,
The ISD closed down the schools.
If you want an education then you’ll have to move.
Hey you, 78702!
They pushed me to the Eastside,
When they took away my home.
Hey you, 78702!
By making my own property impossible to own.
Now down on Cesar Chavez, way up to MLK
Piñata stores are leveled, and culture cleared away.
Rich boys with daddy’s fortune, line up to stake their claim
This city’s segregated, especially today.
It’s unaffordable and they fucking know this.
That’s the way they wage their war… and get away with it.
…And all our houses, torn down for mixed use.
And you won’t give a fuck, until they come to fix you.
Hey you, 78702!
The Eastside of this motherfucking city is my home.
Hey you, 78702!
They’re trying to push us out but there ain’t no motherfucking place to go.
Track Name: Burnt Out Stars (Acoustic)
Burnt Out Stars

They all say she’s shy and quiet,
But she’s screaming from inside…
Still shackled to those memories sewn from all the ties that bind
And that sweet scent of her sentiment is slowly turning sour
And her poor heart just keeps crumbling, one more piece to be devoured

And those stars keep burnin’ out…with every wish spewed from her mouth
And her child-like inner beauty hides the scars you’ll never see…
She sings in whispers while the world falls back to sleep.

As tailor to her failures, she’s stitching up a storm
Her future freshly sutured, as she sheds the past she’d worn
She’ll just wait for one more Romeo to sweep her off her feet
Though deep down, she just knows he’ll be another she won’t keep

Her reflection’s stare keeps hardening,
But she doesn’t care to mind
The dice are getting loaded with the boys with lying eyes
But her beaten heart keeps ticking,
Like the clock keeps wasting time on goodbyes
Track Name: Nothing But Good To You (Acoustic)
Nothing But Good To You

Well I gave my heart to you, then you beat it black and blue. 
When I’ve been nothing but good to you. 
Well, thank the gods it’s over, couldn’t carry on much longer, 
Trying to keep it all from dying, stem the bleeding, stop the heart, 
Tired of waking up in panicked fits, to fix it all and can it be? 
I held it all together just to watch it fall apart. 
I zealously made love the god I prayed to, 
And jealousy and heresy betrayed you, 
I’d open up the hymnal and then fall out of the pew, 
When you wouldn’t even share your point of view. 
You took my love and with a “thanks” you treat me like you do 
When I’ve been nothing but good to you. 
Tired of waking in the middle, tired of listening to a liar, 
Tired of dealing with the bullshit after putting out the fires, 
Tired of being sold your healing and your “wildness” and your magic, 
And your endless love that ended about the time the next thing came. 
But it’s not from lack of trying that we made it here. 
And if that needs clarifying let me make it clear, 
If it wasn’t for your lying, then my love that was undying, 
Wouldn’t be buried and gone within the year. 
Well a perfect chord’s a triad, but what if it falls out of tune? 
I’ve been nothing but good to you. 
Well you hid your love inside a heart I couldn’t break into, 
I’ve been nothing but good to you. 
But it’s not from lack of trying that we made it here. 
And if that needs clarifying let me make it clear, 
If it wasn’t for your lying, then my love that was couldn’t die, 
would still be alive and well saying “no hard feelings”... 
But my last memory of us was of our last rendezvous 
So I’ll have nothing to do with you. 
When I gave you all my heart and then you slapped it black and blue, 
When I’ve been nothing but good to you. 
Track Name: 18 Countries (Demo)
18 Countries

Well I’ve played in eighteen countries,
but my teeth are fucking rotten.
In part for lack of dental care,
and in part from chewing coffins.
So sit on down, the drinks are steep,
the night is young, but your pocket’s deep,
I’ve got a hundred worn out stories you can keep

Well, I’m a friendly lunger, I ain’t that tough,
If my spirit flew,
It landed rough,
But I can still throw a hand or two
If you need me to
Like one night back in Germany,
This guy had pushed and I was me,
And I’d had enough in any language,
So I snapped

And a bouncer came to throw him out,
But his courtesy was met with shouts
From a slightly damaged German,
Who found and lost his nerve
Then Trevor tried to talk him out
I burned a smoke to calm back down
But a wiseman couldn’t save the man from

So we sent him home, a little worse for wear,
And the barroom cheered for clearer air,
Sent toasts to old St Pauli,
for the soccer and the beer.
And we sang the Roger’s battle cry
Then packed the van, and said goodbye,
I can still here them all singing, singing to themselves

And we fought, and crawled, and dreamed, and dug
And danced, and sang to those we loved
While we waltzed with sweet Matilda
in the sun
Well, we played the devil’s favorite spots
Sang every hymn with every sot,
Living life the way we wanna
With our friends

Well thank you friendly stranger for
this beer that’s made me friendly.
And stranger still, this pint of swill,
like my pockets have run empty.
But if another tale will fill the ale,
I’ll spin a yarn into a sail
And then mount it to this barstool,
chart memory lane.

Well I’ve given up, and given all,
I’ve taken flight and I’ve taken falls
But these vices keep me chasing
The summit of these walls
And sounds of life and brotherhood
In songs of loss on wire and wood,
Drag the hermit under stagelights, to
Find his wayward heart.

Then the road cried out for my love to roam
When my loved ones, all, had hit it
Walked tightropes, rode the slippery slopes,
But I don’t know how to quit it
Collect nights and friends, and storied ends
While I traded in old swords for pens
Authored pure heartfelt contrition,
Trading new songs for old sins

See I’ve played in 18 countries,
With the best friends life could offer
4 lifers busking foreign streets,
6 years of chewing coffins,
So sit on down, the drinks are steep,
The night’s still young, but your pocket’s deep,
Got 4 boys here with stories, waiting for a drink.