Patchwork of St. Macrina

by EsteyOrganCo.

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Patchwork of St. Macrina is an alternative rock album stitching together the various wounds of the flesh and soul rendered by poverty. It does not dwell in the sting; rather it is designed to be played loudly for our needed moments of solace and cathartic respite.


released October 5, 2013

All tracks (c) MSB/EsteyOrganCo. 2013.
All tracks written and performed by MSB/EsteyOrganCo.

Dedicated to MVB and HEBB. They are the cause; this is what's left after you have receded. Thank you.



all rights reserved


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EsteyOrganCo. Brisbane, Australia

EsteyOrganCo. is an experimental musical project from Brisbane, Australia. It turns an ear to the space, grime and noise of Brisbane's fevered corners and kneads the city's breath into accessible and beautiful songcraft.

Ambient; drone; rock; hints of electronics. Real strings reverberating in harmony with the stories of the down and out.
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Track Name: Waltz
She is my loved one;
She is my loved one.
Though her brow keeps hanging down.
She keeps on waltzing on our broken dance floor.
What the hell for?
Track Name: The Undertaker
The matriarch.
Her face is so stark.
The undertaker did real good tonight.
On her wishes
She’s postured for business
The undertaker did real good tonight.
Golden cross
No chewed lip from the boss
The undertaker did real good tonight.
Putty and plastic –
Now we’ve an open casket.
The undertaker did real good tonight.
Fear over pride.
Revolver by her side.
The undertaker did real good tonight.
Track Name: Red Cross Night Cafe
Feel her getting closer
Seeking warmth now from the stars
My methylated mistress burns
A place inside my heart
They learn to wince from city bench stints
Tap their lips for a fever-drawn puff
Bring up everything inside but
It’s never really enough.
Needle just lays in the compass this way –
Come to the Red Cross Night Café
(or stay and pray).
Feel her slipping away.
She’s been to those places before
If home is where the heart lay
She won’t enter someone else’s door.
She’s laughing at the old men
They wheeze old tunes for wine
Their teeth train window yellow
And I dream of elsewhere on that line.
Track Name: White Dress
She came out with that white dress.
She came out with that dress and she’s crying.
Too tight around her hips
And her mascara’s bleeding down with the brine.
He lost that ring.
For the vows, it’s a fucking mess.
But it’s that dress;
That white dress is torn and she’s crying.
She stumbled out with that white dress;
The cataract-white dress and she was weeping.
It once held a girl,
Corkscrew curls unfurled, fragile and dreaming.
He made her bleed in that dress –
A few drops of blood for her mother’s prying
But it’s that dress.
It’s that white dress – it’s torn. Now she’s crying.
Track Name: Musings of a Catholic Soldier
Gone are my building blocks.
Gone is our playful setter.
Gone are the hand-clap games.
Gone are mum’s kisses better.
Gone are the orchid flowers.
Gone the garden dad made with me.
Gone are those old comedies.
Gone, the black and white TV.
Gone are the dirty magazines.
Gone are all those leering friends.
Gone, the burning teenage desire.
Gone, those wood and string weapons.
Gone are all those bitter teachers.
Gone, the musty corner store.
Gone, the sneaking out of windows.
Gone, the boys who signed on for war.
Gone, the souls I fired upon.
Gone, those nights of fits and prayers.
Gone, those three tips of my fingers.
Gone, all those whispers and stares.
Gone, my wife’s wedding band.
Gone, the money getting tighter.
Gone, the hot and lonely tears.
Gone the child lost inside her.
Gone, milking money for the mortgage.
Gone, inbox, out, receipt and send.
Gone, all those things that sat above me.
Gone, the difference in the end.
Gone, mother, father, sister, friends.
Gone, the touch of her cold hand.
Gone, the expectation of forever.
Gone, the need to understand.
Gone, the light.
Gone, the contrite.
Gone, the fight.
Bring on those fucking rites.
Track Name: The Devil's List
Little Man give his prayers to his Mother
Give his father all the same
Little Man give his flesh to the altar
But the devil’s got his name.
Track Name: Paper Daisy Cowers
Hello, my friend.
Good to see you again.
Trade your strife for flowers –
Those Paper Daisy cowers.
Hello again.
Card of contrition to send.
Trade the tears for petal showers –
Those Paper Daisy cowers.
(Roses for my rent
Flowers for her consent
Wreath for end of hours.
Those Paper Daisy…)