Spanish Red Wine EP

by Ross Heselton

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  • Limited Edition Handmade Compact Disc
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Each CD has a leaf gathered from my garden stapled to the paper. Signed, numbered and stamped with the date of fabrication.

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These songs (with the exception of Spanish Red Wine) were first released as handmade CDs limited to twenty copies on the 31st of May at the Total Heaven record shop in Bordeaux. The demos were recorded in my apartment, 31, Rue des Jacobins, Périgueux. They are available here with an additional demo of the song 'When Flowers Cannot Be Seen For Their Thorns', not featured on the physical release.


released July 30, 2012


All songs written and performed by Ross Heselton (c)
Spanish Red Wine produced by Romain Auzemery
Demos produced by Ross Heselton




all rights reserved


Ross Heselton Strasbourg, France


Born 1994 on planet Earth. Writing, singing, playing, learning how to live and die. Also involved in l'Ecluse, Vie, Soleils Bleus, ALLIES and other subterranean collaborations...

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Track Name: Spanish Red Wine
In the midsummer morning cold
With your hair like a curtain of gold,
We swayed as we prayed,
And grew cold as we laid
On our old english coats,
In the castle we built without a moat.

Well I’ll miss your fake fur coat,
And the waves that we provoked
To keep our ship afloat

And we wept as we kept
Our lungs stripped of air,
Reading my favorite Jacques Prévert,
Laurie Lee and Baudelaire -
With the wind in your daughter’s hair.

And I’ll miss your fake fur coat
And the waves that we provoked
To keep our ship afloat

And I’ll go to the hill where we climbed
And read and write to kill the time,
Drinking spanish red wine.

Drinking spanish red wine.
Track Name: Ashes And Asphodel (demo)
...I've been to the place where clouds go to die,
and it felt like home....

How I miss the solace of Summer skies.
Drag me further, beyond the lies,
beyond the ties of confusion;
where the sunrise is drawn from her breath,
and the tides are drawn in her eyes.

I’ve dressed my soul in feelings and fires
and endless desires and ambitions.
I’ve wound myself in wings and ropes
and wires of hope and emotion,
that control and command me,
and move through each of my thoughts.

I am leaving for this place that I know,
that she shows to me in dreams,
where the conflict is over and done with,
and where the heat will never retire nor
retreat from the sun. Place
where my body is left with the animals,
and my soul is like an asphodel meadow;
where my substance is one with the world.
To that place that I found as I rode my
horse above the chaos, and curled
and crept and assumed my position,
and quietly slept in the calm.

The place that holds no hatred or harm,
that’s the place I’ll go to to die.

January 2012
Track Name: Sleeping Children (demo)
The Heart is a womb of sleeping children-
and when they are ready and woken,
they break free through our words and our weeping,
and cover the world with the scraps of a cloth we call Art.
Track Name: When Flowers Cannot Be Seen For Their Thorns (demo)
Your windows have all opened,
the cold is coming in.
The widows have all spoken,
they are giving in-
waging a war they cannot win
without a spear or a sword or a gun or a sin.
We must be grateful for the warmth of the sun
when flowers cannot be seen for their thorns.

The armies and the poets have all lost their wars,
as you have lost the pearls that 'round your neck you wore.
Open the door now, your lover calls.
There are heroes in the frames upon your walls.
There are angels in the gutters near your schools,
amongst the painters and the beggars and the fools
who cannot see the worker for his tools.

In the air above the meadow there's this broken bird-
and he's striking the air with childish word.
Over the stones where your daughter stands,
with broken bread and water in her hands-
she could never read the book 'cause it was banned.

Rise now above this dead, angelic land:
take the dust of these days from within your hands;
you have seen her bathing naked in the dawn
when flowers could not be seen for their thorns.