by hjeartzz

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This is the debut recording by Hjearts.

Written and recorded in a charming little room, about the size of your cupboard, during an unseasonably hot week in Paris, France.


released June 30, 2014

All songs written and recorded by Hjearts.



all rights reserved


hjeartzz UK

Bedroom superstars from a pop-geek universe, mixing schoolboy earnestness with bratty, teenage rock 'n' roll.

Booking: hjearts@gmail.com

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Track Name: (nothing)
You're holding yourself up with the wall,
refusing to crawl,
when you still have something that you can call
your own - you have the fall.
So let go.

(You wear your frown like a heavy crown.)
Track Name: Getting Calvin to Like You
You've got a barbed wire satchel and a notebook in chains,
where the Sandman's secret someone scrawled out her name,
the Sandman sent you dreams filled with monsters of clay
where the tooth fairy's hollow was a mouthful of graves.
In your bed,
awake by a thread,
scared to sleep,
with the sand still under the sheet.

Na na na na...

From the cradle to the table, they opened her chest,
and placed a blackened crow's heart inside her breast,
you kissed her by a gravestone, a cross with no name,
held her round the waist and danced the tango again.
But baby hangs the scarecrow with her hair as a rope,
she planted seeds in your mouth so when they blossom you'll choke,
and when she laughs a song seems to rasp from her throat (like)

Na na na na...

Barbed wire braces, barbed wire teeth,
yellow brick road, don't know where it leads,
you didn't like school 'cause the teachers decreed
you and her were bad, bad seeds.

She's watering your throat so her flowers will bloom,
throwing up the roses in your parents' room.
Tried to say "I love you" with a heart shaped balloon.
Don't believe me...
Track Name: Love Rock Revolution
Locked in those record grooves
beneath a paper moon,
all those "forget me nots"
inside your parents' room.

You used to watch the clock
until the big hand stopped
the same day we first kissed outside the record shop

where we would skim
for tattered copies of Nancy Sin,
our tissue paper parcels tied up with string.

You took to sea one day,
cardboard box to the bay
Dad's fishing rod for oars,
poppies on ocean grey.

Played back our old cassettes,
those songs I can't forget
throat taut under sweat beads
a rope of these regrets,

and felt betrayed
by the promise of those yesterdays,
and how it all became,
a song you came to hate,
or a shield without a K.
The young can always change,
but we got older, hearts got colder,
and we went our separate ways.
Track Name: How to be Just as Snobby as Those You Claim to Hate
Groomed on a funeral pyre and lit up like a torch,
you've got a heart pure as fire such that you burn all you touch,
but it ain't good enough, no no no
'cause somewhere, someday soon
the Sandman calls out for you,

and he'll seep inside your soul down to the marrow of your dreams,
pull your sleep into a k-hole as he's sharpening his teeth,
your shadow corpse his horse will cart through Heaven's dirty streets
and then hang baskets with your rotting carcass strung up like meat,
whilst it's bursting at the seams
with maggots, lice, all soaked in vice
and a little bile for the fleas.

So when those night mares bolt and you roll back your eyes,
and the whites are marred from the dirt of that rabble you despise,
when the truth is boiled in body fluids and fat scraped from your thighs,
you slowly come to realise you're made of water, shit, and lies,
as you look up to the skies and know
there's nothing there but empty space
and the lifeless light of life that has to die.
Track Name: The Secret No-Dress-Code Dress Code
This town is filled with tourists,
I don't know where I am.
It all happened so fast.

Let's hang the day's persona,
cuff our bones to the closet rail,
let the clown draw the smile on his face
and let the devils tuck their tails.

They write backwards in this town,
think small but build tall and talk loud.
(All verbs, no nouns,
head up, face down)
Soft and spineless throughout.

Let's find a secret city
where the lights are ours alone,
the moon's backbone for our throne
grow old beneath its glow.

They write backwards in this town,
think small but build tall and talk loud
and wear their frowns like sad crowns.
(All verbs, no nouns,
head up, face down,
words come unbound)
But we can always hideout
on the other side of this now.