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Bad//Dreems
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Live-Fotos von Bad//Dreems
Alle Fotos anzeigen
Aktuellster Beitrag
Bad//Dreems
vor 3 Monaten
BD//EU TOUR KICKING OFF IN A CUTLA WEEKS 🏹
All tickets:
https://bnds.us/i7pe38
All tickets:
https://bnds.us/i7pe38
concerts and tour dates
Vergangene
JULI
20
2024
Mudgeeraba, Australia
Wallaby Hotel
Ich war da
JULI
06
2024
Lille, Belgium
Sjock Festival
Ich war da
JULI
05
2024
Groningen, Netherlands
Vera
Ich war da
JULI
04
2024
Münster, Germany
Gleis22 Im Jib
Ich war da
JULI
03
2024
Tübingen, Germany
Hausbar
Ich war da
JULI
02
2024
Wurzburg, Germany
Immerhin Würzburg
Ich war da
Weitere Ereignisse anzeigen
Fan-Bewertungen
Ina
2. Juli 2024
Awesome show, awesome people, awesome venue. Please come again soon.
Berlin, Germany@OGH
Markus
29. Juni 2024
Eine meiner absoluten Lieblingsbands hat wieder amtlich abgeliefert! Super Stimmung im Kometen.
Vorband Arno Dyson waren auch sehr cool.
Hamburg, Germany@Komet
Mehr Fan-Bewertungen anzeigen
Über Bad//Dreems
Dear Don,
There’s too much pressure hunching over me. I feel possessed. A teeth grinding cataclysm. Like a dying man, febrile and wrestling with the bed sheets. Lust, flesh, Yahweh, the New Boys and a southern cross tatt. Doubly unfortunate and doomed from the start.
Drifting through the months and years. A lonely lighthouse keeper, peering through the winter half light. Brightness above, like a distant memory.
There’s no more place such a hopeless existence is justified. South of Heaven, where the hills hem you in against the ocean. From the Grinch Dog’s over the Grange Jett you look out at the world. But you’re really just looking west over the shallow ditch to Curramulka.
“Curry”, Yorke Peninsula. Scrub and dust. Brown’s beach and the Bluff. Brown snakes in the dump in the paddock inside the old washing machines and kids’ toys. Knowledge Corner. An old Springsteen tape in the header. Barley rolling away into the distance. Dreams mangled round a Commodore chassis on the Port Vincent Road. A stubby holder rolling on the bitumen in the breeze.
Love over Gold on the drive to the city. Saturday morning parking fines. Searching the playground for Robbie P. Tinsel burning in the heat. Down North East Road to Paradise. The Jarman Brothers. Grenville Dietrich. Red and white victory. Panther Park. Through the ghost gums down to the log by the creek. The ‘Flats, the Reynella Wine Flies and a ’76 premiership.
He could play. They called him Mr Magic. Springs. Steel springs. Hurl me down the track. Footy platitudes. Coodaben a champion.
“Let’s see you do it.”
He pissed it up against the wall of course.
The 182 from Prospect to King Will. One tram back and forth from the plexiglass mountain at Glenelg. Neil “Knuckles” Kerley. They did a deal for car factories and the 10 pound poms and tore up the other tracks in the fifties. Donny Dustan’s and his pink safari suit. The Rome of the South. The Festival State
They smuggled the cheap meat from the hospital under North Terrace in a secret tunnel and sold it to the toffs in Ayre’s house. In the eighties the State Bank went bust and then Kennet stole the Grand Prix. Now they’re building a new hospital next to the old gaol on the stinking toxic railcard.
At least Peter Caven kicked the Roo Boys arse.
You can circumnavigate the place by evil. From the scrub at Truro to the Kuitpo forest. Glenelg Beach to Snowtown. Brompton to Kilburn and back again. The city of Churches. The Mall’s Balls to the Uni footbridge. The Beaumonts. Rhiannon Barreau. Bevan Spencer. Dr Duncan. The Satin Man. Heaven is just a place inside my head.
Are you coming to the Maid for pressos? A few off the pine? Friday night and five pills deep. Hung for half the week again. Repeat. The little orange light next to the petrol gauge, shit everywhere and dirt on my boots. Evenings on the porch smoking, drinking, sniffing. Wine. Nicotine. Duloxetine. Sertraline.
I’m beating round the bush again. I’m a broken piece of meat. Stuck here with my limp dick in my hand. A slab on the heap.
I look down into the mire. You’re a pillar of salt and I’m a pillar of fire. Something bigger and better gnaws at the back of my head. I hear them coming.
I’d do anything for you. To be alone with you. To die alone with you
I’d do anything.
To keep the dogs at bay.
Your mate,
x
There’s too much pressure hunching over me. I feel possessed. A teeth grinding cataclysm. Like a dying man, febrile and wrestling with the bed sheets. Lust, flesh, Yahweh, the New Boys and a southern cross tatt. Doubly unfortunate and doomed from the start.
Drifting through the months and years. A lonely lighthouse keeper, peering through the winter half light. Brightness above, like a distant memory.
There’s no more place such a hopeless existence is justified. South of Heaven, where the hills hem you in against the ocean. From the Grinch Dog’s over the Grange Jett you look out at the world. But you’re really just looking west over the shallow ditch to Curramulka.
“Curry”, Yorke Peninsula. Scrub and dust. Brown’s beach and the Bluff. Brown snakes in the dump in the paddock inside the old washing machines and kids’ toys. Knowledge Corner. An old Springsteen tape in the header. Barley rolling away into the distance. Dreams mangled round a Commodore chassis on the Port Vincent Road. A stubby holder rolling on the bitumen in the breeze.
Love over Gold on the drive to the city. Saturday morning parking fines. Searching the playground for Robbie P. Tinsel burning in the heat. Down North East Road to Paradise. The Jarman Brothers. Grenville Dietrich. Red and white victory. Panther Park. Through the ghost gums down to the log by the creek. The ‘Flats, the Reynella Wine Flies and a ’76 premiership.
He could play. They called him Mr Magic. Springs. Steel springs. Hurl me down the track. Footy platitudes. Coodaben a champion.
“Let’s see you do it.”
He pissed it up against the wall of course.
The 182 from Prospect to King Will. One tram back and forth from the plexiglass mountain at Glenelg. Neil “Knuckles” Kerley. They did a deal for car factories and the 10 pound poms and tore up the other tracks in the fifties. Donny Dustan’s and his pink safari suit. The Rome of the South. The Festival State
They smuggled the cheap meat from the hospital under North Terrace in a secret tunnel and sold it to the toffs in Ayre’s house. In the eighties the State Bank went bust and then Kennet stole the Grand Prix. Now they’re building a new hospital next to the old gaol on the stinking toxic railcard.
At least Peter Caven kicked the Roo Boys arse.
You can circumnavigate the place by evil. From the scrub at Truro to the Kuitpo forest. Glenelg Beach to Snowtown. Brompton to Kilburn and back again. The city of Churches. The Mall’s Balls to the Uni footbridge. The Beaumonts. Rhiannon Barreau. Bevan Spencer. Dr Duncan. The Satin Man. Heaven is just a place inside my head.
Are you coming to the Maid for pressos? A few off the pine? Friday night and five pills deep. Hung for half the week again. Repeat. The little orange light next to the petrol gauge, shit everywhere and dirt on my boots. Evenings on the porch smoking, drinking, sniffing. Wine. Nicotine. Duloxetine. Sertraline.
I’m beating round the bush again. I’m a broken piece of meat. Stuck here with my limp dick in my hand. A slab on the heap.
I look down into the mire. You’re a pillar of salt and I’m a pillar of fire. Something bigger and better gnaws at the back of my head. I hear them coming.
I’d do anything for you. To be alone with you. To die alone with you
I’d do anything.
To keep the dogs at bay.
Your mate,
x
Mehr anzeigen
Genres:
Aussie Rock, Australian Rock, Garage Rock, Outsider Rock, Punk, Rock & Roll, Garage Punk, Indie Alternative, Rock
Heimatort:
Adelaide, Australia
Keine demnächst stattfindenden Shows
Schicke eine Anfrage an Bad//Dreems, in deiner Stadt aufzutreten
Um eine Show bitten
Ähnliche Künstler auf Tour
Live-Fotos von Bad//Dreems
Alle Fotos anzeigen
Aktuellster Beitrag
Bad//Dreems
vor 3 Monaten
BD//EU TOUR KICKING OFF IN A CUTLA WEEKS 🏹
All tickets:
https://bnds.us/i7pe38
All tickets:
https://bnds.us/i7pe38
Merch (ad)
Bad Omens Moth Graphic T-Shirt
$22.99
Generic Bad jJ Omens T-Shirt Unisex D...
$20.00
Moth Bad Omens Funny Myth Superstitio...
$14.99
Vintage Bad Omens Moth T-Shirt
$16.99
Bad Omens Band Wolf Dagger T-Shirt Un...
$17.99
Bad Company Classic Bad Co Logo T-Shirt
$25.00
Did You Really Beam Me Up Down Bad T-...
$17.99
Bad Company Til The Day I Die Classic...
$25.00
Vintage Bad Omens Tee - Classic Red S...
$16.99
Bad Omens Raven’s Night - Autumn Ceme...
$17.99
concerts and tour dates
Vergangene
JULI
20
2024
Mudgeeraba, Australia
Wallaby Hotel
Ich war da
JULI
06
2024
Lille, Belgium
Sjock Festival
Ich war da
JULI
05
2024
Groningen, Netherlands
Vera
Ich war da
JULI
04
2024
Münster, Germany
Gleis22 Im Jib
Ich war da
JULI
03
2024
Tübingen, Germany
Hausbar
Ich war da
JULI
02
2024
Wurzburg, Germany
Immerhin Würzburg
Ich war da
Weitere Ereignisse anzeigen
Fan-Bewertungen
Ina
2. Juli 2024
Awesome show, awesome people, awesome venue. Please come again soon.
Berlin, Germany@OGH
Markus
29. Juni 2024
Eine meiner absoluten Lieblingsbands hat wieder amtlich abgeliefert! Super Stimmung im Kometen.
Vorband Arno Dyson waren auch sehr cool.
Hamburg, Germany@Komet
Mehr Fan-Bewertungen anzeigen
Über Bad//Dreems
Dear Don,
There’s too much pressure hunching over me. I feel possessed. A teeth grinding cataclysm. Like a dying man, febrile and wrestling with the bed sheets. Lust, flesh, Yahweh, the New Boys and a southern cross tatt. Doubly unfortunate and doomed from the start.
Drifting through the months and years. A lonely lighthouse keeper, peering through the winter half light. Brightness above, like a distant memory.
There’s no more place such a hopeless existence is justified. South of Heaven, where the hills hem you in against the ocean. From the Grinch Dog’s over the Grange Jett you look out at the world. But you’re really just looking west over the shallow ditch to Curramulka.
“Curry”, Yorke Peninsula. Scrub and dust. Brown’s beach and the Bluff. Brown snakes in the dump in the paddock inside the old washing machines and kids’ toys. Knowledge Corner. An old Springsteen tape in the header. Barley rolling away into the distance. Dreams mangled round a Commodore chassis on the Port Vincent Road. A stubby holder rolling on the bitumen in the breeze.
Love over Gold on the drive to the city. Saturday morning parking fines. Searching the playground for Robbie P. Tinsel burning in the heat. Down North East Road to Paradise. The Jarman Brothers. Grenville Dietrich. Red and white victory. Panther Park. Through the ghost gums down to the log by the creek. The ‘Flats, the Reynella Wine Flies and a ’76 premiership.
He could play. They called him Mr Magic. Springs. Steel springs. Hurl me down the track. Footy platitudes. Coodaben a champion.
“Let’s see you do it.”
He pissed it up against the wall of course.
The 182 from Prospect to King Will. One tram back and forth from the plexiglass mountain at Glenelg. Neil “Knuckles” Kerley. They did a deal for car factories and the 10 pound poms and tore up the other tracks in the fifties. Donny Dustan’s and his pink safari suit. The Rome of the South. The Festival State
They smuggled the cheap meat from the hospital under North Terrace in a secret tunnel and sold it to the toffs in Ayre’s house. In the eighties the State Bank went bust and then Kennet stole the Grand Prix. Now they’re building a new hospital next to the old gaol on the stinking toxic railcard.
At least Peter Caven kicked the Roo Boys arse.
You can circumnavigate the place by evil. From the scrub at Truro to the Kuitpo forest. Glenelg Beach to Snowtown. Brompton to Kilburn and back again. The city of Churches. The Mall’s Balls to the Uni footbridge. The Beaumonts. Rhiannon Barreau. Bevan Spencer. Dr Duncan. The Satin Man. Heaven is just a place inside my head.
Are you coming to the Maid for pressos? A few off the pine? Friday night and five pills deep. Hung for half the week again. Repeat. The little orange light next to the petrol gauge, shit everywhere and dirt on my boots. Evenings on the porch smoking, drinking, sniffing. Wine. Nicotine. Duloxetine. Sertraline.
I’m beating round the bush again. I’m a broken piece of meat. Stuck here with my limp dick in my hand. A slab on the heap.
I look down into the mire. You’re a pillar of salt and I’m a pillar of fire. Something bigger and better gnaws at the back of my head. I hear them coming.
I’d do anything for you. To be alone with you. To die alone with you
I’d do anything.
To keep the dogs at bay.
Your mate,
x
There’s too much pressure hunching over me. I feel possessed. A teeth grinding cataclysm. Like a dying man, febrile and wrestling with the bed sheets. Lust, flesh, Yahweh, the New Boys and a southern cross tatt. Doubly unfortunate and doomed from the start.
Drifting through the months and years. A lonely lighthouse keeper, peering through the winter half light. Brightness above, like a distant memory.
There’s no more place such a hopeless existence is justified. South of Heaven, where the hills hem you in against the ocean. From the Grinch Dog’s over the Grange Jett you look out at the world. But you’re really just looking west over the shallow ditch to Curramulka.
“Curry”, Yorke Peninsula. Scrub and dust. Brown’s beach and the Bluff. Brown snakes in the dump in the paddock inside the old washing machines and kids’ toys. Knowledge Corner. An old Springsteen tape in the header. Barley rolling away into the distance. Dreams mangled round a Commodore chassis on the Port Vincent Road. A stubby holder rolling on the bitumen in the breeze.
Love over Gold on the drive to the city. Saturday morning parking fines. Searching the playground for Robbie P. Tinsel burning in the heat. Down North East Road to Paradise. The Jarman Brothers. Grenville Dietrich. Red and white victory. Panther Park. Through the ghost gums down to the log by the creek. The ‘Flats, the Reynella Wine Flies and a ’76 premiership.
He could play. They called him Mr Magic. Springs. Steel springs. Hurl me down the track. Footy platitudes. Coodaben a champion.
“Let’s see you do it.”
He pissed it up against the wall of course.
The 182 from Prospect to King Will. One tram back and forth from the plexiglass mountain at Glenelg. Neil “Knuckles” Kerley. They did a deal for car factories and the 10 pound poms and tore up the other tracks in the fifties. Donny Dustan’s and his pink safari suit. The Rome of the South. The Festival State
They smuggled the cheap meat from the hospital under North Terrace in a secret tunnel and sold it to the toffs in Ayre’s house. In the eighties the State Bank went bust and then Kennet stole the Grand Prix. Now they’re building a new hospital next to the old gaol on the stinking toxic railcard.
At least Peter Caven kicked the Roo Boys arse.
You can circumnavigate the place by evil. From the scrub at Truro to the Kuitpo forest. Glenelg Beach to Snowtown. Brompton to Kilburn and back again. The city of Churches. The Mall’s Balls to the Uni footbridge. The Beaumonts. Rhiannon Barreau. Bevan Spencer. Dr Duncan. The Satin Man. Heaven is just a place inside my head.
Are you coming to the Maid for pressos? A few off the pine? Friday night and five pills deep. Hung for half the week again. Repeat. The little orange light next to the petrol gauge, shit everywhere and dirt on my boots. Evenings on the porch smoking, drinking, sniffing. Wine. Nicotine. Duloxetine. Sertraline.
I’m beating round the bush again. I’m a broken piece of meat. Stuck here with my limp dick in my hand. A slab on the heap.
I look down into the mire. You’re a pillar of salt and I’m a pillar of fire. Something bigger and better gnaws at the back of my head. I hear them coming.
I’d do anything for you. To be alone with you. To die alone with you
I’d do anything.
To keep the dogs at bay.
Your mate,
x
Mehr anzeigen
Genres:
Aussie Rock, Australian Rock, Garage Rock, Outsider Rock, Punk, Rock & Roll, Garage Punk, Indie Alternative, Rock
Heimatort:
Adelaide, Australia
Genieße mit der App Bandsintown das ganze Erlebnis.