Winter Coats. Summer Shorts

by Aaron Kent & Dr. Lakata

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'Winter Coats. Summer Shorts.' is an EP summing up a journey from isolation to acceptance to personal growth. Written during a tough time, but not finished until the clouds had subsided, WC.SS. is a story of redemption and ukuleles. And words. Lots of words.


released August 14, 2014

Aaron Kent - Vocals, Words, Ukulele, Cover Posing
Dr. Lakata - Noises, Encouragment
Craig Taylor-Broad - Cover Art
Emma Kennedy - Inspiration, muse, love




Aaron Kent UK

Sirens. Always hearing sirens.

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Track Name: Intro
I wanna go to sleep
so when I wake up
just for one second
I can pretend
I don't exist

I think I'm gonna die young
Track Name: Knots
I was born into a broken home where the doors were all shut but you could still feel the wind blow, so I anchored myself to a port in a storm called literature, and let words be my sails, sentences my fuel and ideas my safety rails.

Our roof was held up by newspapers and beer bottles, because my father bottled it when building something solid and secure, like a relationship with his kid, or his wife.
I learnt from my grandfather that the quickest way to a warm heart was an early start on whiskey and cigarettes, stubbing ash on veins to calm the urges to abstain from an emotional relationship. And I took me twenty years to realise why my Granddad shuddered when my dad entered the room

but I was far too soon before I learnt that what was burnt could never be remade, that’s why they call exes old flames, because the spark that caused the heart to pump blood like water rising beneath Noah’s Ark, once doused no longer creates art and inspires agony.

I was only little but I tried to rub my limbs together to create fire, and bring some warmth to the house, it never worked and looking back now I can see that all my limbs were skyscraper and the burdens I carried on my sky-view, balcony shoulders had the weight of Godzilla bearing down on them, stampeding on my shoelaces and causing tremors through my kneecaps, causing me to collapse and lean even more on books for support, like suspension bridges I had yet to burn.

I learnt to tie knots in all of my arteries so I could feel pressure bearing down on me like I always believed a loving father should leave, a dream, to be, something better than he could ever be and I learnt to tie knots in all of my arteries so I could feel pressure bearing down on me.

I left cities of charred relationships behind me in the night, and begged for something better, something bright to tear me away from the dull halogen cubicle my bedroom had become, the corners bitten by the cigarette-stained hue of the late late sun.

I watched my family evolve into revolving doors of uncles and aunties who came once, but never more, relatives like ravens entering the periphery before feeling the need to soar.

I grabbed every dream I created and crammed them into a Trojan Horse, before slipping them past the soldiers at the gate, looking for little mistakes, like a revelation that I wanted to be an astronaut, so instead of being let down by my father, I could be burnt by my sun. I wanted to be a writer so I could write a way out of my youth up a staircase of history laced with happy sepia toned memories. I wanted to be Superman, I wanted to be all anybody could rely on, but I knew I built that dream too strong, so I decided to be a poet, because even if I never came to know it, changing just one life would be enough for me to live for.

My mother was a single mother married to my father, and rather than standing up and speaking out she sat down and heard him out .

When I was old enough to realise that I would never have a father figure, I didn’t know whether to tear my lungs out and show off my last breaths to prove that I’d given everything until I had nothing left,

or to tie knots in all of my arteries so I could feel pressure bearing down on me like I always believed a loving father should leave, a dream, to be, something better than he could ever be and I learnt to tie knots in all of my arteries so I could feel pressure bearing down on me.

Just like those stories I was told, my childhood lacked emotional relevance, so I prayed for a loaded gun, to shoot at my feet, something to make me dance. I didn’t want to grow up, my only examples built from anger left spare, I had all the tricks and no treats, all the truths but no dares. I had all the tricks and no treats, all the truths but no dares. All the truths, but no reason to dare to do anything but escape that situation.

I was not an earthquake, but I am the aftermath, and I will grow and craft and build and stack great memories on top of lesser ones. And I will tie knots into my arteries so I can feel the pressure bearing down on me to create something great, and if somebody takes words I put to paper and lives by them, then I can untie my veins and bleed again.
Track Name: On Speaking
I snap my own chest open,
much like somebody popping open the first bottle
from a six pack of cheap beers
or a hammer to the top of a walnut,
splitting and splintering apart.
I reach in and desperately try to revive my lungs,
short of breath
and desperate for oxygen
I yearn to speed up the process of carbon dioxide to oxygen
or at least to hold back some oxygen and make carbon monoxide
to slow the poisonous thoughts as they dissipate into my brain.

Plucking heartstrings with nimble fingers,
calloused from the frantic
flicking of pages through journals
I once wrote but no longer belong to me,
I harmonise
the sound of a heart breaking
to the melody of a lung collapsing
and a backbone snapping.
This crescendo,
this statement of intent,
this urge to crush
every bone in my body
culminates in my leaping into the void
of torn newspaper articles
and photographs depicting unburdened times,
like a baby bird falling from a nest
of shattered expectations and stolen tree branches.

I orchestrate symphonies
of the body electric.
Organs declaring sorrow to a mournful tune
of hollow bones,
hollow ribcage
and hollow heart.
Valves pumping regrets laced with arsenic
and just a hint of blood
to sustain some semblance of blue in my arteries.


Technicolor atmosphere
drops to a nostalgic sepia-toned blur
before finally becoming
to match the monotone thump
emitting from my chest,
just left of centre.
I would, given the opportunity, delve in through my ribcage
and gather up that beating organ between my palms
and jolt it to life
but it suddenly occurs to me:
What’s the fucking point?We’re all going to die
and have our fucking hearts broken
by people who don’t even deserve
to feel
the pressure of our blood
surging through the tricuspid valve
as it reaches our lungs
to pick up the oxygen we need to stop being breathless
at the sight of somebody
who will either kill us,
or at least be our last thoughts.
just fucking react
I tell myself, I scream and I breath and I suddenly feel calm
and I know it’s because I can,
I bleed because I am.

Aware now, awake now, quietly now, softly now, I speak.
Track Name: My Funny Valentine
Cover me up in an old dishcloth,
and gently set me to sea.
I am aware I’m awake when I sail
to a freedom that feels barely free.
Tie me in knots, lover, wrap me tight
in string, top me off with a bow.
I am asleep when I weep when I cry
so silently so no one can know.
Call out my name, darling, please make me swear
I heard secrets in every breath.
I feel most brave when I’m saved late at night,
where I balance between life and death.
Find me in alleys, homesick and webs spun,
bring me back, shock me to life.
Remind me of all of the hate I have seen
and make me aware of the night.

Cover me up in an old dishcloth,
and gently bring me to land,
I can emote, so take note when I joke,
humour is at peace in fear’s hand.
Make me a tourist, in the city I love
place redemption at all of the doors,
Keep me away from the way that I shake
when I slowly reveal all my flaws.
Stroke my hair, when at peace, if it suits,
your touch makes me glow like UV,
rattle my cage, bring it down, all around,
find the space for us to run free
So leave me in dreams, tender sweet, warm embrace,
cradle me close and rest in my arms.
If I am a bracelet, on a thin ageing wrist,
then you dear, you are the charms.
Track Name: Outro
If you should die
I will wish to sit
on the edge of the galaxy
so I can watch an Earth
where your perfect image
still exists

i love you