The Wellington Lights
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The Wellington Lights

Denton, Texas, United States

Denton, Texas, United States
Band Rock Folk

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This band has not uploaded any videos

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"I Will Never Be The Same Again"

The Wellington Lights are like a Christmas ghost that waits all year at the foot of the bed with a disposable camera and a glass of wine, and just when you think you haven't noticed, you find you're a tourist in your own body, dancing like a flame atop an undertaker's candlestick.

Some deny they exist. Many have never even heard of them.

Though possibly hundreds of years old, it was only yesterday that this Denton, TX band first held a raised thumb to the great highways of its native land and in return received countless applications from volunteer chauffeurs seeking temporary employment, when in actuallity, it meant only to say, "We're alright, brother!" to all passing motorists. This sort of mistake is quite common among men of our time, but rarely acknowledged by most media outlet malls.

With a sound often compared to that of a leaf dropped from the very limits of the stratosphere in a perpetual shift from falling to floating by bumming a ride with every last breeze it meets (all the while knowing it will one day find itself resting silently against the cold soil of the Earth), The Lights can easily be found trying to keep warm beneath a blanket of optimism for the future while eager to express an uneasiness about the future of the future, as many prophets, some professors, and even one or two politicians agree that it's fate may very well be sealed in the mausoleums of electronic signals bounced back and forth like a game of ping-pong played by astronomic forces in the plastic picket-fenced back yards of America.

Whether any of this is remotely true is not only beside the point; it is beside itself, laughing hysterically in the front row of a movie theater while the point sits in back with a moderately attractive date (its first in years) who is suddenly realizing the consequences of a bank teller accepting a customer's offer of companionship due to a paralyzing fear of disappointing that is leftover from childhood, resulting in a terribly troubling inability to say no to most anything.

Your interpretation of these anything but strange events is yours and yours alone and shall remain so indefinitely. Perhaps time will tell the true meaning of most things left unsaid, and if it doesn't, one can always try torture.

-Ralph Hurley, Modern Sacronian - Modern Sacronian


Discography

Still working on that hot first release.

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Bio

The Wellington Lights are like a Christmas ghost that waits all year at the foot of the bed with a disposable camera and a glass of wine, and just when you think you haven't noticed, you find you're a tourist in your own body, dancing like a flame atop an undertaker's candlestick.

Some deny they exist. Many have never even heard of them.

Though possibly hundreds of years old, it was only yesterday that this Denton, TX band first held a raised thumb to the great highways of its native land and in return received countless applications from volunteer chauffeurs seeking temporary employment, when in actuallity, it meant only to say, "We're alright, brother!" to all passing motorists. This sort of mistake is quite common among men of our time, but rarely acknowledged by most media outlet malls.

With a sound often compared to that of a leaf dropped from the very limits of the stratosphere in a perpetual shift from falling to floating by bumming a ride with every last breeze it meets (all the while knowing it will one day find itself resting silently against the cold soil of the Earth), The Lights can easily be found trying to keep warm beneath a blanket of optimism for the future while eager to express an uneasiness about the future of the future, as many prophets, some professors, and even one or two politicians agree that it's fate may very well be sealed in the mausoleums of electronic signals bounced back and forth like a game of ping-pong played by astronomic forces in the plastic picket-fenced back yards of America.

Whether any of this is remotely true is not only beside the point; it is beside itself, laughing hysterically in the front row of a movie theater while the point sits in back with a moderately attractive date (its first in years) who is suddenly realizing the consequences of a bank teller accepting a customer's offer of companionship due to a paralyzing fear of disappointing that is leftover from childhood, resulting in a terribly troubling inability to say no to most anything.

Your interpretation of these anything but strange events is yours and yours alone and shall remain so indefinitely. Perhaps time will tell the true meaning of most things left unsaid, and if it doesn't, one can always try torture.

-Ralph Hurley, Modern Sacronian