by Moonraker

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Limited to 500 copies. First pressing of "Lanterns" available NOW through Tiny Dragon Music.

    Will begin shipping during the week before September 14th, 2018

    Includes unlimited streaming of Lanterns via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days

      $10 USD or more 




Pop Punk Heartthrobs Moonraker are back at it with their NEW FULL LENGTH ALBUM "Lanterns" on Tiny Dragon Music.

TO THE GILLS Music Video:

Released digitally and on 12" Vinyl LP (500 on Translucent Blue).


released September 14, 2018

Moonraker is, on this recording:
Nick Schambra - bass/vocals/guitar
David Green - drums/vocals/percussion
Luke Gunn - guitar/trumpet
with Tyler Colton - keys/valve trombone/additional guitars

All songs written by David Green and Nick Schambra

Recorded/Mixed/Mastered by Chris Collier

Chris also played some additional guitar noises/sounds and sang some "whoas". Drums recorded at ES Audio in Burbank, California. Everything else recorded at Mission Black Studios in Saugus, California.




Tiny Dragon Music Seattle, Washington

Seattle based DIY Label


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Track Name: One Trick Phony
Don't throw me a rope,
I think I'm fine here at the end of mine.
When we crashed our cars on purpose into them,
the city just took out the camera lights.

It was more cost effective to leave us to our anarchy,
I'm gonna take a couple organ lessons and haunt this theater properly.

Cause I don't think I have it in me
to not take everything so personally.
And I appreciate the help,
I'll take the the bus downtown to the grave I dug myself.
Thanks for the help, thanks for the hell.

And what if I like it in the well?

Pack my disguise in the bug-out bags under my eyes.
Let the north and south pole of this candle burn all damn night.
The termites ate through the rafters and the roof collapsed
but there's no need to light your lanterns, I think I'm fine here in this mess.

Still broke and still broken, still...
putting that two weeks notice up on a pedestal.

But maybe I like it in the well!
Track Name: "It's My Turn To Be Somebody Now, Nathan!"
Got my shift covered again,
I couldn't move, the walls were closing in.
My court-ordered anklet's radius was just my bed,
I was tied up in invisible gossamer thread.

And I can't cut the filament, can't seem to find the oxygen.
Typed out the way I really feel again, deleted every word before I hit send.
But congradu-fucking-lations! You figured life all out to the T.
And surprise, surprise! Your master plans don't involve me.

I've got a list of pros and cons,
I've got a list of foes to keep tabs on.

Things will probably get better... but first
they’ll almost certainly get worse.
But when they all crash and burn, I'll be there waiting my turn
to show them how fucked up the things they said truly were.

The past always looks bright if you squint your eyes
and the future looks just fine if you lie.
The present is a gift you can't return, cause you already opened it.
So let's get something nice with our store credit and try to make the most of it.

Things will probably get better... in a little bit,
they can't get much more fucking worse than this.
And at the end of the day it's not about if you lose,
it's if the people you hate lost too... or at the very least, did worse than you.

Just pull the ripcord, let it fly.
The shoot will open, we won't die.
Cool your jets and land your biplanes,
the gorilla's off my back, I've got a patch for the chip on my shoulder blade.

Things’ll probably get the mean time,
it's safer in my room without the lights.
This pity party starts at 10:00 and goes til question mark,
but the after party's at the hotel lobby, not on my back in the dark.

Things will probably get better, right?
Track Name: To The Gills
You'll have to pry my cold, dead hands from this wagon.
When the wheels fall off then we'll just have to drag it...

through the desert, the snow, through the streets.
Any way that you feel, mama, rock me to sleep
under the oak tree, under lock and key,
under my feet - a 24 karat gleam.

Do electric sheep dream of alchemy?
Will this iron mask help my iron deficiency?

Keep the pace, keep your heart on fire.
Keep up the chase, keep your hand on the lighter.
They can't see in your lane, they're all wearing blinders
so shoot straight, shoot out their tires!

So we rode a few times over the horizon
til the wheels fell off, til we fell off the wagon.
Not a penny to our name, not a cricket to our soul.
Set the GPS to avoid the high road.

Drink to the gills and fire at will.
If you get yourself killed, leave me the rest in your will.
Then I'll drink to the gills and when i've had my fill,
I'll push your wheel-less wagon to the end of the trail.
Track Name: Ram The Blade Ship
There was this guy who used to work with me.
I wouldn't say I knew him, but I knew he liked to party.
We'd both come in hungover in the morning
and he told me about nights of drunken karaoke.

We both worked the lunch shift on Saturday,
no one told me he was dead until the following Monday.
And I felt so sad, cause I didn't feel as sad as I thought I should, and that made me sad.
And I felt so sad cause I was in my own head feeling sad and my coworker was dead.

A car hit him and just kept driving.
Sometimes you die before you get the chance to die trying.

And I always thought I'd go out ramming the Blade Ship,
my adversary's ankles soaked in my quicksand handprint.
But it could just as well happen in a crosswalk all of a sudden,
so we're gonna go ahead and scrap the valiant blueprints.

But make sure you play "Crawl" at my funeral
and tell them all I thought the outro was beautiful.
In lieu of a eulogy just tell all my enemies exactly how I felt,
cause no one else is going to if I'm burning in hell!

They say two heads are better than one
so stab the hydra in the heart and run.

And there's no such thing as a phoenix,
so if you see me falling down
and my wings are still on fire,
please put me out. Please put me out.

But when the skin-graphs heal and the casts come off
I'll be back in the sun, I'll be coming in hot.
I'll be tugging at your socks on the banks of the pit,
digging in my claws, taking you down with!
Track Name: War Were Declared
Machete your way through my arteries
and tell me just what you see in me.
Is it the spotless walls of my lungs?
They've been seeing more than their share of bleach.

You couldn't last 15 minutes inside my mind,
if you could, I'd pick you up on the side of the turnpike.
New Jersey aint that far, if you need a ride.

Don't lump me in with the rest of them to explain away my crimes.
My father's sins belong to him, I can do bad by myself just fine.

What do you get for the person who wants everything?
And what do you say when you tell him you forgot to get him anything?

Don't say a word and I'm a failure,
say just one and I'm a fraud.
Fill my wounds with potting soil
and give me all the salt you've got.

Cause I'm afraid of pain and change and growth,
so I'll let the words die in my throat
or just hoard them for a rainy day,
secretly building machines to keep the clouds away.

What do you get for the person who wants everything?
And how do you tell him you forgot to get him anything?
Just a racial slur between pots and kettles, just another fucking score to settle.
Ball in the corner pocket? Balled on the floor? Just know that this means war.

Checkered pasts are just starter flags,
just open the bottle and light the rag.
Track Name: Gin And Jews
Put my baby backbone under my pillow,
and pray my grown up spine will grow in soon.
Lower the bar a couple inches more,
I've got so many conclusions left to jump to.

I'm so scared you might know everything I'm scared of,
and I'm so sorry I can't say it to your face
when six states over on a barstool next to strangers
I can't stop confessing all of my mistakes.

But reminiscing's still for assholes,
I'll hold my head high in this lasso.

Gin and jealousy: not my best qualities.
They're all getting sick of me and my Magic Johnson positivity.
Gin and jealousy. It's not nineteen-ninety-fucking-three
and I know paint thinner aint cheep, but this portrait's gonna need a better me.

You were smiling, I was hiding, I need a new pair of eyes
that won't liquify if you see me in the checkout line.

String me up by my hands and my feet.
Every 23rd spring, give me something to eat.
And when the birds are all gone, tell me all that I missed
in the middle of the cornfield on my crucifix.

So I guess it's fine.
Maybe next time.
I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,
but are you sorry you never call me?
Track Name: They Called Me Mr. Glass
And I've woke up in a kitchen before,
not knowing how I ended up on the tile floor.
I've been drunk and I've been crazy,
I've been living life so dangerously.
Yeah, I've been drinkin,
you've been waiting patiently.

And I've woke up in pieces
on more than a few occasions.
On abandon ships with bandaged wrists
after days without communication.
David Beckham aint got shit on me,
this bender's gonna last another week.

But you still wrap me in your gauze
and pull the thorns from my paw.
Cause I'm always so fragile,
always just so goddamn breakable,
and somehow you make the bleeding stop.

And I've woke up in a foxhole once or twice.
In a bandit's hat, in a bathtub full of ice.
I'm always up in arms,
all I wanted was to wake up in your arms,
I bet that that would be nice,
but I suppose this futon will suffice.

Wrap me in your gauze
and pull the thorns from my paw.
Cause I'm always so flammable,
just so goddamn combustable,
and somehow you put me out in one drop.

And the cooler containing my kidney has a bottle and two flutes
of champagne for me and you.
Yeah, the cooler containing my kidney is filled with
moderately priced champagne for two.

And the cooler with my heart in a tinfoil swan
has gotta be somewhere around here too.
Track Name: A Memoir
Big dreams? Big deal.
Stop being polite and start getting
really really really really disenchanted,
almost like I planned it.

Big plans? Big problems.
Just slam in my Dragula and smoke em if you got em.
They won't see us coughing with the windows tinted.
Big dreams? Big fucking disappointment.

Grease me up, let me spin.
Pull out my teeth to sink yours in.
Just let me float here with all the other cogs and gears.
Or hand me a wrench, and lend me your ears.

My life is:

Temp jobs and jumper cables,
two-way mirrors and conference tables.
Ruined orders and focus groups,
sharpened fangs and botched interviews.
Just take me to the lake near where Matt rents out boats,
light your arrowheads and aim while I float.
Light your arrowheads and aim for my boat.

Utter failure by day, but at night:
empty 40s, worn down 45s.
If you stayed up with me tonight, hours after midnight you might find:
life's pretty alright sometimes.

Grease me up, let me spin.
My head's like an anchor, my hat's like a shark's fin.
I might get hooked time to time, but I'll never be reeled!
Big trouble? Yeah, big fucking deal.
Track Name: Hurricanes
They just see a hurricane,
they just see a mask
that you only wore in the first place
cause you thought they could use a laugh.
They just see a rain cloud,
and they just washed their car.
They just see what they turned you into,
they don't care who you really are.

And you're sad that they're so happy,
are they happy cause you're sad?
And if you took the time to apologize
would it only make them laugh?
Would they just see a hurricane
and nothing more?
Then they'd better get a basttile-sized raincoat,
cause here comes the fucking storm.

And if they all leave tonight, I'll still be in your corner
if you're still looking for a fight.
Cause I know how it feels and I'll be there tomorrow,
so get in the Bronco and we'll fucking drive.

But you're not just a hurricane,
you're so much more.
You've got fingers, you've got thumbs,
you're a hurricane that can open doors.
So when they're hiding in their basement
thinking that they're safe,
you'll be upstairs on the first floor
wrecking up the place.

Loose cannons like us can sink armadas
when left to our own device.
And if this town's gonna be so cold, then let's give it a brand new coat
so in the morning it'll match our bloodshot eyes.
Track Name: Seven Different Kinds Of Smoke
Cut me to ribbons,
hand them out for participation.
Give them to everyone
except for the coach's son.

He's on the all-star team, yeah he's gonna get a trophy
just cause my dad was too busy to love me
enough to quit his job to manage my girl group.
That's why I don't have a Grammy.

Cut me to wristbands
and I'll win the Tour de France.
They'll all know my fucking name,
just don't tell me whose blood's in my veins.

Then cut out the floor boards, cut out my heart
and pedal like hell when the pistol says, "Start."
But the telltale metronome won't mean a thing to me,
that's why we're miles apart.

What fresh hell is this?
A promise is a promise and you never keep your promises.
What fresh hell is this?
Cut me off, cut me down, cut me out and cut your losses.

I called in all my favors, now nobody owes me shit,
and there's no honor among liars, you're just gonna have to deal with it.
Track Name: The Well
Forks and knives instead of a parachute.
All I ever needed was a pair of shoes
to hit the ground with a running start

and a catchphrase at the last second,
or maybe some calligraphy lessons
to disguise this manifesto as art.

But today's fever dreams
are just tomorrow's black box screams
and I apologize for nothing,
that's what you get for trusting me…

And I don't have time
for that twinkle in your eye.
When the well runs dry
you won't hear me say goodbye.
When the well runs dry,
when that twinkle's left my eye
pull up the rope, pull up the basket,
but you won't hear me say goodbye.

You won't see it coming,
you'll just hear... fucking nothing.

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