Regret Rodeo from Matchbook Sermons by AshChoir

Dust motes dance in the flickering light as Reverend Marlboro mounts a stage of accumulated failures. This track, a relentless catalog of unpunished sins, pushes the band’s raw, spoken-word sermons into stark, almost uncomfortable territory. Each match strike punctuating the Reverend's rasp becomes a recurring marker, counting down a bitter reckoning. The usual gospel fervor is traded for a grim progression, driven by bar-stool percussion and distant, spectral hums from the choir, creating an unsettling intimacy. Listeners are pulled deeper into the fray as back-masked Hammond swells carve out distinct narrative chapters, a bold departure that reshapes traditional song structure into a searing audio experience. It's an unflinching look at public witness, showcasing a new, unpolished evolution in the Reverend's testimony, where every lurch and near-silence builds a tension that feels both ancient and acutely present. This piece leaves no easy escape from the weight of shared guilt, making it a difficult but essential ride for anyone seeking genuine catharsis through sound.

Tracklist

8.	Regret Rodeo	3:36

Lyrics

Stool creaks, wood dust waltzes over spilled rye
Match slithers alive, tasting sulphur like a sermon starter

I rope each regret like a bucking coal spark; it drags gravel across my gums
Bar-stool hoofbeats stomp time; bottle shards approve with brittle applause
Lucille's Hammond spins backward, untangling Sunday vows into sour tobacco
My throat leaks smoke syllables, invoices stamped overdue
Either breathe this ledger aloud or let it bruise your lungs forever

I watched a man pawn his ring for four stale jokes; I kept the change and the aftertaste
Saw a waitress swallow her ringtone tears, then tip herself in sorrow
Heard the rail-yard groan names we failed to bury; I spun the jukebox static
Each match strike clicks a tally—flint arithmetic nobody audits
Confess now, friend, before the chalk outline erases us under tomorrow's mop

Regret bucks harder at closing bell; we still climb the splintered gate
Slide guitar screeches like metal praying to be forgiven by rust
Harmonica bleeds through cassette gauze, nursing every crooked lullaby
I brand my own palm with the matchhead just to prove I'm still negotiating
Cashier cage rattles: pay in smoke or pay in hush foreclosure

Look me in the ash rim: the rodeo ends when the bull forgives the rider
Till then, your pulse is the lasso; my rasp is the spur

Match snaps shut—glow folds into my coat pocket
Bar stools exhale; we ride the leftover smoke toward unlit promise
Regret Rodeo dismounts; spurs still rattle under our ribs

Credits

from Matchbook Sermons, released September 3, 2025

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