Gentle Flag from Marching Breath by Draoi

A scarf tied to the bedpost of the psyche isn't a battle banner, but a quiet, firm marker of this track's resolve. Here, the usual fight isn't for the street but a deeper pact, etched in the lyrics that speak of bills still waiting, yet the panic gone, replaced by a self-imposed calm. This journey from anxious tension to measured peace unfolds across the arrangement, moving from a light, almost hesitant shuffle with gentle rim-clicks to a warmer, more cradling bassline as it progresses. The B section, with its pivot to minor, acknowledges the "old ache" that still knocks, a direct nod to past struggles and the weariness they left, but it’s a glance back, not a retreat. The mandolin's crosspicks and Telecaster's quiet twinkle, alongside the soft bodhrán brushes, don't just accompany; they articulate this inner turning. The development culminates in the return of a brighter, grounded resolve, where folding a quilt becomes a significant act, a quiet flag of mended spirit. This redefines "holding the line" as an act of internal stillness, finding strength not in a roar, but in the shared, soft mantra woven into the close: "We march when we breathe, quietly." The reel motif, subtly quoted on whistle and mando in the tag, serves not as a rallying call, but as a deeply personal echo of history reinterpreted, proving that even a band known for pub brawls can find profound rebellion in the quiet act of acceptance.

We've been raising hell across Ireland since our first gig ended in a bar fight and three broken strings. Our songs? Pure gutters-to-glory stuff—rebellion, heartbreak, and whiskey-soaked nights that blur into dawn. Punk spirit meets ancient melodies, delivered with spit and fire. Pure madness live.