We've updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Die Miserable

by Fuck The Facts

supported by
ObsidianGhoul thumbnail
ObsidianGhoul Bought this on a whim back in college because "HEHE FuCk ThE FaCtS", popped it in on the drive home where it quickly turned into one of the best blind purchases ever and kicked my ass. This album is a force to behold.
Anthony V.
Anthony V. thumbnail
Anthony V. uh, yeah... it rips.
Ddylan thumbnail
Ddylan Now with all five members contributing to the writing process, FTF reach their songwriting potential. Their clearest, musically and sonically, and most realized release to date. Favorite track: Census Blank.
Levon Kinsman
Levon Kinsman thumbnail
Levon Kinsman Simply the best album I came across in 2011. The re-recorded version of Loss upon Loss must be played at maximum volume doing a buck fifty down the freeway. Favorite track: A Coward's Existence.
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $6 CAD  or more


  • Fuck The Facts web-store

Drift 03:55
The nights, the traveled shared. the souvenir of you, in a distant past. made us closer. the creative spring, brought us closer. just like a brother. I never feared the threat of time. and I never guessed that we would drift so far apart. your support, your presence, your ear, trough some of our darkest times. why didn’t you reach me? when the burden of your sorrow was weighting you down? I neglected the alert given by your gentle retreat. how could I have slowed you down? when the events were only disguised under an excuse for a life becoming over busy. it seemed so natural, no reason to look for an under lying ground. why didn’t you reach me? when you couldn’t bare the discomfort, the lasting lightless thoughts. your everyday might not be what your heart screams for. did you sacrifice your dreams for others wellness? just like a brother, i never feared the threat of time. and I never guessed that we would drift so far apart. I can’t conceive you point at me as a threat. I would be an obstruction in your pursuit of happiness, I would? around my modest table, an empty chair, waiting for you. I will remain patient, I will keep waiting.
Cold Hearted 04:37
Masked under a well crafted, public image of politician, generation saviour. visionary or religious crusader, the lives, the memory thieves. their bags loaded with shattered rights and crushed dignities. their theory, well perfected, well tested. abominable researches were conducted in my own province, on simple citizens ready to try alternative cures, in hope to ease their depressive disorder. Oblivious to their involvement in the advancement of modern distortion techniques. ignorant of the level of physical violence of the treatments, and the abuse. violated of the right to reject, as now the so called war prisoners, the right to protest. an institutionalized human rights slaughter. I’m ashamed. when choice of words give latitude over restrictions and impact over one destiny, the decisions of a small group of men destroys the lives of many. a haled legal word breach, bringing our brother to a bare low level. I can’t believe that this is now, us. what we grew into as a civilization. sadistic and primitive like our early ancestors. who we are. cold hearted, hypocrite, scrooge, as no educated man before. a politician, generation saviour. visionary or religious crusader, the lives, the memory thieves. their bags loaded with shattered rights and crushed dignities. while in the country capital is spent on a war for safety. how can you justify your means when your inhabitant cannot afford to maintain and cure their own body. winter is slowly taking over. the leaves, fallen on the ground. seasons are passing, my reality getting colder. mistakes from the past forgotten, later refashioned. I’ll never be in a position to sympathise with such power misuse. how can you sleep at night?
Lifeless 07:41
Your second self. Within the incoherence, the dysfunction, hallucinations. fight with the realm of reality. motionless, you broadcast your thoughts and ideals. you exist on display. unsatisfied, your emptiness, your escape, with limited rules and consequences. your definition of efficiency: the minimal loss of time, the maximum grant of pleasure. but you remain dry. your disregard and lost interest in the simplest and genuine life delights. they loss their sweetness within your new found life. keep digging in the bottomless barrel of your illusions, with the certainty you can be anyone you want. you wear your new identities as if it was better fitted for you. isn’t easier to erase then face your failures. this short term relief will leave you with a heavy social void. each moment spent is taking you further from an end, from me and everyone else. yet you can’t stop? didn’t you question yourself twice before making it your priority, your obsession. yet you can’t stop? with the lapse of time it grew to be the leading portion of your life. isolated, negligent, you can’t recollect the amount of hours lost. feeding lies to conceal what you actually do with your time. you barely sleep, and spend all your waken moments obsessing over your fiction. with all these hours lost, that you threw away you could have accomplished great things. what have you gained ? there is no double life, just one on decline.
Census Blank 07:25
A solid voice on an old archive recording. the passionate words, a now past crusade. a tenacious battle to overcome inequity against an oppressing, conservative, religious, patriarchal society. her impregnable voice, their account of injustice, their reality, almost tangible. exposed to a mass of superficial, un-stimulating knowledge. the valued information, was an exhaustive list on how to please. experts telling how to catch a husband, and how to keep him. how to cope with sibling rivalry, adolescent rebellion. how to cook, dress, and look, and act more graciously. taught to pity the ones who reached out for greater means. and all over the medias, the cheap magazines, the surrealistic heroine, the glossy image of the american happy housewife. re-enforcing the time mentality that a true woman did not desire a career, higher education or political rights. was it painful to give up those dreams? to leave behind hopes of becoming unique? voluntary confinement in these neat and tidy houses. the central heart of their existence, with narrow roles and little impact out of the family cell. seeking for perfection within these boundaries. was that any fulfilling? did their ever had a moment of hesitation, or always wrote proudly on the census blank? how could the right to vote could ever seem like a possible treat to the family, the family system and the religious faith? you were fighting for basic freedoms swallowed by religious dogmas. and the problem laid , buried, unspoken for so long. like a strange stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction. a yearning that they suffered and strangled with alone. afraid to ask even of themselves the silent question : "Is this all?" a few fought and brought down barriers towards advancement, encouraged civil disobedience. while the rest, with nothing to look forward to, blotted out their feelings with tranquilizers.
Alone 04:11
Tame amber lights, orange basking my fatigued limbs. winds that tell me all the truth. no more aiding withered signs. a crash course, in belief, between walking and sleep. I left it all. and forever blind, and forever jaded. you can leach on and male excuses for only so long before the cards come crashing down. for once in your life, for once, just one time, just once, make yourself worthy of respect. them, you and I until the swarm becomes lost in the suffering. I found no escape, your time will come. this day is? we are? and yet we all remain hanging, always and ever bitter full. the ills , the mis-fortunes that left blood onto our hands, traces in our past. narcissistic refrain, come closer, come closer my dear.
Free in a cage, this is my tomb. they’ll have to drag me out of here. this is my tomb. this is mine.
The meter will not wait for me. nursing tomorrow where it doesn’t belong. I will blow the hours, waste them in time. I will fill the vacancy with excuses for a better opportunity. in line for the perfect moments. I will cover myself in disarray. I will over cherish my subroutine by fear of change. crippling my every day. Time will not wait, hold back for me. to grant myself permission, to decide. my stinginess with taking risks is costing me a high personal price. facing any probable mistake, I will change sidewalk. I don’t fall, I don’t bruise. I surrendered before even trying to lead my own effort. I’m a coward. I place my fate in the hands of god. will time pick up the few broken regrets and bring me back all the chances I missed. I will hold tight, the moment until all becomes flawless. the days, the years have so quickly disappeared. the dust, the stench of the flaws i can’t face. I rather look in the emptiness for a comforting hollow thought. absorbed in my own routine. Floating in my empty shell. I won’t dare, but smile with the sads, and hold back for time to bring me the end.
95 06:17
J’aimerais y être encore. écouter mon walkman, dans le tapis, ma vielle cassette tapée de FYP. que j’ai probablement reculée manuellement avec mon crayon mine, pendant la dernière période de classe. pour sauver sur les batteries. et le son du punk garage, me rendre l’écho. donner la réplique à ce qui m’anime. et le marathon pour aller voir le plus de show possible. collectionner les billets et les flyers comme si ils contenaient une partie de la soirée passée. et dans le trash, bouger mes 90 livres. comme si je mesurais 6 pieds et que j’étais bâtie très carrée. l’insouciance, la naïve conviction qu’il ne peut rien t’arriver. ne rien penser . oublier complètement la fin de la soirée. embrumée. fumer tellement de pot, ne plus avoir de sous pour manger, ça m’a jamais dérangé. être tellement tout le temps high et adorer. me frotter les mains sur le sapin pour camoufler l’odeur de fumée. mais qui est-ce que je croyais tromper? ouvrir une bouteille de vin a 7 heures le matin, ou une virée sur le pouce pendant laquelle tu oublie de rentrer. sentir que le monde est devant toi. la certitude, d’être unique. perdre la notion du temps, qui a de toute façon de valeur que ce qu’on lui donnait. sans pression, sans horaire, se laisser aller à travers. la journée, la semaine, le temps, jamais mesuré. c’est sur un son de nostalgie que la porte s’ouvre sur les souvenirs d’une époque perdue, maintenant loin mais toujours perceptible. une probable idéalisation du passé, donc les sons plaisants rebondissent au présent et se conjuguent avec ce moment, ce moment même où nous arrêtons.


released October 11, 2011

Fuck The Facts - Die Miserable:
Topon Das
Mel Mongeon
Mathieu Vilandré
Marc Bourgon
Johnny Ibay

Recorded by Fuck The Facts
Mixed by Craig Boychuk
Mastered by Alan Douches


all rights reserved



Fuck The Facts Gatineau, Québec

Canadian Bastardized Grindcore.

contact / help

Contact Fuck The Facts

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

Fuck The Facts recommends:

If you like Fuck The Facts, you may also like: