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One of the two tracks that everyone had a hand in writing and it seems only fitting that we would want to lead off the Tinyfish album with it. Most of the time, composing for the band tends to begin with an idea to ‘play in the style of’ some artist or group that we admire but along the way we sort of veer off in another direction, like a six year old clinging to a runaway beach donkey.

Although I personally dislike having to explain what a song ‘means’, I can see that it might be important to certain individuals and who am I to stand in the way of a little more understanding. Remember that you should be careful with what you wish for, as you might just get it.

Motorville is chiefly about my personal antipathy towards motor cars. I know we need the bloody things to get around but do you really need a 4X4 to transport children to and from school? If you do, I personally think that you are a useless tosser who is more concerned with looking rich and successful to your peers than you are with allowing your grandchildren the luxury of breathing in sixty years time.


What’s more, I really don’t care if you disagree with me as it’s only a song and if you can clog up my lungs with carbon monoxide and my high street with sports cars, you can certainly endure four minutes of lyrical irritation. Just imagine it’s a traffic jam.

Anyways up, we think it’s a nice tune.


He says it's Ecuador, but we all know it's really Motorville. Write a love song or a suicide note; it's a pamphlet for tourists in Motorville.


“hacked into pieces
packed into boxes
for a night flight
across the Cape
I made my escape
before the black, cold,
dog noses could touch my thighs
I poured myself,
a drink for the suicidal,
into a chair
and proceeded to twist the bottle's neck
until I woke up in Ecuador
with two pairs of pants
and a big-boned nurse
who said she had contacts.
On the in-side, that is.
I'd left it all for fifteen dollars a day,
plus expenses
- a tidy sum if you spent it all on bones.
So now it's the right time -
where the liquid black
runs out through the streets,
and the back of beyond
is right next door.
It's time to get some real work done.”

With all the splinters that you pulled from me
You place my bones upon the road
Another waste of time and energy
Until you learn to make your own

This leitmotif, this allegory
This trust in things you know
The crops you burn
The keys you turn
To drive your demons down

Welcome to Motorville
Welcome to Motorville

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