1. |
Tartan Ribbon Collection
01:30
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crumpled up, he shook and stuttered. through the cracks i've seen him laugh. experienced things that should kill a man, and it filled him full of violence. a deathly concept made far too intimate. those who oppose are shown the wall. tooth and nail versus the firing squad
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2. |
Drybite
01:06
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feel the fangs sink in and recoil by dry fire. nerves exposed to the cold air, yet it settles like a fever. livid vessels dilate, accepting it. left underwhelmed but still compensating.
collapse inwardly, imploding and burying me in myself
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3. |
I Want it in Braille
01:11
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conjure up lost memories; less lost more purposely misplaced, made up or modified. every moment left a pang inside. through the loss i see your heart still writhes. not even jesus can fill a hole this size. lots of road makes for lots of road rash. understanding won't bury a hatchet.
the crap can't cut itself and it if could it wouldn't, it seems to be stepped in.
let live,
let suffer,
let die,
then shake hands and forget about it
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4. |
One Hundred Summers
01:39
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swinging from the chandeliers of ritzy hotels, tell me 'bout the messes you made when you were young. urgent in you manner like we're wasting your time, or like you're running out.
of all those days can you recall how many are memorable?
revel in the times you may have wasted without realizing you're wasting more.
mind the remainder or how much you've left out, just by living like you oughta live. no regard for tomorrow when you've got today.
and the summers passed ya by. a shift in perspective. sadly, the present is when you reside
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5. |
First and Last Shake
01:52
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first and last is an awfully bold sentiment. every egg is dedicated entirely to one basket. but, for the genuine you tend to fail. being alone will never feel so well. shake so hard you forget.
active and well-scripted interplay. a miserable cold war in every wave. rather than compliment or syncopate, they just collide.
sad attempts to pacify with pushes and shoves, your naked cells against a mess of information.
an ebb returns me with a comfortable lull. when i arrive it is in grand mal. swaddled in the womb, begging to stay. slowly reborn to the wrong place
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6. |
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show me compassion! set aside your title, be brave and be a father.
a little birdy tells me i act to see reaction. your face has hardened and your eyes have lost that glimmer.
the statues express a similar disregard, yet i find i confide in your particular charms.
reduced to collateral, how many do i belong to?
up to see his lips, afraid to see the fangs they're hiding. between blushing cheeks, below a stare of ambiguous intentions. stripped of my dignity and raped of my pride, i'm just a mess of tempting flesh, clipped wings and political binds. remaining faithful to my king i sit and wait for time to fly
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7. |
Promises, Promises
00:49
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pulled apart at the hands of my creditor, collector. what's left shall be worked until it's less. my love was passed about as a form of currency, single-handedly supplying a pyramid scheme
turned inside-out and rearranged at the hand of my creator. apostatized and worked into another. living as less than nothing
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8. |
Non-Fiction
01:28
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prosing on, forcing conversational. exaggerated interest in the weather, or back and forth about our favorite wars; the histories we plagiarize or've rewritten altogether.
who's turn is it to revise? admitted lack of hindsight or a lack of creative taste? translate to waste.
i have found between the lines, the lives that truly lived. entire nations beneath the text, entertaining and nothing else.
your love is rehearsed, infatuation subsides and the brand you wear smells so generic
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9. |
This is the Church
01:19
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what's a guy to do, entangled in the web he's woven? like the prey of a spider with no say in which meal is chosen. so long as it shakes in its grave it's attractive. like a shark eats anything tasting metallic. like the drowned remains of titanic, or a wounded kid at the beach. either side see i strive for the shit just beyond my reach.
i set my own trap's bait.
i tripped my own bait's trap.
it's a messy catch, but someone's gotta collect
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10. |
Vestige
01:23
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as for my blasphemous rants and sacrilegious romance, i swear it's platonic, barely holding hands. maybe a prude? i don't know. incompetent? i don't care. i'm left oblivious who it was with what weapon where.
but i realize it's me, at least the evidence suggests. i can't remember it clearly though i know it's for the best.
i'm not who you think i am.
the cloth won't make one a saint.
of course my actions seem pure superficially.
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humanure Arizona
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