1. |
Everything I Don't
04:13
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Take your stance and glide across these abrasive plains.
Silence. Around you are moving figures but nobody makes a sound.
When you just don’t have it in you to lift up your chin,
Inhale fresh air and muster a shit-eating grin.
Seemed she felt inclined to appease,
Then turns in passing and prepares to beam
We lost our means of conveyance
when the rug was swept from underneath
And the blood will drip if you clasp shards
But if you somehow manage to fake it
You’ll be alright. You’ll be just fine
In these rows of vehicles
We sneak amongst the trees.
They cannot quite grasp just what we have at stake here
It’s not properly written on your face, dear
Evening gears always revolve,
They will not anchor resolve, unless
I have had quite a few, I guess
Take me to where we lost ourselves
We lost our means of conveyance
When the rug was swept from underneath our feet.
You don’t need to hold our hands
To know just where we stand.
We won’t fall in line or be confined
But this time you’ve been defined, and you know it.
You can’t say you didn’t notice
That this is yours to take
Now this is yours so vacate
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2. |
Arms of Triumph
03:09
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We tend to slow down, but we’ve grown tired of not making sound.
One voice makes small waves, and they’re easy to be misplaced.
Diagram implement; our aim is always been for an improvement.
The votes in.
We never guessed movement results in
disregard, though granted I’ve been
waiting to make my incision
To cut the work that meant for us.
Hear me; my decree…
Trepidation comes with the territory.
Tables turn in open plains.
We’ll carry on; our afflictions engrained.
A dragging search for sugar cane.
The sound we chew and we maim.
We’ll scribe our tales that won’t be read.
It’s out turn full steam ahead.
The votes in.
We never guessed movement results in
Disregard the wreck that I’ve been…
Carried by perpetuation
We’ve got our work cut out for us
I’ll admit
In a minute
I’ll admit
When I see fit
I’ll admit
Ignition seemingly brought to a halt,
By steep incline.
Endeavors will never yield without
sacrifice.
I’ll admit when I see fit
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3. |
Basement Sounds
01:13
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4. |
Three Sheets to the Wind
03:57
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Your eyes unfold, reveal spinning scaffold, denizen.
Slightly intrusive, she makes herself jettison.
And your hands smell like torched dirt once again.
Yes, you hide it but why? You’d have to try with all your might
To make Him say no
You stitch in crooked patterns
Reap like sow.
We’ll clutch our thick skin as we
Thin our blood flow.
Commune, consume, and commence to cajole,
“Expired, where will you go?”
It creeps in on trapeze.
And we responded aptly;
Now everyone’s adapting.
To ebb on the threshold,
A hidden break is clean.
When I’m in this state I’m better off unseen
A not so sudden shift
but inconspicuous.
Keen credence shattered.
The site? Doesn’t matter.
So I run from my equilibrium.
No one performs penance in attempts to reach presence, in part
(this derelict brain…)
Inhibitions won’t quell till you’ve rung out the well with heart
(… has questions inane.)
This lurid mosaic is by all counts archaic
At least in regard to transcendence, charred
With scruples deftly disbarred.
We dispel the feeling of despair from the air
You stitch in crooked patterns
Reap like sow.
We’ll clutch our thick skin as we
Thin our blood flow.
Commune, consume, and commence to cajole,
“Expired, where will we go?”
It’s been every night
For quite some time
Perceived process to heal
Legs long as stilts, you tower to conceal
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