1. |
Spill
03:02
|
|||
|
Feed me comfort
By the volume, by the dose.
Portioned powders
Always keeping close.
Never been a stranger to the dangers of the lows.
Never been a stranger to the safest ways to choke.
…
If we leave our cars and drop flowers from the overpass, will I lose feeling where I stand?
We can get a ladder, sweep the flour off the roof at 1682;
Will it have made me a better friend?
No.
I've been told the man behind the masquerade refuses to uphold.
The capsules that encapsulate the things I’ll never know;
Comfort is callow and slow.
I tried to quell the guilt you felt when you spilled it onto me.
Tried to attribute equally between alcohol and indignity;
(You can model cans and bottles, stumble through parades.
I'll remain a mystery, say sorry to my veins)
to carefully reconcile the rift between a grain of salt and settled shame.
I tried to quell the guilt you felt when you spilled it onto me.
If I substitute my face for something radiant, could I make peace with settled shame?
If the twine around my ankle circumvents the strain and swell,
I'd go numb just to give you the same.
|
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2. |
Carbon
02:58
|
|||
|
(Higher higher)
A voice is repeating
(Liar liar)
The colony’s bleeding
And I can't shake the feeling,
Am I the fed or the feeding?
(Hollow hollow)
The plead of the pleading
(Follow follow)
The breath that you're breathing
So I'll chop at the woodwork
Seems this is all I know.
The queen seems disappointed
In how the garden grows.
She’ll feed me to the hornets
If stingers start to show
But I don't know anything about anything.
But it's slightly surprising
How great we are at depriving
The webs we weave for the commonwealth,
Although they're meant to serve ourselves.
Twitching, tragic.
The rules of being erratic
They've yet to show me the bitter end.
Feed me to the hornets,
Or keep me warm.
The carbon undeserving
To make peace with a settled swarm
To be tragically adorned
So make peace with a settled swarm.
I submit to the ebb and flow
The things that move in a perfect circle
But I don't know anything about anything.
I find space where the garden grows
A safe restraint from the pheromones, but
I don't know anything about anything.
The song we sing needs a stronger sting.
I find peace in the undertow
When I admit to the microphone
I don't know anything about anything.
I don't breathe for the kings concern
What I exhale they don't deserve
I don't know anything about anything.
|
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3. |
Sculpture
02:56
|
|||
|
I found your fiction in the back of my memory
Those crashing atoms of our romantic youth...
Was it mine?
The feeling subsides.
I've been trying all this time to drown the stasis in soft light
(Soften the light)
What a pity to live in a pattern.
What a shame to give up what you're after.
Never will be a statue or sculpture
So we'll swing, we'll hang from the rafters.
You never had the time
to sacrifice your spine.
But your head’s in the hive to reside and surrender.
But I never had the energy for artificial apathy.
To find myself in atrophy;
These could be the rest of our days.
So they say hollow fury fades.
Don't we all just survive and habituate?
Prize the rush we crave.
Hear the sun, and the garden takes its form.
What a pity to live in a pattern.
What a shame to give up what you're after.
Never will be a statue or sculpture
So we'll swing, we'll hang from the rafters.
|
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4. |
Garden
03:53
|
|||
|
I was sitting comfortably inside the periphery when I
heard the bricks hit the ground.
You stacked them in rows in a manner just so;
I said nothing when your hands lost grip of the sound.
You were a prophet when you spoke to me
in the garden outside of god's bed.
Made plans to meet up at the gates, and you unveiled a “get out of hell” free card inside your hand.
A lone red jeep
still parked on the street
and a fingertip’s touch to my doorframe
keeps comfort certain and sound.
…
But the arbitrary math between distance displaced and a time when we spoke,
Comfort is callous and low.
And all the simple fragile ways...
The gloom and shade as progress fades
above and around the bar we place;
It's sinking and you're losing face.
Sculpt it into clay, Spell it out for me.
Let the static in your head sway
and spill onto me.
Spill onto me.
Spell it out for me when you're spilling onto me.
Spell it out for me,
Spill onto me.
Make me content to be made of clay, absorbing your noise and dissonant waves.
Spell it out for me.
Spill onto me.
|
||||
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