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lyrics

Aim when you're ready, aim when you're ready
We are not trophies, friend.
Parading our shelves to celebrate self,
The dust that we sell to savor the earth's intent.

The flow of serotonin is a form of bleeding
The tiny intermissions that we take from breathing;
So old, they grow so old.

Bring me a dream that I can mold.
Coveting a brighter locus of control.

Romanticize to ruin.
The upper hand is broken when comfort meets routine
I ruin what comes to fruition.

The specks of dust that float through our conversation
These shivers mean something, it's a reoccurring shift in tone.
And when I left your house I couldn't explain it...
remember the patience, remember when I felt so low.
...And the tension pulling my coathanger wire shoulders up toward the sky is the same that keeps me tethered close.

Pull me up with your brighter bones.
Bend the balance so I can grow.

The upper hand is broken,
The unsound is deafening.

The upper hand is broken,
and broken hands can only ruin.

Romanticize to ruin
The upper hand is broken when comfort meets routine,
I ruin what comes to fruition
So tell me something sweet.

credits

from Being of Sound Body & Unsound Mind, released August 19, 2016

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The Grievance Club Kent, Ohio

New EP "Being of Sound Body & Unsound Mind," available now.

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