1. |
New Ways to Disappear
03:16
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NEW WAYS TO DISAPPEAR
Sore back on solid mattress.
Thoughts drifting where I know they shouldn't go.
The unknown.
The mid-summer heat sinks awfully deep.
It appears I fear more than I like to show.
I'm feeling low.
I'm feeling beaten down.
We're always searching for new ways to disappear and for quick escapes from all our troubles here. Cheap distraction from the rusty cage that we've allowed this place to become.
I scrawl this small reminder simply for the sake of my stability and sanity: this island's dressed up like a coffin, but that doesn't mean that it will always be.
We're always searching for new ways to disappear and for quick escapes from all our troubles here. Cheap distraction from the rusty haze that rots right through this place when we run.
I know at times you feel there's nothing more for the few grew too fast.
There are times when I'm inclined to side with that, but I know that home's more an internal state than the byproduct of a birth place, and it's sad that you can't recognize that fact.
Punch drunk on the pursuit of greener grass.
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2. |
Casket Glances
01:43
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CASKET GLANCES
I stole a photo of us from off wall at your funeral, then turned and walked straight out of the room. I stared at the floor as I stepped out the door and thought of all that was leaving with you.
I laid it to rest down in my jacket pocket; an obsessive regressive with nothing but time, repulsive compulsions towards running away, and cheap justifications for the reasons why
I never took that last look. I'll let the good times suit me fine.
Besides, it always would kill me silently inside anytime that you looked less than alive.
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3. |
Collecting Miles
02:59
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COLLECTING MILES
I-86 with focus fixed on bitterness and the corners that we've painted ourselves in. With a natural proclivity towards vitriolic vagrancy, their grand scheme's always seemed a scam to me.
I hate feeling like my golden days came coupled with an expiration date and that quality of life is destined to decline with age.
Just four wheels burning west to satiate my restlessness and two calloused hands to ring the helpless necks of the six-strings that provide a never-ending sense of pride in a life spent staring in from the outside.
New horizons for a hungry pair of eyes.
Fresh faces bearing open hearts and minds.
Catharsis proves the only truth that's truly worth the time.
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4. |
Run the Blood
01:44
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RUN THE BLOOD
of my affection, strip me bare
lace my elation with despair
frustration's become common-place
you take
i hate
can't buy my trust, but it might bruise
(you) lust for a life (i'd) never choose
yet i remain chained to your name
head hung
in shame
what will i become
if i let you run the blood
from the only thing
that i've ever truly loved?
we all relent to some extent but discontent is where i draw that line because i'd sooner watch you die than murder what is mine.
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5. |
Future Lungs & Livers
03:01
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FUTURE LUNGS & LIVERS
All the young punks pouring hours into bars and staring into vacancies as thick and black as tar, where we'll fall face first into the same traps that have slain our father's names.
Why romanticize a lifestyle that results in a gain for the industry of addiction when we just can't escape from the global reach of the men who seek to make pay dirt from the earth around our early graves? They're pulling profit from the diseased without shame.
Our community's propensity towards the enabling of self-destructive tendency is always leaving me asking why we:
Bathe these crimes against us in the warmest, softest light
Hold holy the chemical sting
Sing of our bar-stool rites
Deify and glamorize the bottle that's been drowning out tonight
There's an unrelenting shadow with an omnipresent touch that waits to suffocate us once we're finally numb enough. There's a losing side to boozer's pride that needs to be discussed.
Future lungs and livers all deserve at least that much.
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6. |
Hatred's Hand
03:43
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HATRED'S HAND
Count three more dead through tragic ends in a system soaked in sin.
There's a sick disease that burns beneath and demonizes skin.
We took the streets. Your eyes took me. No justice, little peace.
At black bloc's end, begin again in cyclical brutality.
Silence stings and rusts us all right through.
Broken home; all walls and curtains blue.
We scream and plead for some reprieve but never find relief:
just thoughts of loss and killer cops to beat us to our knees.
In a structure built and streamlined to protect and serve the few,
do you feel damned by hatred's hand only when it grabs for you?
Silence stings and rusts us all right through
Broken home; all walls and curtains blue.
A business and it's badge that we despise.
Broken Windows lead to broken lives.
"Hold on." "We have nothing to lose but our chains."
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Starving Arts
Adequate music by adequate people. Long Island, NY.
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