1. |
In The Room (Elephant)
02:05
|
|||
|
These are the words he told me.
He speaks my tongue well
and only.
He said if you are wise and bend to me
you will be canonized
and sent to freefall
into paradase
or reciprocity.
Please me well and pleased you'll be.
A perfect piece of property.
Sex, sugar, and hypocrisy.
Now obey my will.
The words you want and what you say
contradict your views and fade away.
I'll do what I want not what you say.
The truth will always translate.
|
||||
2. |
Monkeys
02:54
|
|||
|
It's been a while
since we crawled out.
Is mother asking
how tall we can stand?
Our muscles ache.
Our knees are scraped.
Stop waiting.
The scar's not faded.
The wound is still red and tender.
Prognosis pending.
Get a clean dressing.
Stay dry.
Post haste
assign a headline,
make it fodder for fiends.
Sensationalize it.
Cut it down.
What tomb has been raided
to unleash these ghosts?
What lost incantation
need we recite?
You know it's just science
winding your watch up.
You won't see the price paid,
not from this side
of the grass.
Calculate your
social security.
See if it floats.
See if it floats,
give gold for sand.
Heeding demand,
build faster.
Build faster sill.
We're just trying
to stay
dry.
|
||||
3. |
Early Morning Regret
02:25
|
|||
|
Holding on
to the earth.
The wind and
mistakes
beginning
to fade away with hope.
Play along,
foolish words
make sense
with placement adjacent
to the frost in your lungs.
It'll all be over
when the blood is frozen.
Relieved and painless,
cell walls have burst
but you are absent.
|
||||
4. |
If Dogs Looked Up
03:35
|
|||
|
We all pretend
we're so much older than we are
and then we are.
It's all poison.
Read the label.
It's all poison.
You are making
the wrong choices.
Dressed in trends,
a skeptical Victorian
predicting the end.
We're smooth-skinned ancients.
Shout out denial
to deaf ears
and call it something
you're not.
Take ether and cloth
to wet lips
and know there's something
we've lost
along the way
to this nightmare.
Kicking and screaming
on the way to being
so tired
of scratching and scraping
these jagged lines.
Our futures graphed
into sinking maps
this life decides.
We must plot
the next points.
No,
don't relax,
no.
Don't lay down.
You won't be here.
You can't afford
to trust your kind,
your planet,
or your mind
to fix itself.
It won't be fine.
It won't be fine 'cause...
...along the way
to this nightmare...
|
||||
Seconds Prior Boston, Massachusetts
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