1. |
Hung From The Moon
05:10
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an old silent movie , a slow burning reel
a handful of rosaries , blood that’s congealed
jaundice and yellow, weak and craven
I’m putting hammer to anvil,
foot to pavement
there’s only so much weight thread can hold
and it makes this hanging impossible
even though I’m a whole planet over it all
should I fall off the wagon
or fall back asleep
it’s what I couldn’t see coming
that’s gnawing at me
there’s comfort in knowing my weight’d never hold
and only ever hanging the possible
I’m standing in your room wearing all of your clothes
as I hold my hand over the flame
we take a few deep breaths our stomachs convex
as it all starts to pour through my veins
into a watered down hell for us to romance
that has gotten so full it should spill
now the wood's been burnt black the gold filigrees cracked
well I told you I came here to kill
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2. |
Paradise
02:40
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walking through walls like a drunk poltergeist
“Jesus Christ, What’s Wrong With You?”
I ask as you shut off the light
kiss my head and ask me for bad advice
for a fool lost in paradise
falling down the stairs
ghostly and wanton, callous and rotten
Oh My God,
is this how you look at your life?
ten years old on the couch with a knife
too small to reach for the light
would you please come down?
I’m ripping up the floor
digging up the ground
totally ignored
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3. |
Göttingen
04:55
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all I’ve got is vivid pictures
that all my thoughts get crushed between
I know too much about my innards
it’s getting hard to breathe in dreams
I try and stick to what I’m doing
it helps to keep the world outside
even if it’s just me pacing
in my room from side to side
I would’ve spent years in Berlin
watching snakes and bottles break
quiet shattered Göttingen
coincidence is all it takes
all chemicals will fight for balance
I think it’s all worth what you sold
but then again I ain’t no chemist
I still wonder who needs her more
I know that you have got some sisters
who wish that they both knew a lot
I wonder if my father loves you
if all his words got fixed in knots
I would’ve spent years in Berlin
watching snakes and bottles break
quiet shattered Göttingen
coincidence is all it takes
don't kiss her ghost
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4. |
Back Of My Mind
04:16
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I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say
cause we’ve never touched and we only talk rarely
but I’m sorry your mom showed up high
in front of all of your friends at your eighth birthday party
my mom used to get high too
back when I would only speak to be cruel
so don’t bother with “hey are you alright?”
cause I’d rather just smolder in your collapsing eyes
do you know where this weird circle came from
that’s always in the back of my mind?
now that I’m tied up in wreaths of heartstrings
what is it that to this table I bring
it’s not wisdom it sure as shit ain’t nothing that’s real
it’s a problem I know but what else should I feel
†˙´ ∫´ß† π宆 å∫ø¨† ∫´ˆ˜© ߈≈†´´˜ ˆß ˆ† ∆¨ß† ˙åππ´˜ß ø˜ç´ †˙´˜ ¥ø¨ ∑ˆπ´ ¥ø¨® ˙å˜∂ß ç¬´å˜ ∫¨† ¥ø¨ ˜´√´® ߆øπ ¬ø߈˜© ¥ø¨® µˆ˜∂ ˆ ˜´å® ßç˙ˆΩøπ˙®´˜ˆç ∑ˆ†˙ †˙´ πåßßå©´ øƒ †ˆµ´ ßø ¬´†æß ∆¨ß† ƒøç¨ß ø˜ ¥ø¨® ç˙´´˚ ∫ø˜´ß ∫´ƒø®´ ˆ ∂´çˆ∂´ †˙å† ˆ ß˙ø¨¬∂ ˙ˆ† †˙´ ®øå∂
the best part about being sixteen
is it just happens once then you wipe your hands clean
but you never stop losing your mind
I near schizophrenic with the passage of time
so let’s just focus on your cheek bones
before I decide that I should hit the road
but you still visit me sometimes
in the dreams that come with sleep
where I’m at the table and it gives me splinters
before I wake up and realize that it could be worse
even though you’re not here decaying next to me
but then again why should you be?
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5. |
Labor Day
04:24
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I want to be done licking wounds
but it’s hard when I don’t live the way I’m supposed to
now that everything is moving gradually
and I’ve gotten stuck with this gruesome clarity
how is it you were only born a day after me
and died all alone when you were nineteen
it makes me think about how we would always say
that ghosts can’t wear white after labor day
now beating myself to shit just feels normal
despite the lack of any vascular muscle
buried in a pile geante of guilt
that leaves me weeping for every bug I’ve ever killed
I wish that I could just say I’m sorry man
and wash away the track marks and the blood that’s on my hands
look to what’s ahead instead of long for what’s behind
and learn to be content just to be alive
this wasn’t my fault
this wasn’t my fault
please someone tell me this wasn’t my fault
someone say this wasn’t my fault
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6. |
All American Muscle
03:22
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I can’t spit out this bad taste
I’m too elegantly displayed up on a crucifix made of bones
keeping up on my family bible
with my boomslang messiah hissing apocrypha
this isn’t bad, it’s flavorless
a lame display of arrogance
I guess some things don’t ever get old when they stay fucking impossible
all my hollow decadence and vacant opulence
If you’re nursing the ache while you piss in the wind
towards a nearsighted bonfire of impotence
that’s content dealing in flesh and gunning down kids
at the altar of all American carnage...
well who am I to talk I’m the acolyte of sloth
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7. |
Perfume
05:51
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I can’t stand the taste of all this raw flesh and perfume
masked by bright green eyes,
bruised up hands,
and heavily curtained rooms
that slowly thrash and pulse like the final throes
of something grasping for the purer things that came before
but only grabs fistfuls of sinew and rose
that slip through opaque hands built out of smoke
made to rise and smother the walls
perfume, curtains, and all
I can’t shake the metal flavor of blood and the throb of apotemnophilia
that comes on with the balancing act of being
one fracture away from starting to cave
now that I’ve lost my head so gracefully I feel my skin constrict
With uneasy frustration,
insidious calm,
and venomous patience
it’s like I just woke up a carnivore
cornered and having its hand forced
so I sit back and wait for a charming denouement
as I get friendly with the carrion I feed on
take my meals with ophidiophiles
slithering and juvenile
poised with an onerous bouquet and a bad habit of malaise
slack jawed with a counterfeit smile
trapped in a coil of cheap jokes and exile
now when I think I might breath with ease and finally disappear
I look back up and realize everyone’s still here
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8. |
Daguerreotype
02:24
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I’m up tonguing the monsters under my bed
as Damien crawls my floor
dreaming of my childhood home, burned up trash and rubble,
while howling at a crescent moon
like a dog with mange using its own leg as a bone
the spitting image of a sick numb animal
who can only speak in tongues and bare it’s bloodstained teeth
while languishing under the idea of relief
now I cradle the monsters under my bed
as phantoms scale my walls
dreaming of my father in his prime, daguerreotypes and red wine,
as Karen sings edelweiss
she says:
“one night you’ll fall asleep and you won’t wake up and you’ll see my standing there and we can both go sober up, and you can put your head back down where it used to lay all those years ago just wanting things to feel okay”
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9. |
Good Again
03:31
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On this earth a shadow falls
A tour de force of nothing at all
I guess things fall apart just to be picked back up
Still I can’t help but spit and curse through a clenched up jaw
Chew my cheeks till my mouth is raw
Maybe if I play dumb it’ll help me feel better
I hate the way that I space out when people talk
And let myself get too comfortable
It gets better with age I’m told
So I’m done imitating life
As an edifice to parasites
My body as pillory
Resigned to living gradually
I taste the blood that I sucked in Germany
Well I’m of better comfort when I’m floating under you
My iambic cyanide
For one final aside: don’t hold things in too tight
Now I feel good again
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