1. |
Wait, Commander
02:17
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You want to tell me
what to put in my skull?
It's full
of black holes.
Take a look in my eyes!
Sharp spires get dull.
I can't de-oxidize;
so mystical.
Sculptors
get bored with their tools.
Anchor yourself to the trench
and pull.
"Wait, commander!"
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2. |
Excellerator
02:54
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I stepped in to the infirmary.
Stared at the ceiling in front of me.
I saw those bodies on the bed.
I saw those tubes inside your head.
White walls made me feel betrayed.
White walls betrayed the color grey.
I've never gotten an answer
from a well-dressed man
Was never given the cure;
never told the plan.
I stand,
in stone,
alone.
The ego never wants to stop.
The ego denies it will rot.
I saw my body on the floor.
I wasn't moving anymore.
The fear was seeping out my pores.
My pores...
This is a place I know too well;
this is a place where fear does dwell.
Among the birds and the plastic trees,
it's waiting to bring you to your knees (and it does).
You can sell yourself a story,
or you can write yourself a book,
but the fear will always linger:
Digging into your back, ripping at your skin,
clawed in like a million hooks.
If there is a better way,
we could find a way,
we could sus it out.
If there is another way,
then we'll find a way,
we will work it out.
I've never met an honest
man in a suit.
I never bit the bullet.
I never told you to shoot.
I stand,
alone,
atoned.
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3. |
Stray My Eyes
03:26
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Rapidly moving through the city of sleep,
it stops for rest before chugging on.
Rapidly moving, it's an idiot's parade;
its spider legs tower over buildings
Suddenly there's a disturbance up front;
A new fool takes hold of the group.
Lumbering like an ape in a cage,
he doesn't understand captivity.
Stay!
The eyes, the eyes
are moving 'round.
The eyes! The eyes!
Stray, my eyes, my eyes!
It's coming down.
The eyes! The eyes!
The newest leader formulates a plan:
down with those not part of the tribe.
The newest leader does not comprehend
that he will soon be outside of party lines.
His flock disperses to conquer the buildings,
smashing windows and burning books.
When reconvened they turn to him,
and with looks of doubt they ask "what's next?"
Stay!
The eyes, the eyes
are moving 'round.
The eyes! The eyes!
Stray, my eyes, my eyes!
It's coming down.
The eyes! The eyes!
Whether endeavors are well spent
is not up to you.
It's up to
the cosmic chariot.
Often the holy will hold true
to what is skewed.
They bloom
in a post-fact society.
Surprisingly complex thoughts
from multi-celled organisms,
delivered at high speed
to your cerebellum.
The only answer
is what you believe in,
but weigh that against
the suffering of other people.
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4. |
Mask Signal
02:24
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4:30PM:
be at agreed place
Put on my mask,
wait for the drop;
after that,
take us away.
6:30PM:
swallow capsules.
After effects,
protect metals.
Wait for mask signal.
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5. |
Smoker's Lung
02:20
|
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Am I speaking to you
or a facade?
In post-modern culture
no one likes this song.
Keep the loosest grip
and we'll get along.
In post-modern culture
everyone likes this song.
Half-cocked,
ready.
We pull back and then
exhale smoke.
Guess I'd open this
with a joke.
Do not philosophize upon
fragments and lists.
Guess I'd open this
with a kiss.
Half-cocked,
ready.
I could jury-rig identity through irony in order to conceal the massive emptiness that's lurking deep inside of me, and if I had a script in hand I'd know the lines, play the parts. All I need to hear from you is who to be and where to start.
READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY. READY.
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