1. |
Sick
03:20
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Sick
The tiny pieces of the thing you had
They hide in creases then they take it back
It's sick
To carry on like it's all still there,
And bury one until to compare
The saddening game of a hopeful bore
Had on his plane of never coveting more
It's sick
To struggle on to the bleed below
The real conceding came long ago
Without the trying there no real 'do'
Just left with dying in your do-nothing stew
It's sick
To just give up on something more than sense
To rupture organs with a cruel intent
The saddening game of a deadbeat bore,
I eat my friends down to the core
It's sick
To eat the pips, but to leave the stalk
It's not a tip to know how people talk
It's sick
It's sick.
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2. |
Untitled #5
01:59
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3. |
Sunda Pangolin
01:15
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Sunda Pangolin
Sunda Pangolin
A hypochondriac if ever there's been one
Your fingernail skin and your beautiful face
Curing all ills like a mother to be.
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4. |
Sati
02:34
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Sati
Rush in Demons, rush in Gods
Rush in to claim this act as fine.
High cattle lowing, lower cattle prods
It's Sati for the faint of mind.
Battles are fought, and fought and fought
And thought to rinse the shrine
Of stones and lonely abodes of sorts
It's Sati for the faint of mind.
These flames are for you, my darling one
From my widow's window, down I spun.
It's Sati for the faint of mind
With a toe on the pyre's edge
It's Sati for the faint of my mind
Better do what the elder says...
Rush in Mother, rush in Father
To defenestrate your kind.
The mountain's rock, the land is lava
It's Sati for the faint of mind.
It's hard for me...
It's difficult growing up in a town
Where all that everyone wants is despair.
But on the sill I shall sit, and
Wait until it is lit
Then leap when I see you burning in there.
These flames are for you, my darling one
From my widow's window, down I spun.
It's Sati for the faint of mind
With a toe on the pyre's edge
It's Sati for the faint of my mind
Better do what the elder says...
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5. |
Lack of Curiosity
02:02
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Lack of Curiosity
Goodbye
Your animals have left you for the night.
Goodbye
Poor men will all expect you to take the bite.
A sapling shadow,
You're rattling, madam
Like a cat in the meadow
With a Gatling cannon
He's shorn off his hair,
He's torn with despair.
Not born with this flair,
Not even sure what he's doing there.
He's feeling clean
Despite feeding the scene
With things quite obscene
He's a killing machine...
Postrate where he sat her,
Belated the matter-
Oh how she hated that cat!
And how it related her clatter.
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6. |
The Square (ft. Hjalmar)
03:39
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The Square
The excuses jump at the breakfast table
Risen like the morning cows
Like the cavern's plight
It rained in the night
So now you're able and willing to house.
With the pitch of a marksman, it burst of thirst
Leaving only its hat and its gloves.
In the Italian Square,
We were left standing there
As the first to catch from above.
These are the showers, by this how it started
Say the men, through out through the square
And hermetically sealed-
How does that feel?
To be parted is beyond compare.
I am the leopard from there but of here
With a scan that pans from the pots.
If all ink is true
Then there's no tattoo
That could clear why I always change spots.
I'm asking who loves me, but knowing the answer
I revel by rhetorical rite.
And if this doesn't work,
Act like a jerk
And spit bits of words I don't like.
The crescent's still mine in the lonely dark square
As the lint in the suitcase still sparkles
The bottles and pumps
Mean nothing to lumps
And the handle spares not the embarking.
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7. |
Fang Wounds
02:52
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Fang Wounds
Show me the cat who thrives on criticism
Lets it in to all his witticisms,
Listens to the spoilt brat
But takes him just as that
Fang Wounds
That make what you see
Play to the tune of
me, me, me, me, me, me, me
Fang Wounds
Show me the Gate of Grimy Truth
Take me out onto its roof
So's can see disgusting sights
Let the thorns be my delight!
Show me its gums, show me its fangs
Or are we gonna ignore them?
Hear the sparrow at the dawn
Drop the tweet and sing foghorn
Fang Wounds
That make what you see
Play to the tune of
me, me, me, me, me, me, me
The Fang Wounds
That break up the skin
Those Fang Wounds
Show what's within
Despite the dung, I turn to the stable
And put in terms which you'll be able
Keep the clouds and keep the rain
Keep the rain and stay insane...
Fang Wounds
That make what you see
Play to the tune of
me, me, me, me, me, me, me
Fang Wounds
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8. |
Mosses Your Tongue
05:40
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Mosses Your Tongue
It's two o'clock in the morning and I've been asleep for three hours. I sleep early, and as they say, inspiration doesn't have a schedule. It comes without warning- it does for me, anyway.
So tastelessly, mockingly, a gripping theme, a tight rhyme scheme and a moral beam wound with a spider web thread spike into my dozing head like a grandfather, respected and loved yet with a torch in your eyes, coming to your darkened door, it's barely four but you can't ignore it.
So your dreams and mind deem it fine to find a way of slotting it into wakeful semblance, and jotting it softly into memory, tapping gently on the bed as though the creases left where your hand just was will be the proud valleys of your life's creation in the morning; baying with cattle, florid with green, ebbing with tributaries of your vanity and blood of genius; its own sun and your sun triumphantly revealing the pastures you sculpted overnight.
But they're not there, and the taste of night that mosses your tongue is all of the tunes, the words of the prophet and hearts never won.
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