1. |
Sleep
02:29
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A book in my hand.
A blank on my face.
A story I cannot understand or perceive.
An objection I cannot articulate or carry very far in this heat.
So let me sleep.
Let me sleep.
Just let me sleep.
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2. |
Holding Hands
02:25
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Walking through your old neighborhood,
you think how lucky you are to be forgotten,
how blessed to be anonymous,
so glad to no longer be a part of this.
Connection is hell, and I won’t rebuild.
At least the ruins aren’t a tool for some other mind to take advantage of.
I’m tired of coercion.
I’m tired of lies.
I’m tired of playing nice.
I’d rather chew off my own leg than be trapped here with you.
I will forgive so that you will stop,
so I can move on and live a life again.
Couldn’t deconstruct the state,
we shot insults at friends and lovers instead.
Hands holding and holding hands back,
conceal your mistakes instead of learn from the past.
Hurting each other in intimate ways and putting that hurt on display,
and so I tore at my face like an animal.
I just can’t face the consequence,
eyes still wet from the consequence.
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3. |
Driving Home
03:44
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4. |
The Number
02:58
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Why does a memory become more sure the older it gets?
Why do I think I know what it is that we all need?
Where do the words go after we speak?
I’m afraid of where the words go and the silence before sleep.
I have watched the light pass beyond the boundary of horizon,
and blood pass beyond the ring of the drain.
Promises fade into nothing.
Screaming swallowed by thunder and rain.
If you can’t face the nothing at least face me today.
Look my way so I can exist.
Look my way.
Isolation is a teacher of sorts and I am its student.
Am I looking into the void again or at a specter of me?
I don’t want to be friends with your band.
I don’t want to be friends.
Every day you can hold yourself accountable to yourself instead.
When I can stand no other,
when I can’t stand myself,
I come to this place,
this darkest of wells
to attempt to draw water,
to attempt to slake something,
to feel bereft of this sense.
Our measurements, counting nothing at all, while we prostrate ourselves for the number.
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5. |
What I've Done With It
02:50
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Guaranteed to break down,
guaranteed to fake it.
Counting the sum of dotted lines.
Culture compulsion,
fevered rejection.
A celebration of neglected minds.
A house: captive
A mouth: a kiss
A curse: a wish
A first: a fist
Why won’t I subside,
this consciousness?
What you’ve done to me.
What I’ve done with it.
I thought I saw a ghost,
it was my own dead self.
I will lift this weight from off my chest.
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6. |
Milagro
02:57
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What are you?
What are you doing here?
Your Vatican the desert,
your bible a question.
I’m not in touch with the Earth and I don’t know god’s name.
I don’t even know my own damn name,
but a name is power.
A word is power.
They still come here seeking a man not knowing he’s dead.
Prayers for shelter, prayers for food.
Once bearing messages, now bearing nothing instead.
They still come here seeking a man not knowing he’s dead.
A milagro slips through my fingers,
the beat of a tin heart.
You’re falling apart.
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7. |
Micro
01:28
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Can’t catch a break,
they the think the struggle’s fake.
I make the room silent when they see my face.
Makes me act violent because I have no place.
Words to explain are just a waste.
Your bullshit didn’t break me,
but I’m fucking tired of gaslighting at every turn.
I’ll set the world on fire.
Bled to death from a thousands cuts,
you act like I wanted this.
I fight to live every day in your hostile environment.
Fucking trust me,
stop while you’re behind.
Banal ignorance isn’t worth my time.
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8. |
||||
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I have lost my way and I am trying to be free,
of the way I feel.
Of the way you made me feel.
So can you own this mess?
Or is it beyond your character to face me?
Or are you afraid to face yourself?
Collapsing, interior rot,
your soul’s not a house but it simulates one.
No mirrors, the doors busted wide.
Besides a few animals, no one is left inside.
I’d like to watch our breath form on the window,
snowfall in the forest beyond,
but you let this place rot,
let this place rot.
Now I feel lost,
so far from a feeling called home.
Is this infinite or not?
You’re a wound that I can’t dress.
You’re a question that I didn’t ask.
You’re a threat that got stuck in my mouth.
A no I wish I got out.
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9. |
Amphora
03:00
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Self Neglect Albuquerque, New Mexico
More of a mood kill than a crowd kill.
Alex:vox:they/them
Matt:guitar:he/him
Derrick:bass:he/him
Leon:drums:he/him
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