1. |
Gold in Monochrome
03:13
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I read my thoughts, while I fell to the bottom.
I broke my spine, pushing my back to the wall.
We preach in halls of the reckless abandoned.
Believe the truth rather than blind divine.
We all just simply,
abandon our homes.
Capsize in cold flood.
Live life as monochrome.
This is a force of habit.
The calm before a storm.
The dregs of our existence,
shattered on common thrones.
And I’ll criticise you,
the childish hopes where dreams are supplied too.
And just like secrets we hold,
the public find unrest to simply define your clothes.
Your high castle falls.
A golden throne awaits.
Before the end, before the rise,
a halt on all idealist design.
And we’ll be in the marble,
preachers succumb to hex.
We are the cause to the effect.
We are, we are the back before the break.
What.
What you were.
A peasant seated on a golden throne.
We’ve all seen better days
No one is born kind.
The dregs of our existence?
Or just the spirit level of your mind.
credits
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2. |
You Go Glen Coco
03:58
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The architecture of my own well being
matches the greys over the ocean deep.
I'm so attuned to a shallow depth of feeling,
but we’re blessed with the modern age,
We're all ingesting pills to sing.
These are the waves.
These are the rough seas,
below heavens expanse.
And we danced below the sky.
Lead on or drown.
And we’ll wade through the wreckage,
and anchor myself to you.
Anchor myself to you.
Breathe.
I'm always here to help your calm,
but I'm like a poster boy for burning candles by the dawn.
It never ends well.
It never ends well.
Take a step back,
breathe then dive back in again.
Trade an eye, for an eye.
With our lives, we sacrificed.
And we danced among the stars,
and we left it all behind.
I’m the black spot on your naval chart,
and I’ll anchor myself to you.
Anchor myself.
When they all jump ship,
i dive in with them.
Black holes aren’t as black as they’re painted. When they all jump ship.
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3. |
An Exercise in Bad Taste
03:14
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My mind is shot.
Nights seem such foreign art.
Decadency has its fill,
in the black laced with subjective thrills.
I’m wide awake,
can’t sleep,
the night time feeds me.
Past the point,
where oddly worlds deceive me.
I'll paint with chalk to separate the fat of the land
And I’m the worse man you’ll ever meet.
Just two legs shorter than a wolf to the flock of sheep.
I guess it’s all very literal,
but the same can be said,
like a two-faced coin,
you’ll always see ahead.
I guess it’s all very literal,
but the same can be said,
Like a gravestone marked under recently dead.
We feast on nights,
The seamless iridescence.
We push the curb,
where oddity sees such reason.
And we’ll seize the night that fetishises lust from our hearts.
And I’m the filthiest man alive.
Just one seedy night from a life lived for divine.
Atonement is a sacrifice of pride,
even in the darkest night.
When these words are not mine but remain vivid in their audacity.
Success is dependent on the backbone than the foresight of the wishbone.
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