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1. |
Here
02:24
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clean-cut grass on english lawns. the sweep of the kerb like a manicure. the eye of the beholder is bleeding praise, full of grace, saving face. and all of this is a performance, see? i was strung like beads on a rosary. i was wrung out and torn up and left to dry, and i knew why, from the look in yr eye. i wanted you here. i wanted you now. (all the lines shot thru with dust) (all yr precious metals left to rust). i wanted you here. i wanted you now. (i just wanted you on yr own) (i can handle being left alone). in the aftermath of yr awakening to the flowers that bend with the pace that yr walking, the eye of the storm is a whirling drain and everything will get sucked in. and i am held up in yr orbit now. and i can feel the vertigo when i look down. and i cannot decide which way to look, ‘cos you got me shook, you got me shook. i wanted you here. i wanted you now. (all the lines shot thru with dust) (all yr precious metals left to rust). i wanted you here. i wanted you now. (i just wanted you on yr own) (i can handle being left alone).
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2. |
Radical Acts
03:57
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if it looks accidental, it’s gotta be accidental. spark the wick on my compacted skeletal being, the lethal density resultant from the fall. but if it looks accidental, it’s gotta be accidental. again, we heed the cynics - "be a boy, be a boy". well i find the night is darkening around me. but i haven’t found a use for your wounded poetry. the blood runs off the page and drips down my knees, and i can’t see why i would ever be desiring a gut-punch so vivid it’s like cheating on memories. again, we heed the cynics - "be a boy, be a boy". be yr own girl, be yr own woman. be the one who pushes it thru. i’ll get thru, i’ll get thru.
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"i’m just trying to help you man, i mean girl, i mean man; i don’t really need to consider yr stance, 'cos mine is hard, and mine is fast. never thought it’d be a problem to humbly suggest that you can’t make yr own choices or decisions”. ("just 'cos yr confused you don’t get a free pass from omniscience"). and i know you’d never take mine away from me, but sure - we’re all adults here (take it away). when i come out the ground, i won’t be rounded now. i’m gonna make you see, i’m gonna give you the gun. if you actually cared, you’d understand what you said. bring on yr judgement now. tired, so tired, tired, so tired. get a grip on that pole now. the world won’t help, won’t help you out. i’ve got a rubber hand that'll speak my brain. (why would i need a carrot and a stick when a girl with a boat is a change in the rain?). and i know you’d never take mine away from me, but sure - we’re all adults here (take it away). when i come out the ground, i won’t be rounded now. i’m gonna make you see, i’m gonna give you the gun. if you actually cared, you’d understand what you said. bring on yr judgement now. tired, so tired, tired, so tired.
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4. |
Holy Mother Star
05:05
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you never had time for metaphor, or, rather, you had time to spare for those who used it with care. holy mother star. well, nobody can say "they’re mad" when i was made for those means. when the only consequence is death. a meteor the size of a second hand, step out of yr clothes, let the guests be damned. yr only blue ‘cos you hold yr breath. the drink in my hand is perpetually low, i’ve never really cared for yr social flow, holy mother star. looking down at yr fingernails, i wondered if you’d seen what you looked like to me in the empty days? wasting evenings at the window. shoulders like comets. when the only consequence is death. a meteor the size of a second hand, step out of yr clothes, let the guests be damned. yr only blue ‘cos you hold yr breath. the drink in my hand is perpetually low, i’ve never really cared for yr social flow, holy mother star.
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5. |
Eulogy
05:16
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i wonder if you’ll tell me if you’ve got it now? i wonder if you’d show me if i asked you how? i never wanna be an imposition but i really need to see it if you won’t stay put. our memories are forming in the widening fog, responsible for feelings that i never quite got. we’re shifting shifting shifting with the rising tide, i’m starting to feel like it’s never safe to hide. i’ll write a boring letter that you’ll never read. i’ll send you all a postcard from the edge of the beach. oh, one last intermission when the curtain drops - another chance to blow it all before we stop. and if you really care it won’t mean a thing, 'cos if you’ll always be there then i’m giving in. and maybe that’s a little premature for now, but i don’t really see how, don’t think i really see how. and if i hide again, i really don’t see how this can all work out. it’s getting to the point where it isn’t safe for me to hold on to a lifestyle that is poisoning every interaction and everyone i know. i've gotta drop the bullshit or i’ll never go. so consider this a trivial little eulogy for my brothers and my sisters who never learnt how to seek the answers for the questions they don’t know they have, 'cos i got mine now, yeah, i really got mine. and if i hide again, i really don’t see how this can all work out.
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