1. |
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I haunt the deadlands of your home.
I hold the last chance you don't know.
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2. |
Eye of the Darkness
04:15
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There's a subtle reminder in your instinct that nothing nice will comfort you
before the night discovers you, uncovers you and
gives a punishing prize that only visits here to stay,
if you embrace the contradiction, and if you face the metafriction, yeah:
You miss the calling, You miss the conscience crawling, you.
You left the best of this unread.
Eye of the darkness: I hold the only sentiment you don't dare to realise.
I of the darkness: high on a lowly testament, you won't look me in the eye:
The eye of the night.
Given up on horizons, it's your nesting, with a modicum of empathy,
and all the scum you've ever seen, preventably here,
and I know, the night knows you're powerless inside.
Fled the marathon from the chase, but what you can't outrun will let you run and hide now.
Cherish the warning, cherish the falseness falling, you, and only for you.
Generates the witnesses' neglect.
You missed the calling, resisted every warning, you. And only for you.
Fear is the messages unread.
So say hello to the night, so say hello to the night,
for evermore, for evermore, for evermore,
This eye of the darkness weeps forevermore, for evermore.
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3. |
The Fork in Your Path
04:13
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Many have stumbled, crumbled, gone,
Looking back and away, and they all had your face.
Are we delighted in this sad, unchosen one,
For an accidental rebirth, or giving up all fear?
Heretic heralds hereupon his heritrix's heaven,
If abandon won't leave, who can know or believe?
And you may choose to fall astray,
but what you lose along the way is what you feel
The gilded S, the hax, the hexed, the past's your test, ideals:
The fork in your path right here.
Wasn't to know this home's alone,
Where the space you should be bears a coded receipt.
We can accommodate this absent unity,
Spin it far past our endings, in a spectral suspension.
You may choose to fall or stay,
but what you lose along the way is what you feel
The vividness, the tax, the text, the passionless psi deal:
The fork in your path shines clear.
Deities can't afford your glory.
Better to grace them with your everending story.
We can replace this earthly walling
right now.
and you may choose to fall astray,
but what you lose along the way is what you feel.
The fork in your path, tines near.
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4. |
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Snapshots shattered, the past in tatters around you,
That's what matters, the scraps we gathered: I found you.
Seasons pass as the reasons mass, we resign.
While your window is open, look in my eyes: Don't leave me this time.
I know that you know this sempiternal loneness.
I know that you mean it, please, as the stakes rise skyscraper high.
You know it's the moment to cast a grip before we're frozen apart,
and myriad glimpses rinse to the dark.
Vast enamoured, the bastard grammar we thrive on,
Cast in amber and cached for future's arrival,
Some refuse to accept, some choose the decline,
As the refuse collectors pull up outside, don't leave me this time.
Don't leave me this time:
don't leave me with all this time and don't just lose me inside;
don't leave me astride this tide in a tired disguise:
I will rend in a surer surrender 'cross the renders you sorely remember,
As the ones who left me for dead won't take me alive.
Pass a light to revive passing embers.
What's a fire for there's ice at the centre?
all amends are pretension, won't falter or mention,
but what are we here for, if not each other?
Grasping still at your after-image from last call,
Ageing strange in the latent cages we ask for,
Time and wither weather us every time.
Just to wonder whether this could be right: Don't leave me this time.
Don't leave me this time.
don't leave me with all this time and wait: go chew up the pride;
don't lose me astride this tide as the vortex forces align:
Don't leave me this time. Don't leave me across this timeline,
please don't trivialise; don't you realise it's now or it's neverending?
I know that you know this sempiternal loneness.
I know that you know this sempiternal loneness.
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5. |
The Ghost Gave Up
03:20
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In the fall of your last illusion, In the blast of your cyst, collusion.
No-one outside a haematoma, hawking this complicity, you
must grok what it means when
The ghost gave up on me: all we have left is an empty machine, you see.
The ghost gave up on me: gonna be a lonesome Halloween.
Hapaxes by happy accident. Synapses in this predicament, so sick of it.
Archaeologist digs for meaning, aesthete's foot on meter's end, when
we can finally see that:
The ghost gave up on me: all we have left is an empty machine, you see.
The ghost gave up on me: gonna be a lonesome heresy
The ghost, the ghost gave up on me, but not just me.
The ghost gave up on you, gonna need some tissue paper truths, and
The ghost gave up on you, gonna need to sing since yr grasp has loosened.
Gonna be alone, some heresy, the ghost, the ghost gave up on me.
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6. |
Succour Rumour
00:48
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Irresistible succour.
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7. |
Marx for Creativity
04:50
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From each, according to ability, yeah, to each, according to need.
Dominance heads for the guillotine; it's followed by distrust and greed.
Promise me your promise isn't squandered by those fallacies of
patriarchal hierarchy; get smart
and/so give us Marx for creativity, for freedom and equality in free and equal measure.
This time let's do it together.
Give us Marx for creativity, for neoliberal complacency maintains/retains its idle tether from our righteous banquet forever.
Comrade, all we create exists in between all the ways we're trained not to create.
Whole exploitation unto misery, let colours obfuscate to grey. Ikuzo:
We've got a tragic existence, we cope with it, we keep the cornucopia in First Class…
I think the masses deserve a better opiate, to play their horns aplenty in post-class.
Wo ist das? Ist hier:
Give us Marx; we're making sparks, except this town is big enough!
Give us Marx and creativity comes next.
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8. |
Railway Out
02:21
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They took the railway out, just to derail our town.
Took your escapeway out. They brought the station down.
They took the railway out: You're never getting out, okay?
If there was any doubt we're in a dead-end town,
They took the railway out, and brought the station down.
Your navigation routed: You're never getting out. All bored.
They took the railway out, Just to derail our town.
There's no escapeway now. They brought the station down,
and took the railway out: You're never getting out, okay?
There's no beseeching good Dr. Beeching. Oh, Dr. Beeching!
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9. |
Agony×5
03:00
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Sun caught you sympathising that no-one dare explain, They will not speak the name around you.
You're semipermanent in the semper tantrum age. The youthen hostile phase redoubts you,
But on we fight, the prize, yeah, the time you want tonight,
if only you retain an idle will:
The will to remain, and always stay, the will to remain amongst that agony agony agony agony agony…
Some kind of silhouette of your Pagan masterpiece will confiscate the peace of silence.
You're semipermanent in the semper tantrum age. The turning and the page around you,
but aren't we on the side of the dying of the light?
To paralyse your pride, the idle will:
The will to remain says "won't you remain," in all we say, "won't you remain amongst that agony agony agony agony agony?"
and we choose the pain, and always stay, we too remain to live that agony agony agony agony…
Is it Suicide Postponement Week already? Have we missed a disappointment,
stuck as flies in this anointment? Well fuck that.
I'm on the side of the dying of the light.
So won't you remain, living on, and always stay, living in,
so won't you remain amongst that agony agony agony agony agony?
And we choose the pain, living out, the gutless way, living is,
we too remain to live that agony agony agony agony agony,
agony agony agony agony agony.
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10. |
Come to Me
04:13
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There's a fox on Stanier Street where you walk at night.
Weather locks upon your feet, holds, holds your haunches tight, tight.
You step unto the realm to confess; we know about your vixen complex.
Pretty boxes full of sheets, save a solace sight, you're solus,
You can please your memories, set a bonfire alight tonight:
If everybody's closed and ancient, what about that invitation:
Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. To me.
Because your shadow sells all the parallels.
You said yourself, it's in the parallels. Yeah.
Lonely hearts club, spade or diamond, got you dealt an ace this time.
Hold your best up to your chest or are you saving face? Uhh...
Another twist and life won't know you,
You could resist what might have come true.
I gotta tell ya: ya got a tell.
Your sordid self, where all the panic dwells:
So when the pain allows, follow the craving out.
Can't you see?
ooh like you would've, like you wanna, like you're gonna, oooh like you oughta.
Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come.
Seen the fox on Stanier Street, you wanna walk tonight, still, you
wear the locks upon your feet, you hold your horses, so, cold, your course is,
Cocooned and cacotopian, cracking up for cacotrophia, free cookies.
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11. |
Scope
04:35
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The voice writes. The voice writes. The voice writes "do you recognise?
Do you recognise sincerity from your post-ironic century now?"
The voice writes the voice rites. The choice arises once or twice
to breathe in the ocean water and take hold against your boredom, feeling:
This is the daydream of the day
Just to assuage that streetscape shit parade,
The plans we laid, the bonds we frayed, a metamorphosis/so disproportionate.
This is the meaning of escape,
Atop a searing heat we all betray;
the restlessness and solar rays; it's all the rage
if you jettison your jaded perspective, your indecision.
The voice writes. The voice writes; Deploys a reasonable vice, o:
"Could you recognise sincerity from a culture-taught austerity?" and
in this sordid stasis, All your pillowtalk disgraces
hold a mirror for the faceless in your below-floor debasement
where you'll never see the traces that our apathy erases.
It's a miracle: we made it ring this way... scope.
If you jettison your jaded perspective,
If we scrape together reason, we'll correct it, respective,
If you won't forget to see above the messes,
you're in this vision.
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12. |
Sucker Rumba
04:15
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C'mon: common courtesy is fuckin' rare 'round here:
The tatters of your wedding dress are all tissue for the next confessional,
and say you're sorry thirstily; you're nothing if sincere,
and wishing well the very best but that penny's an expired tenderness,
because (one) once bitten, (two) twice bitten, (three) thrice bitten, (for nothing)
chewing gum gets bitemarks and loses taste.
Irresistible motherfucker, take my principles for your succour.
Irresistible motherfucker, Take me for a sucker: Take me for succour now.
So give the widest berth and see who's reborn with his wings
and when I call, your bluff just answers; the briefest of one-second chances.
If now we're all asocially sequestered in our sleep,
The paragon of false intention, The battles of our pulses' censure, listen:
Oh you don't know what you do to me; you don't know what you do.
Oh you don't know what you do to me; it's sorry but it's true.
Oh you don't know what you do to me; you don't know but you do.
You don't know what you do to me, or what I do to myself in your name.
Stuck in your throat, you've made your bed; try being honest, just for the cred.
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13. |
Reparations
04:49
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Did we grow too far to gather the parts to perform this idle warmness?
Together apart, you get hurt a lot.
We're insolents without solace here when nothing's making sense
and the starkest mark played a harsh restart, set up borders, settled orders,
but you know this part and we know this part.
Someone older, fucking colder here where reparation's irrelevant
when we're flayed for the hell of it, when we take on the benefit.
Revelations? Irrelevant.
Isn't time a disinfectant? Is it time that we address this? Reparations.
and if you crave apology, we can say so sorrily
but won't change this rote estrangedness
if we grow too far. Did we grow too far? Obviously, yes. Rhetorical question.
Reparation's irrelevant
for the sake of the celibate, for we flake at the sight of it.
Preparation's irrelevant.
Isn't time a disinfectant? Is it time that we address this reparation?
Reparations fade. Reparations betrayed. Reparations made.
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14. |
My Motherhood
04:38
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Put out your feelings on me. I bend to your pressure.
This absorb ability while wearing the hairshirt,
because something has got to give and it's got to be someone.
Put out your feelings on me, a room and a service,
My motherhood is an aid, my womb as a purpose,
Just the dust in a hollow trust and the follow-through that you needed to lean on
will stand as a martyr's proof, through whirlpool dues and cold hard truths,
we're comrades, bound in disability, postmodern futility,
Waste away and you won't see another nervous break;
My heart is beating off its circuits with false starts,
Don't make me believe in you, what good could it even do?
Just the faith to see me through another nervous breakout:
Put out your feelings on me: we're less than we're more now.
Put out your feelings on me, addressing the sores and
Just a delicate blow - one-two - to my piety is a wound with a purpose:
It stands as a martyr's proof.
Face away so not to see another nervous breakdance.
and through your whirlpool dues, and still those cold, hard truths:
Don't make me believe in you, what good could it even do?
Just the faith to see me through another nervous breakup
Heart's beating off its circuits with jumpscares,
Heart that matters, silent shatters,
Don't make me believe in you, what good could it even do?
Just the faith to see me through another nervous break: down, down, down.
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Absentine Newcastle Under Lyme, UK
Prior work papertruth.bandcamp.com
my tube: www.youtube.com/colintron
collab: atrophywife.bandcamp.com
silly:
csurname.bandcamp.com
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