1. |
falcon punch
01:59
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I spat my teeth out into the sink
So I couldn't say the words to stop me feeling better
The problem with life:
Once you're used to it, it's gone
Waste my time writing the kind of songs you'll hate in a year
Taking shots at your own heart for words to revere
I take my hope where I can get it
These weeks make me wish I had nothing to sing about
These last few days are the happiest I've ever ignored
Waste my time writing the kind of songs you'll hate in a year
Taking shots at your own heart for words to revere
One day we'll stop long before we die
And so we smoke for ghosts
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2. |
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This is the sound of growing old and giving in
Let the trumpets beckon these cracked backs
Scratch the itches of our long-termed youth
My glass fingers be damned
I'm too far gone for a line in the sand
I'm not bitter to a fault, just existing in disaster
The world's turned into a fucking cult, addicted to easy answers
If this is how I turn to a count, a distinct lack of rest
Then declare me counted out, there's nothing in this chest
I can still spit out this ripe venom
It just hurts to get up in the morning
And when I weigh down the Earth
On my Sunday drive to oblivion
Kicking against the pricks with my last good leg
I'm not bitter to a fault, just existing in disaster
The world's turned into a fucking cult, addicted to easy answers
If this is how I turn to a count, a distinct lack of rest
Then declare me counted out, there's nothing in this chest
I'll grip and grip until my joints desist
A gentle roar crept through the lips
I've never seen such hubris from a virus with shoes
They're in our halls, they're in our blood
The world's a gallows I just woke to
Our youth now child soldiers in the culture wars we've lost our hearts to
They're in our halls, they're in our blood
The world's a gallows I just woke to
And for their sins on our part
We all deserve to swing
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3. |
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Seances need a conman and a little grit
Something good will come from these fingertips
With some godless scripture to keep these cracked hands steady
When you build me up the way that you do
there's only so many times I fall apart on you
When you build me up the way that you do
A touch of gold for the friends I ignored
'cause the walk was too far to get out the door
If I could leave behind some land then I would;
A little good to replace what I took
Simply, every tired metaphor between the lines
means I'm tired of being miserable all the time
Simply, every tired metaphor between the lines
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4. |
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These smiles hang like great art, plasters over a broken jaw
No tree can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell
But these glass bones can't keep digging anymore
The bloodied dirt marks the failures to understand
Wait, it's just another mistake
another line I couldn't let lie on the page
Wait it's just another mistake
another line from this blind architect
I'm tired of being strung up to these hateful machines
that seek to expose my inadequacies
The way the words don't come alive anymore
I'm tired of this exile, and I'm tired of how I tire of myself
Just be quiet and get inside, they only tolerate you anyway
Wait, it's just another mistake
another line I couldn't let lie on the page
Wait it's just another mistake
another line from this blind architect
The darkness drips in my periphery
All over the destruction in me
I can't stop shaking at this quiet storm
We all need a little quiet just to keep it together
To mend the cracks that we perceive
At every perfect moment I slipped
At the end of this cosmic trap I set
Swept in the current
I am gone
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Open Palms London, UK
'You Scared Mate?' is out now.
Emo from London.
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YOU'RE NOT THERE
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