1. |
Neatly Tucked In
04:03
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Ushered out words that seem to fade in. Never be forgotten, not even from within statements. Rain gushing down the pavement and wet newspaper down the drain. Wondering if to keep listening to this crap could be feasible. As it's been said, wrong sides, spare me in mind or don't.
Just another white knuckle ride. Bear me in mind or don't. 'Cause clowns don't wear frowns, laughing upside down. Don't cuss, discussing's only being neatly tucked in. Oh, too many open sharp G's.
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2. |
While
04:17
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Inadequacy flares behind my eyelids. Can’t you feel it casting doubt down through my fingertips? Binding my cautious lips as tightly as I would like to draw you in. It’s been a while. I’m terrified.
Bare with me while I pluck up strokes of pride to navigate a maze of trite sentiments in hope of finding, clasped within my hand still shaking, a phrase worthy to sing; a wording fit for the courts of queens; a rightful passage to convey your majesty. It’s been a while. I’m terrified.
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3. |
A Pin Drop
02:49
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What happened? All of a sudden plunged to silence, sparse statements of no persuasion. Where has this come from? So quiet; a pin drop could deafen the one that listens at cautious distance.
Across indifference, skin and bone stretched thin. It begs the question: perhaps some cracks are showing upon these limbs spun out like string? Was that superficial glowing just some cruel trick of the light?
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4. |
In the Silence
06:20
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All’s not certain and few things last, but nothing happens if nothing starts. You say it’s been too long, but I’ve been hanging on. What’s enough? When’s too much? Twitching digits scratch away the minutes in the silence. Perhaps the time has come for prying courage out of cowardice.
Anchored to a slackened line, tossed and turned upon the ebb and flood of your incline. These eyes are sinking ships. Tides rip through timbers like time slips through fingers. These words voiced in mother tongues at foreign ears, in one side and out the other; a one-way street under tiring feet. Momentum is fixed to lessen. Worthy intentions now not worth a mention as eager meanings are lost upon the air.
You say it’s been too long, but I’ve been hanging on. What’s enough? When’s too much? Twitching digits scratch away the minutes in the silence. Uncork a brew of unknown expense; it’s been ageing long enough. Stress the seal. Weaken doubt. Perhaps some good will tumble out and into words that you’ll understand.
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5. |
Spoke of Them
03:11
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Who was it that spoke of them? Turned the page and turned away. But have you seen the clowns downtown, bored out of their minds, listening to spectral sounds? Buried, so buried under. I can't feel anything better than this. You've been here all along, right? Could've stopped and played dead. But have you seen the clowns downtown, bored out of their minds, listening to spectral sounds. Buried, so buried under. I can't feel anything better than this
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6. |
Craving Clarity
05:28
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The band struck up at midnight. It started with a flicker then strobes lit up tears. Amid a hundred thousand people, you the gauging needle, he and I on either side. You’d shared this before. This time I’d hoped it might be ours. But you’re leaning. And I’m pretending not to notice. Trying to keep my focus on the music. It’s easier.
Craving clarity. Interpreting your movements. Marginalised by language, I had nothing to offer you that night. So you’re leaning. And I’m pretending not to notice, trying to keep my focus on the music. It should be easier.
I had no right to expect a thing so I wasn’t expecting this: he and I on either side. You are a gauging needle; with every passing note you’re leaning harder on your past.
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7. |
Behind High Borders
03:42
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Stone by stone these restless hordes build their walls around their caution. Held steadfast by foolish pride, the residents are occupied with projecting placations that hide the rot behind high borders. An appeasing shade or two can hide unpalatable views, but when each cast is stripped of hue, each tone of accord muted, there persists a bitter residue.
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