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:: THE COAST OF ARMS (ATARAXIA BOMB) ::
I’m neck-deep in varicose veins todays and I can’t help notice,
That the day that you left you left lead in my veins,
Like the hand that played anchor,
While all you could do was set fire to the sails,
And I still hear the sound of incisions like sirens,
Calling my name to the hospital bed that you never escaped,
You were only a name,
Until today.
There’s no pride in the seas that we become,
But in the absence of God,
What’s left but making names, and fame,
To blame each other, to cover up the shame.
There’s no absence of hearts and spades, but diamonds elude us like snow into rain,
Like the rain that played bells on your funeral day,
As you lay, as you lay, as you lay.
It’s to late for trivial exchange of words, to pacify the way,
In which, we built our houses and shut the door to anything but hate.
And I still wonder as to how far, how far we’d have strayed,
If you’d but stayed a moment longer.
But now,
The queen is dead.
Is this what you wanted?
Is this your idea of being divine?
Parting is such sweet sorrow,
But linger so seldom,
Becoming the taste of ash, in the mouths of our past,
And smouldering all the while.
There’s no absence of hearts and spades, but diamonds elude us like snow into rain,
Like the rain that played bells on your funeral day,
As you lay, as you lay, as you lay.
Our hearts are sharpened on all sides, and puncture our lungs,
So all they’ll find on the autopsy table is tar and carbon monoxide.
Let’s sit in circles and judge each other.
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:: ANOTHER EPIC INSTALLMENT IN THE SAGA OF THE PTERODOYLES VS. THE GARGODACTYLS ::
This is a celebration of the words igniting our shadows,
As lights turn to pillars of blankness,
Our hollow and unassuming forms like soldiers storm the air.
All the words we’re said, have arrow heads tonight,
Let this be my onslaught,
Tearing the air from the night like a murderer,
We’ll stand our ground, as vultures close in like a plague.All the lights we’ve
This is the separation of the worthy, and the lost-for-words,
The silence is lost in the raging,
Of skylines like smiles,
The sun won’t be setting with me.
All the lives we’ve led, are battle grounds tonight,
Let this be my onslaught,
Tearing the air from the night like a murderer,
We’ll stand our ground, as vultures close in like a plague.
This is like Russian roulette with your finger and thumb.
Fear this judges,
One final plague, my dear, sweet princess.
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3. |
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:: MARJORY STEWART-BAXTER (PART 1) ::
I shook hands with the invisible man,
Who gave no conversation but a wave of mechanical sounds,
That pound and pound and pound at my conscience like bricks,
Fleeing the wake of a wrecking ball.
We built this colossus,
Now watch it fall.
There’s no consolation,
In mortar and stone.
There’s no consolation,
But it looks pretty good from here.
There’s no consolation,
We’re drowning in razor blades,
We’re drowning in razor blades, but reaching the shore of contamination,
Spreading like flies from the murder,
Embalming the sky.
The flailing of sails, the clipping of wings,
Couldn’t take us away.
Oh how the mighty have fallen.
My dear in the headlights it’s clear,
You’re no Madonna, you’re no martyr at all.
You filled this this grave,
With triangular knives,
So, come on down,
We’re waiting here with bated eyes.
I let down my guard,
Oh God,
I let you drown,
I let you away.
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4. |
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:: MARJORY STEWART-BAXTER (PART 2) ::
There’s no consolation, there’s no consolation.
There’s no consolation but I, I’m coming home.
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:: THE DAY THAT TELEGRAMS DIES ::
Give up.
Lay down you guns,
Leave your pride in the aisle,
We’re sowing the seeds of downfall here.
So tread carefully.
As the congregation turns to clouds of smoke in our eyes,
Glaze over and over again,
Let’s pretend, please pretend,
This is all just a phase, a mark on a page, a place, a place, a place,
We’ll tear away from.
I hope you’re unhappy now.
I hope you got what you wanted from me.
And all the hands in the world couldn’t shake,
Couldn’t shake the sand from your eyes,
And I despise you for being the thorn in my side,
The essence of my demise,
And all those nights I tried to explain,
Explain myself to myself,
But didn’t help,
It didn’t help at all,
And all we’re left with is a hole in the wall,
And the curtains drench in the blood of the beauty of it all.
Gone are days to come,
Shouts echo to the deaf
Are led, to death,
By crows that claim to see,
The lead, that pulls,
My fingers feels the burn sailor, burn sailor, burn.
Fortune favours the brave,
So keep running.
Once a slave to reason,
Now reduced to a master of hindsight.
We will gather in the clouds and play our harps to the city,
As they turn deaf ears.
This is no motion but a plea to all that’s left of our beauty,
So let down your walls.
Sounds the trumpet,
Hear the trumpet call.
This is a siege, lay down your city.
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