1. |
Cuneiforms
00:52
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2. |
Colour Wars
07:48
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Colour wars throw the people off the scent.
Poster child for the coming Reich.
If we all jump at once
will we knock the Earth off its axis?
Raise your hand and
stroke your hard-on for your double-barrelled steel whore.
Burn it down. Tomorrow’s hero bids it so.
The villain crows – his toupée fashioned Hitler mode.
If we all jump at once
will we knock the Earth off its axis?
Slumber no more.
Open your eyes wide (but not too wide) and decide between
the marionette that severed its ties
and whoever the fuck this other guy claims to be.
This is what you get when you put two and two together.
We are all part of the docile ninety-nine.
Contents of our voices designed,
Smoke in our eyes, and mirrored minds.
Reflections of the fortuned ones
who occupy our feeble tongues
and are in charge of what’s to come;
Telling us all to buy a gun.
Go out today and buy a gun.
Don’t be a part of the docile ninety-nine.
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3. |
Generation I
05:20
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Spreading like a binarial disease;
These self-appointed, self-assured solonauts fire mercilessly.
Secure within this dark carnival
of humanity’s most wretched impulses.
Drawing power from the screen.
I digress between convulsions.
Beneath a veil of obscene characters.
A credential list of hacked addresses.
A background check outsourced abroad,
A thick smokescreen of marred dexterity.
We’re generating ‘I! I! I!’s and ‘Me! Me! Me!’s
with apples in their eyes,
That manufacture ‘Why? Why? Why?’
and ‘Please? Please? Please?’
for a stone tablet devised to be bigger than We.
Generation I.
A premature display of uniformity with just a password as protection.
A stifling of the senses. Subliminal regression.
Advertised appeals towards depravity.
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4. |
Sandstone Mirrors
07:21
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A tower built to reach the sky,
But denied for use to explore the Heavens.
Atop its spire it is said
that one may walk upon the air.
A spark ignites the core of me
and starts my heart.
Dark forces do no harm
to the enlightened ones.
Noises in the dark encircle with intent.
Dishonourable men passed with life’s regrets.
Apostichal truths spoke in Xenoglossia verse.
A turgor pressure burst;
A stillborn immaculate birth.
One can forget the world they know.
One can sink down to the core.
You may want more.
I’d be careful what you wish for.
And never forget why you’re here.
Do what you will with the waste
and burn what’s left.
Wheels tuned to attest
a system destined to regress.
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5. |
Cuneiforms
01:22
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6. |
Working the Machine
04:44
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Their connections to the cross begin
at their feet and extend to their tongues,
Bearing likeness to the regimented forming of drones.
Don’t you shame the ones that moulded you,
that scolded you,
That clipped your wings as they unfolded to
prevent you flying too high,
Then blamed it on the sky,
So that you’ll work until you’re old enough to die.
False idols of concrete and glass.
Training grounds for the working class.
Embedded in their bones are
sticks and stones.
Your life is but a moment in history;
A single frame in the cosmic reel.
And what will fill your memory?
Working the machine.
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7. |
Throw It in the Ocean
06:29
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White noise for the eyes;
The next step in the dumbing-down of
the ones who really hold the power.
Hopelessness voiced from your false platform.
Powerless; surfacing distraction.
Emptiness while the world is filling.
Done with this? Throw it in the ocean.
When they reach us, there’ll be nothing left
but apple cores and window frames.
Baptised in your beauty creams and posted to your podium.
Happily consuming like you’re meant to be.
The fate of the world is going to the highest bidder.
Survival of the fittest when the fittest just get fitter.
We’re dancing on the mountain’s edge of yesterday’s trash
as we’re trying to forget it.
Throw it in the ocean.
What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?
I don’t know and I don’t care.
The means to portray seeming self-expression as a weapon.
Obeying blindly the conditions of this plastic, single-use society.
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8. |
In Arid Lands
08:53
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The strong do not seek God.
The weak aren’t so at birth.
The meek shall inherit what’s left of the Earth.
Place your ear to the ground
and keep it there ‘til you hear the sound
of the fallen many crying on
in vain, in search of Kingdom Come.
The voices of the voiceless speak truer than
the ramblings on of the lost.
Trails in the dust.
Plant the seeds in arid lands,
Wring out the moisture from your hands,
Spend thirty years – eyes-to-the-dirt,
Then pretend that failure doesn’t hurt.
The crescent moon leads us to the sea
and commands that our qualms be buried.
A distant star calls us further still,
And bids that we fulfil its will.
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9. |
Cuneiforms
02:05
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10. |
eGod
08:51
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There is a room where I reside;
A little comfort on the side;
A place to hide away when things get ugly.
It doesn’t exist in time or space;
There’s no such thing as the human race;
All matter has fallen out of place;
And DNA cannot be traced
in this tomb of mine.
No need to put it all in line.
No need to weave a thread of time.
We’re on the borderline of truth in here.
Why’d we have to crash and burn?
Little boots ignoring change in motion.
Stupid pig-man ruined future fate.
The idiotic mustn’t mandate their weakness and ignorance.
The particles of life gather in the street, undefeated.
I can see them from my little room.
They’re smashing windows in the street.
The war of laws has started now.
They’re chanting a name and stamping their feet,
And following a voice toward my tomb.
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11. |
Dreaming in Colour
08:44
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Something longs to lure me back to sleep.
So, naturally, delirium ensues.
Tracing lines, untracing lines, retracing lines…
Brush strokes becoming unpainted
while black ink creeps further up my arms,
Expelling indivinity from the page.
Soon to burst – my inflated paper head
does possess an instinctive gag reflex.
Tracing lines, untracing lines, retracing lines…
X-ray the ghost.
Portray the spirit of the fawn.
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Sheeps Wellington, New Zealand
Art Rock for the end times.
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