1. |
HJM
01:06
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For my mother's side
Worked hands torn and cracked.
Dirt, keep my skin intact.
Heartbeat, be my bane,
My budding fruit,
My dying leaf.
Young man, stand tall tree.
A head of future's gray.
A face of future's folds.
A future crippled hand.
A heavy head to hold.
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2. |
Hole
05:11
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I never felt a thing but a hole
Between these walls, under this roof.
Was I ever your son, or was I just a bastard?
A home is not a home, just a hole to die in.
A home is not a home, just a hole to die alone.
You're just a monster,
Two-faced,
Too scared
To stay and change.
Dug a hole, a deep trench
That you threw your family in.
What's left to be saved?
What's left to make of a family?
You can come home every holiday
To save the face that you've created;
Just leave my name off of your breath.
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3. |
Temp
03:17
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Written to the buzz of summer heat
And winter's harshest creative silence
The summer's days have passed since I've laid down in the grass and watched airplanes draw circles in the skies. I'm not a scholar. I can't write this out in the flat gray sky. What is falling out is a blank white page where I scribbled this out in a twenty-cent notebook, and then I ripped it out.
"Dear you who reads:
In this heart I will keep you. Put a white fence up between awake and me 'cause of the snow in this note you hold. I hope the snow doesn't get to you the way it did me. This coat is buttoned to my throat, and what's on my wrist is just a balled up fist, not an airplane drawing circles in the skies; crossing its T's and dotting i's."
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4. |
Guilt
04:27
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When I found you in stained glass, your eyes turned toward the skies
Until rocks rained from the heavens,
And your shards came raining down.
No feeding bread to clergymen disguised as flesh and blood
Ripped from bone and tendon of liars and their children.
I can see your horns shining through your crown of thorns
As you stand preaching at your altar.
False promises are all you have to keep to friends, hand-in-hand.
Eyes turn to lies.
Line up, face forward to the right.
They said I could find you eating from the palms
Of philosophers and theologians,
Wiping snot from the noses of the children you deceived.
Your halo never seemed so dark, your face so far away.
There is no shelter from this storm
This is the curse of believing in ghosts.
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5. |
Loveless
03:15
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This may be a sunrise,
But the sunrise on the darkest day is still bleak
I'm choking on the fumes of my own burning body
As you sang to me, and nailed me to a crooked cross
These lungs are made of glass
Forged in the furnace of contempt.
This heart is made of gold,
But it is covered in ash
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6. |
Ghost
05:10
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Sing again. Dance for me. It's beautiful and so sweet
The way you came in through the door
And formed like fluid on the dance floor.
To the two's and three's I sing to the beat,
"You're the demon strewn up on my canvas,
The stain of sin on my sheets."
I would rather be the frame than the shattered glass
In this picture that you painted with a broken brush.
Or, can't I be the statue that you carved from regret
The statue that you painted with praise?
You're beautiful.
You're the ghost of me.
You're a note off-key,
A dissonant melody.
In the story of my life, I only read the prelude
Because dwelling on yesterdays blessings
Makes today's curses powerless.
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