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1. |
Orchid Grove
02:13
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I feel like the first of my kind/
Like I’m trapped in a rhyme, like a poem/
Get a nickel if I asked for a dime/
If I’m past my prime I don’t know it/
Plus you’ll never know me like Hayworth does/
Or them crime scene detective wearing their white gloves/
It’s all love, but can you please back the fuck off?/
I’m shedding my skin, I don’t want it all to come off/
Six feet deep in the Orchid Grove/
Six feet deep in the Orchid Grove/
Shaking out of what I once was/
With a little tiny piece stashed under the rug/
I want forever in a moment, and grays in my hair/
And feelings so deep that they decay the care/
And it’s like that, don’t wanna fight back/
Gritting teeth, slugging down a nightcap/
Fuck around and write back, timing is a bitch/
Scrolling through the site map, trying to make it click…/
Six feet deep in the Orchid Grove/
Six feet deep in the Orchid Grove/
Six feet deep in the Orchid Grove/
Six feet deep in the Orchid Grove/
And all along I wanna be put to sleep by a/
And all along I wanna be put to sleep by a/
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2. |
King Coma
04:48
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Do you have a way out? I’ve been searching for one forever/
It’s a pretty day out? Well shit, I’ve seen better/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
Do you have a new head? This one’s getting mighty old/
Am I making any sense or just banging at bones?/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
Who want what with the sickly god?/
Fickle and odd, a little bit of prick when he prods/
Stick em up if you can’t get him to flock/
To any wolf in sheep’s clothing roaming free in the lot/
Slip back, pack another bowl up/
Click, clack, give me what you owe bruh/
King Cobra in the back of the motorcade/
Bitches Brew, Side Four, Track Two, the holy place/
And yeah I only let certain people in here/
The miscreant in me like “Ain’t nobody ever been here”/
Analogue sadness in these digital days/
I dare you to continue to stay away/
Singing hallelujah on my lonesome/
Ten toes to the sky, laying in the doldrums/
Gotta problem I’ll solve it, any night stand solvent/
I’ve been working towards rest, I want all of it/
Screaming from a pulpit/
Yet incommunicado/
I’ve got a ribbon of lilting z’s to follow/
That’s why I rock the pallid mask/
Hunting angels since we’re born, never made it out of class/
Try to fake it so I’ll last, as a testament that/
We all believe that what we’re fleeing is the reason we’re cracked/
Hot yolk on the sidewalk/
Stretch face, side talk, page took, rhyme bought/
Climate took the painstaking time slot/
He ebbs and he flows when he knows it’s a psy-op/
Believes in the peak, and his reach is repugnant/
Breathing in deep and releasing the substance/
Eagerly speaks with his cheek and his tongue bit/
Breaching to sleep where he can dream up something/
There’s blood on the floor, blood on the steps/
Blood on my hands, Calliope I’m a mess/
Somebody probably wants me dead/
And every time I hear a siren I think someone’s planning ahead/
Oh such hands, to hold and shake/
Ring kisses in the fold, so we know our fate/
Sing sitting on a stone with a subtle grace/
That makes hangmen out of hangers and lace/
And take, take what you will but the will still bends/
The frills and all your friends, and the lamentations/
Take everything I see with my varicose lens/
And pray to Som that I will find 40 winks, even with the bends/
Who the fuck is on the mend?/
Oh bearer of an awful end/
Disappear to the den/
Mariposa’s where I lay my head…/
What the fuck is on the mend?/
Oh bearer of an awful end/
Disappear to the den/
Mariposa’s where I lay my head…/
The incense outside of my crib smelled unusual/
A beckoning of either, a wedding or a funeral/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
When Shadow Figures find you, there’s no telling what they’ll do to you/
Eyes peeled open, like they’re bergamot and yuzu/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
Belly up, levitating, anchors plunged/
Hanging from high, so they know that I’m the favorite one/
This age is done, the plague has won, I’m sane enough/
To brick the fuck out and be aimless dun/
Watch the master unfold/
And disappear into a glaringly elaborate hoax/
I’ll take a million z’s and fill my cup up with soma/
Sit on my throne as King Coma/
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3. |
Mount Zion
03:00
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There’s shrapnel in my heart, there’s weed on the dresser/
There’s a cracked door to alleviate the pressure/
Knock, knock, who is there? Who really cares?/
It’s the same cat, long stare, polished lens, all glare/
Fair game, on some handshake preamble/
Fingers and palms wrapped up in brambles/
‘Who is who?’, fandom and Stan’s galore/
I stare back as a last resort/
Whiskey and water and the sins of the father/
Grin of a martyr, every sip of the lager/
Hypothesize the horror in a menial place/
I don’t like change/
Nothing stays the same/
In and out of lanes/
Who is there to blame?/
“They don’t make them, like they used to”/
Says the one who used to make them/
We want god, we throw our hands up/
All we can do is ask/
What did I do to deserve this?/
Dogs breakfast…/
There’s a symbol and a sign, there’s a presence/
There’s a thimble on a line, no guessing/
To where it’s going, probably sewing up a lesson/
Upon the face of a broken adolescent/
You could really trace heavens in her eyes/
I drew sevens, and I trembled in my mind/
Tried to split em, couldn’t get ‘em where I liked/
So now I’m splitting the decision with a knife/
Go tell it on the mountain top, or mountain side/
The mouths been dry, since I don’t know 95/
Or 9-6, 9-7, 9-8 maybe/
I don’t trust you baby, but it’s lust we’re craving/
On god, who is really what they wanna be?/
Ever seen your own picture and acted accordingly?/
Breaking every fucking mirror that you own/
Cause all we’ll ever be is alone/
“They don’t make them, like they used to”/
Says the one who used to make them/
We want god, we throw our hands up/
All we can do is ask/
What did I do to deserve this?/
Dogs breakfast…/
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4. |
Gideon
03:35
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Fold me in, contrition for my saccharine/
I’ve been on the loose again, I’ve been back to average/
I’ve been pure as honey, no intentions lead to avarice/
Stole pennies from the well, though I never had a wish/
Back to the cattle prod, Saddle Ranch and Battlefront/
Legalize it stickers still adorned every coffee cup/
The room was overheated we were spinning off our rockers/
The second that a stiff board turned to a maraca/
The minute after topping off the soda mixed with vodka/
The hour reeks dour every time that I plead sour/
Freshly packed ash, I lay down and spread/
Stained with blood, the streets are filled with the sacred dead/
Pray in layman’s lex, next move enemy/
Punching every clock, to try to make one a friend to me/
If I’m lying, you can sentence me/
A still life painting, or the end of me?/
I’m here to hang so fucking low/
that I might as well just be the ground…/
I’m in a real bad way mom/
I’m in a real bad way doc/
There’s a fading to the twinkle in my eye goddamnit/
There’s a song up on the radio, but me I can’t stand it/
I’m in a real bad way mom/
I’m in a real bad way doc/
Colder than November, where the fuck I’m at/
Colder than December in the place to be/
Colder than November, where the fuck you at/
Colder than December in the place to be/
I kinda wanna hang from the highest of these trestles/
Part of me wants to reach and part of me wants to settle/
Speaking in tongues while staring at a tea kettle/
Hot water be gentle, hot water be gentle/
I’ve been faking my smiles for 17 years/
Clicking my thumbs, and sipping my beers/
Filling my head with make believe fears/
Who really cares? Who really cares?/
And I want to pull souls out of bodies for a living right?/
Call the cops or you can call me an agent of Christ/
Don’t wander off where the eyes can’t find light/
Never been a feast, like the feast of the worms tonight/
Reach for lucid, settle for trife/
Bend to no knees, accept no spite/
Hang low and accept those nights/
Where you learn to find your place as a low light/
I’m here to aim so fucking low/
That my arrow is a foot in mouth/
I’m in a real bad way mom/
I’m in a real bad way doc/
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5. |
Year of the Tooth
03:45
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There’s a quiet in my head that I’ve been scratching at forever/
A quiet in my head that I’ve been scratching at forever/
There’s a quiet in my head that I’ve been scratching at forever/
There’s a quiet in my head/
I’m a wax Valentino at my best/
So Hollywood should know me when I’m dead/
And if I scream into the void anymore I’ll become it/
Learn the lesson of the fall or to weep in the plummet?/
I see you when you’re coming and I need to confront it/
But my speech has been flummoxed since I reached that summit/
Used to bleed from my stomach when I’d eat, I’d be punished/
In a weeks worth of summers I would reek of a bummer, yeah/
And I’m a late bloomer too/
These two kicks in October got a June hue/
Prove it, shouted over cops at high noon/
A paper boat of anger as flotsam ensues/
Put up your dukes oh enemy of mine/
I’ll rage against the light until I’m old enough to die/
Or know that I’m alive, to hold it, I know it’s/
A long ways away until I’m reaping what I’m sewing/
There’s a quiet in my head/
That I’ve been scratching at forever/
There’s a quiet in my head/
Oh Angel Face, long have my eyes been so fixed on you/
If only in the Year of the Tooth/
…what’s this I’ve been gifted?/
The blood of the lamb or a triptych/
That screams “I’mma miss this”?/
Three panels hanging from a bit lip/
One too many saying I can’t fix this/
And if I truly met an Angel then I surely won’t forget it/
Hitting every box on my wishlist/
Wish shit was different/
But wishes and wants are addicting/
And I’m trying to stop feeling like I’m missing/
Out on a limb with the hangman’s red on my neck/
Bouncing checks my ass can’t cash/
I’ve been thinking of what could be, I could be last/
Or I could be taken to task, for what imma ask/
It’s all truancy, you and me were never in class/
So who the fuck is gonna toast the flask?/
It’s like that/
Oh Angel Face, long have my eyes been so fixed on you?/
If only in the Year of the Tooth/
One day that I framed, in a painting that hangs/
Above the shelf that my mother reclaimed/
Sinking deeper into memory as heaven replays/
Throughout my brain, like a film with which I’ll always be plagued/
Sanctimonious ways I turn you into what I want/
Growing older, sadder, and horribly gaunt/
A shadow of a doubt, in a whole other haunt/
The last place you’d think to look, a light bulb turns on/
And acts as the ball on a Disney sing-a-long/
Bouncing on top the words of every single fucking song/
That I played along the path, was the math reviewed?/
For all our howling at passive moons/
Should I be mad at you, should I be mad at the source?/
Should I be laughing at the way that I collapse on the floor?/
Should I be grandfathered in to the saddest of lore?/
If I could I fucking would/
Oh Angel Face, long have my eyes been so fixed on you/
If only in the Year of the Tooth/
There’s a quiet in my head/
That I’ve been scratching at forever/
There’s a thousand fucking attics/
In our climbs up to heaven/
There’s a crown and a throne/
Ain’t in pleasant?/
King Coma is present/
King Coma is present/
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6. |
Burroughs
03:40
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South Bay, on a Sunday/
With my head splayed, wide open/
When I go dark, I won’t take you with me/
When I go dark, I won’t take you with me/
Been a dead bulb always/
With a little bit of flicker in my off days/
When I go light, I won’t need you with me/
When I go light, I won’t need you with me/
The Sanhedrin, standing in a line/
They had Jesus, for witchcraft and crimes/
Ask Pontius for his reason to the rhyme/
Seething with unease when he speaks of Eden Prime/
He’s leaving, couldn’t he be decent in time?/
To at least leech freedom out of bleeding out his eyes/
Screaming, trying to believe in what he’s supposed to/
Another near disaster coming close to/
A person who could knock the needle off it’s track/
Setbacks in what we think we’re supposed to have/
I’ll hang a million dollar bill over every fucking flame/
Knowing that it isn’t mine, knowing that it came from pain/
We hold ourselves to blame when the tide comes in/
Not knowing that the time is thin/
Every lie I’m in, that shit is substantial/
Reap, sow, reap, sow, you could have a handful/
I wish for better days, through the malaise and all the hassle/
Get me off my face, from the carpet or the gravel/
Stay straight laced with the lady and the apple/
William Tell, bad aim, worse example/
Falling yet again, the sidewalk relents/
A squeezed Valencia, paints the cement/
The Fisher King, dipping hearts in porcelain mugs/
The jig is up, spit it out and give it up/
Pin a crux to my vest like it’s Sunday best/
And appeal to the judge so my trial ends/
Post haste, a ghost waits for no man/
A dalliance with the devil in a cloaked dance/
Low stakes from Slauson down to Rosecrans/
Eat crow when I know it’s time to go man/
Automatic lights bleached my hair like the sun/
Drained of my tungsten, seemingly for fun/
Sometimes my eyes are wider than my appetite/
A glutton of the flesh playing chicken with the afterlife/
An understated mess giving bad advice/
Like, there ain’t no sin, there ain’t no virtue/
We only find both, depending on world view/
Everything’s objective, until it happens to you/
Your own fucking blood, tries to sully your name/
Holding out his palm like “This is the Conspirator Chain”/
And then you’re filled to the brim, like you hate what you know/
Like you wish that you were ignorant, you wish you were home/
And you wish that your wishes were stitched into bone/
So no one ever leaves, no one ever needs stones/
To signify who they were when they were/
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7. |
Sabath
06:54
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My spirit will be absolved/
In dim and littered halls/
With angel palms reaching for me/
Breaching through the walls/
My spirit will be absolved/
In dim and littered halls/
With angel palms reaching for me/
Breaching through the walls/
My spirit will be absolved/
In dim and littered halls/
With angel palms reaching for me/
Breaching through the walls/
When you die, they’ll hold you over/
Anyone whose been alive/
When I die, they’ll shrug their shoulders/
Stab the Earth and wave goodbye/
Who’d be willing to dig me up?/
Hold cold weight/
With any luck/
“Die for longer, bastard son/
Die for longer, little one”/
And I will wait/
For Heaven in the form of a clean slate/
And I must wake/
But I would rather shiver and shake/
Am I the same/
After shaking hands with the fates?/
Are you okay?/
I’d hate to see you in that state/
Pearly Gates are her teeth/
Accept me/
Pearly Gates are her teeth/
Condemn me/
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