Wasn’t nothing to ask, and wasn’t nothing to be told/
I’ve been burdened with cracks, in everything that I know/
And when it’s time to relax, I feel a scratch in my throat/
That’s telling me to go back to see if I have some hope/
Run tell that, that the functions exposed/
I’ve been loved for that, but I’ve been hated by most/
And when the blood comes back, to where it naturally flows/
I’ll bite through tongue and through tacks, to prove that I have a soul/
Marigold petals always littering my brain/
I’ve been trained to be dim but I was born to be aflame/
Awake in the most honest way I possibly can be/
Should I kiss the fucking ground if the sky can’t stand me?/
You ask what I can be, but not what I am/
Is it fortune leaking through all of the cracks in my hand?/
Is it torture being used or is it all sort of a plan?/
Broken toy askew for loose screws in demand/
Maybe we can fix this, maybe can fight/
Maybe we can fuck and add a notch onto our lives/
Maybe we can fold as far as seraphim go/
Never even show our faces in that heroin glow/
Apparently though, the air is filled with sarin and smoke/
So no kiss that we could share could be a fair one in hopes/
To carry our spokes, to linger off with nary a coat/
Couldn’t believe it when we let all of the air out the floats/
It’s like the game, is called, the rain, it falls/
Same as it’s always been, white plain walls/
The game, is called, the rain, it falls/
Same as it’s always been, white plain walls/
March to the beat of the drum in your heart/
In stark contrast to the rhythm from the start/
Headlong we part, and we’ll meet again in roses/
Separate the art from the focus/
I put the needle to the record just to make some serotonin/
Put my head inside machines to try to figure out what’s broken/
Put the dead in picture frames and leave them right out in the open/
Put the barrel to my dome, no home, left smoking/
Needle to the record just to make some serotonin/
Put my head inside machines to try to figure out what’s broken/
Put the dead in picture frames and leave them right out in the open/
Put the barrel to my dome, no home, left smoking/
The enigmatic punk-rap duo of Justin Pearson (The Locust, Swing Kids) and hip-hop producer Luke Henshaw make their long-awaited return. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 7, 2024
