1. |
21 Up
02:12
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The child of the child is making me smile, she's learning to dance, devoid of a style. Stick it near the vein now, hold me until I am out of reach, strap me to an other than I can inscribe with.
Inspect the ruins; A child is born, I could have sworn.
The child of the child, scratching sores that were blind, she's learning to dance, devoid of a style. Wrote it down in the hope we'd find another.
I think of ruins, and clothes I've worn.
It's therapy to scream in the face of broken dreams, but when you were stuck up in that tower, did your seconds seem too clean?
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2. |
Poetry of Departures
03:02
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These are naught here but stagnant hours. Spent still in vacant parks, hemmed in by empty towers. "And what's on your breath? A smell of regret or of early death?" They keep calling to me, with their bleached blond melodies. Dreams of sense and scent and a bridge for my friends, let all of the skeletons hum.
I am depth charge still born too vain. Swept up let down void plain. Desert swept slow on a Sunday night. You; my lightning, are drifting out of sight.
It is the mirror that brings me undone. The lack of an "I" to drag out in the sun. I found one in you, and harnessed us to a dream that I bought, sought and labelled as love. "All though from above is a drug / is a dove / is a straw fire choked out by knowing too much." "What is a five second word for disgust?"
Skeletal sounds abound. Marking the time in seismic rounds.
I am jet black song on my stereo. I am winding round and down in interzone. I am speechless symphony of the brain. You my darling are somewhat like a refrain.
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3. |
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Set your path, so only time can pass. I've gone and burnt the maps again - these charts won't last!
If this is the prime of life, the only one we'll know, then where went my golden years? They passed with infant's tears.
Lend me your ears, for mine have done listening. Shoulder me over the gulf of our despair.
Don't know about you, but life killed my libido. I have nothing to seize but my reflection in blue.
I'm dashed on the rocks again, these feelings will never end. I'm dashed on the rocks again, I'm yearning to trace the bends.
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4. |
The Ring on Her Finger
02:15
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Tiresias the TV ain't no good for you or me. I'm bored to death, plug me into psychic channel three. That mouth don't know the words but it oozes pure symmetry. I lap it up, embraced by your technology.
In a car, strapped in, and braking hard. Across a crowded room where lots of people stare and starve. But under starry skies, I'm short of breath. There is a light, walk on in wolfish steps.
Drowning I said (or words to that effect), in semaphore - This is the noise of wanting more. I forgot to tie the rope.
Let's charge a glass to your heat, recall an ocean bliss deep. Unstitch my stoic seams.
Capsized in time's tender streams, visions of locks and their keys. Unstich my stoic seams.
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5. |
Friends in Places
02:34
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The roses in bloom have such strange perfume they've led me astray from this awkward ballet.
"Seems fine" we scream from the fall of Mother Sublime. "Now why, where am I?" Well, read this and learn to breathe, relax, enjoy the seige. A silence unbroken that night.
I've a friend underground, and one out of town, and lover one day, you too will be one without sound. The glass on the wall shall be all that I recall - the days that weren't for one but for all.
Make a pact that you'll never leave; a promise like stainless steel. The seconds race out of my sight.
The automaton and the lie, hand and hand walking by. "What's that stain on your claw?"
The lie.
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Knaw Brisbane, Australia
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