1. |
The Germ.
02:00
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2. |
Variance.
05:04
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Variance.
(Corners Of The Mind At Cross Purposes)
This unmistakable drone
Has been for days inside my head;
The tunes develop and twine
around their root note like a thread.
Most basic logical trails
Are drowned by these melodic beds;
All common reasoning fails
The concepts morph to tones instead.
I've got a treasure,
Dysfunctional leisure
I lower my eyebrow
And open my eyes
Is anyone out there?
It's getting quite scary
The patterns emerge
But I can't control their line.
The notes against the thoughts,
The sound against the mind
Overcome I roam
These dimly lit streets at night
And I become a rambling child
Till a side wins, for a little while.
Trees play with shadows and light
As I hum wind castles in this gale.
The shapes now forged by these notes
Cascade around in feeble strains.
Some magic melodies float
Around the culture they transcend
The New has grown old again
Let cynics rot in their disdain.
Dark alleys lure me
down into the Road Locks
I get to the depths
of the Regent's Canal
The road is pitch-black
But the tunnel is glowing
The answers are close
As I head towards the light.
The notes against the thoughts,
The sound against the mind
Overcome I run
Towards this neon shrine
And letters swirl and sine-waves howl
Terrified, I scream, I sing, I smile.
The notes against the thoughts,
The sound against the mind
Overcome I roam
These dimly lit streets at night
And I become a rambling child
Till a side wins, for a little while.
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3. |
Kilomètre Zéro.
05:58
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Kilomètre Zéro
(The Lure of a Clean Slate)
As I faced the cathedral I shouted her name
My throat burned as my plea flared aloft like a flame.
When the sound echoed back, still resounding with blame
I learned it will be her this old city will claim.
As these colours pale to their dullest shade
The shiny pangs of grief that cut me like a blade
Have carved into the nerve and made the feeling fade.
As these longings stray from whom I've betrayed
The comfort in this torpor makes me so afraid
To fold a hand of cards another would have played.
I stroll back, smouldering bitterness, savouring the taste
Of this smoke, blown adrift with the hopes I've displaced
Every street still replete with designs gone to waste
Every building a token of loss un-embraced
As these colours pale to their dullest shade
The shiny pangs of grief that cut me like a blade
Have carved into the nerve and made the feeling fade.
As these longings stray from whom I've betrayed
The comfort in this torpor makes me so afraid
Of running from this future when I could have stayed.
Vaults of glass, webs of steel, tower over the throng
Men in coats rush in silence to where they belong
As the carriage slows down I keep biting my tongue
Will I ever know whether I got it all wrong?
I moved back, I crawled back, I partook in the game
And I still think of you and I still feel the same
This connection won't fade, this old chain will remain
All the lingering chords will still haunt us in vain
And I know you won't come and I know we're insane
We together deny the way out of this pain
But if ever we severed our shackles of shame
We'd be better than ever together again
As these colours pale to their dullest shade
The shiny pangs of grief that cut me like a blade
Have carved into the nerve and made the feeling fade.
As these longings stray from whom I've betrayed
The comfort in this springtime makes me so afraid
Of leaving her forever when I should have stayed.
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4. |
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The City That Always Sleeps.
(Ingenuity Is An Ingenuousness)
Sunday, crack of dawn,
the sky is dirty white;
Montmartre's unsung cemetery
is void of human life.
The doors are still all closed,
early tears are not allowed;
Some silent men go near
but only wind should reign inside.
Wait, a little girl's in sight;
Discreet in her movements,
you could almost pass her by;
She's come to enjoy the subdued
variations in the morning light.
Amongst the trees she walks,
there's no posture to be posed;
True feelings can't be cloned,
this fascination is inborn;
Bleeding hearts and dizzy whores
all have visions of their own;
Be authentic over novel
if your heart demands it so.
A certain piece draws her attention;
Tears of verdigris run down the face
of Zola's weathered bust;
She moves closer with clear signs of apprehension;
The man's empty grave still sees
with empty eyes of blackened rust.
As rain begins to fall
her subconscious leaks a quote;
In a wet piece of school paper
she'll leave some mark of her own
Leaning over the tomb,
she quickly scribbles a note:
She writes: "Art in every action
is forever carved in stone."
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5. |
Clockworks.
04:52
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Clockworks
(Particles of Magic Glinting in the Light)
You think the fact we're here somehow states our grace
The lighting in this place doesn't let you see
This world of colour is not what you think it is
'Cause reality's a draw-book we scribble in.
The candle light dies,
The candle light dies,
The candle light dies.
You should know
you're just clockwork
Some living gear,
That think this darkness is real
And you should know
you're only clockwork
But moonlight suits you so well.
You should know
you're just clockwork
Ingenuous gear,
To hold perception as real
And you should know
you're only clockwork
But moonlight suits you so damn well.
A calming tinge of blue fully shrouds the room
The sounds, the words are enhanced by this glassy gloom
These thoughts are quotes you've been taught to believe are yours
And yet the truth dimly bleeds through your garden doors.
Soon night itself will die away
Let colours rise, and noise prevail
Soon night itself will pine away.
You should know
you're just clockwork
Some living gear
That thinks these colours are real
And you should know
you're only clockwork
But you're so beautiful to me.
So you should know
You're just clockwork
Ingenuous gear,
To hold perception as real
And you should know
you're only clockwork
So painfully beautiful...
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6. |
Fear and Wonder.
07:34
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Fear and Wonder
(To Do some Fatal Execution)
We need -
Some deeper presence above the pragmatic Automata;
An intellectual Quixote to take on the Amateur.
Teenage rebellion revolves back to battles it's lost before;
The spring of youth won't excuse charming near-misses anymore.
Too long -
Voracious muses have courted the world with loud neon signs;
A shadow rises again, looming over the Philistines.
And whilst the Managers rule from their grand golden cubicles,
Uncompromising seas brew, minds eschew numbing chemicals.
Bring back those cravings forgot;
Fear and Wonder;
Replace those churches outworn,
Torn asunder;
With makings greater than God,
Lights and thunder;
Bring back the surge of the storm;
Fear and Wonder.
At last -
The grey postmodernist vine leaves the trellis to decompose;
A transpierced Nightingale heart will give rise to the deathly Rose.
And Durer's Saturnian heirs will light pyres of Promethean fires;
Lost knowledge, once more be theirs and inspire awesome Babel towers.
Like annotations for the stars of clear night skies,
Those souls enslaved by Faustian pacts begin their rise.
As pretty girls charge unrewarding coins of hope,
Humanists end up with their ugly friends to cope.
And whilst the spurned taste ruminations of revenge,
There grows a Germ from thought unsown and flame unquenched.
Apocalyptic Aesthetes should rejoice, it is done,
March along to the din of the primitive drum!
Apocalyptic Aesthetes, now, rejoice, it is done,
Be prepared, once again your time has come.
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