1. |
Introduction
00:13
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2. |
Instant Death
02:37
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Instant Death
Caught by surprise by loaded fists, and staggered back into the mist. With fading eyes and fuses twitched, foreshortened breaths, horizons twist
Beyond the pale with spilling guts, the price is paid , the ante's up. When pulses slow , bust bolts and nuts. And systems fail, nerves turn to dust
Long long long long long time in coming down
Down down down down down with the setting west
long long long long long ways from the path
down down down down down in the throes of instant death
In passing times in dreams of words, the hands stick out and grab my shirt, and hold me down and promise worse, but roads are crossed outlined in dirt.
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3. |
Interlude I
00:35
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4. |
Unreliable Narrators
02:35
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Unreliable Narrators
The voice appears between your ears, it soothes your mind and mends your fears. In trust and truth you follow through, the steps you took before you knew. And so the paths were numbered back, to where you started on your track. And where you should continue on, and lines you should not step beyond.
So see through, can and do, the tint and gleam of glass doors
where frauds rule, and form schools, of future re-generators
don't read too much into unreliable narrators.
The falls the haze, hearsay and see, and lines and line of memory
fade in fade out and blurred away, survive to dream another day.
Prolong project, in line and step, your hearts and minds in pocket kept.
Fall off breath out search and find out, the words and what they were about.
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5. |
Interlude II
00:35
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6. |
Road Map Says
01:55
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Road Map Says
Free to roam all open roads, ensuing soul toes the accelerator. Walking speed slows down to crawl, write current state on printer paper
Road map says
Tunnel vision's coming dull, better turn and say, "Remember this?"
Sewn together scenery, bleeding dream or broken stitch.
Free to roam all open roads, ensuing soul toes the accelerator.
Believe you're leaving here today, tomorrow's a lie anyway.
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7. |
Interlude III
00:51
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8. |
No Song Left to Sing
04:19
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Pushed back at the hands that pulled me up,over, and away. Listened with ears like butterfly nets into the breeze. Found my feet walking below me, translating my wants and my needs. Shot like a gun to the head of the scrum with the tools of the trade at my feet...Go
In the line of duty, circus clouds come floating through. Exit through the back door so no one follows you. Peel layers off all there ever is, o yeah. Return to the moment, like it never did exist.
(Alright boys, let's get way out there now.)
Talked my way through doors that shut right on the skin of my heels. Walked in to fogged rooms with walls of white and faces of steel. Dug up memory, recycled the core, the slant and the key. Stood there in nude live in optical zoom, with clapping hands still hungry to feed.
In these stolen moments, worlds bloom begin anew. Beyond the powers of those made the pure and chosen few. Reach back now, rise up and shout it free, o yeah. Before the crowd disperses, or there's no song left to sing.
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Mishima Strange Los Angeles, California
Mishima Strange is full fledged "garage collage," borrowing strands from the popular and not-so-popular musics of the last several decades. Resistant to labeling, and irrespective of genre, Mishima Strange has always been and can only be, exactly that.
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