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Mishima Strange

by Mishima Strange

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1.
Do ya, 'member diving deep? I do. I do. Lookin' into submarine windows at the at the History of the world. Baby, when you breathe those breaths, I know I know that you don't realize how much, you are you are History of the world. I saw you inside of a dream you said! You saw me inside of a dream I said? See that out on the horizon? I do I do Moon coming so discreetly, and the and the Say goodbye, say hello, say goodbye, say hello
2.
I've been down on the dust covered road, left the ragged pound behind. I've been down on the dust covered road. Left the ragged pound behind, with excitement that builds to decline, down on the dust covered road. Very slowly now, disembodied crowd, see them witness how, alone and bereaved, in landscape upon reading more. And those that have been there before, don't be fooled by the flesh colored lights, for those that have been there before. Don't be fooled by the flesh colored lights, and those who impose your last rights. Those who have been there before. Come and sit in the shade of this tree, if you wish to, then come separately, come and sit in the shade of this tree. If you wish to, then come separately, away from the sneers to breathe free, come and sit in the shade of this tree.
3.
Fresh fruit from the trees, just there hanging by a string. Water is still wet and the grass appears still to be green. All so orderly, like your sense's symphony. Pulled out of a dream to be continued presently. The sun, the moon, and in-betweens, the three distinct realities. Uncertain in the shade like some smoke obscured parade, tripped up by the junk that went missing yesterday. Locations take a new and completely foreign grace. So hide out on these secret paths to race until the day. Man made hours, rush and turn and click and twirl twenty-four hours, peel and slip and somehow limp away. Windows can't agree on the state of in between, light can muddy pure like the dark can glow pristine. Curtains cover both and confuse the whole routine Hear the subtle hum and the breath of the machine. Turning night to day, and the opposite extreme Push away the present like a ghost goes sight unseen take it with the high, and the low, go make the mean last entire days inside the same eternal scene
4.
Whether it is automatic, call to all those sinking ships. Faces catch the signal stealing, out of line and ill equipped. Called out for a floating front, I know, I'm hurt, divided and multiplied. Walk amongst the springing theories, cupped in hands to rip and play. Inscribed with some secret meaning, thrown back to the building fray. Caught up at the wrong place, I've been pulled, I'm prodded, questioned, compromised. Held against my will, by those who kill saboteurs and spies. Thinking in a secret prison, whispers slip between the bars, to a freedom unattended, waving off the getaway cars. But then one day I awoke, escaped and running, laughing while disguised. Out between the winds with those who've been saboteurs and spies. Living as a sole observer, with no ploy or plan to fill, but there will be always moments of holding breath and standing still Fending off the shadow players, I stay, unknown, postage stamp size. One thing, alone I've always known, is how to be, one of these, saboteurs and spies.
5.
Stuck in blast labyrinths, slow and in between, blooming dynamite, daisy chained beneath. Luckless visions, practiced fusions, quick percussions, brilliant movements. Blast before the bloom, and the one place left to go. Hanging daydreams, hidden freedoms, star's projections, different outcomes. Steps retracing, down surreal roads, paths obstructed, strange and unknown. Dissecting mazes, of great mystery, through the ages, empty victory. Viewed correctly, in the best light, stand defeated in the spotlight.
6.
Pictures and movements, sounds and improvements, centered around the eye, wash and recycle, grin and get spiteful, parallel lines pull and choke at your pride. Perfect in a pause, so I dwell, repeat hell, masquerade inside tolling bells This box of haunts, you do whatever it wants, escape at any cost. Hear beating hearts in the thick and the dark, through the fence and outside. Walk around mirrors, doubles seem clearer, I'm seeing the world be shrunk down to size. Static in the air, with bones bare, and blank stares, crossed off lists and these fleeting cares. See clearly when the veil is off, retrieve the things that were all thought to be lost. The you of now, and before can split the cost. Looking behind you, looking right through you, strangers in present time played all the cards in the deck, I'm thinking of ghosts Ive sat down beside. Went out yesterday, with things changed, gone away, ripped to fold and go separate ways.
7.
A young and velvet feeling, go turn your watch off and go listen in. And if you catch my meaning, don't wink, but go pave your road. Take a number and get confused. Think of the questions you can use. Let your mind create, search, and destroy. Take the pleasure to annoy. And when they tell you to shut up, give them every compliment you can think of. And I know you'll get through it, it was easy, it was cheap, go and do it.
8.
Nothing's gonna make the years stand still, nothing's gonna make them stand, out up there on top of the hill, looking down. Walking with no legs into the wind, walking as the breezes go, letting the wind sink under my skin, hear the voices go go go. Here they go now: Another day which never was, and won't become. These wild dreams heard spoken of, each sucker's one. Our misfortunes give us a chance, give us a chance to grow, out of our own vicinity, and you know. Hand in hand we move towards it, hand in hand we go. Faceless, nameless, without a home, what a joyous self we own.
9.
No gold windows where you're situated uh-huh. Bending lightly to the mighty grip of the, powerful misunderstanding called the little unknown. From the vaults of kindness you've paid in full oh oh, and counting separate pieces on borrowed time, you're null. Of any forward moving xeroxed protocol. And all things I was told to expect, they all were true. When all of those whom I don't respect, thought on you. Back on the beach of discontent, now let us see. Sat a sacred self all by himself, oh me. Who was this guy preparing for so much? Happy to be blind to "taste," and deaf to "touch." In prison cells of luxurious rapport. Will forever live the accoutrements of us and yore. By design of some collection of our joys.
10.
Howl-Strange 01:13
Like a wolf out on the steppes, amongst the trees and out of breath. Smoking city is at my heels, breaks apart and reveals. A little shelter so to stand aside, let the river run, run on by. Howl, 'til it hurts! Call out to the empty canyon, describe a sacred vision. Combine and draw conclusions, scrawl it in the dirt. Wind alive comes blowing by, voices swept up for the ride.
11.
Strum or Run 03:58
Buried in the thoughts of what is, and what never was. One thing that was never there until it becomes, the thing that was always there, and was there because, it had always been the thing it always was. First note rings, upon these aching strings, tensed and pulsed, out from the voice it sings. Bored eyes lull in cemetery dreams, red beads glow in the dull and dusted scene. Setting sun, scram or stun, hold your breath, it's strum or run. Pitchforks and torches, knives held in belt lines, all pointed to the one that just stands there, wordless and sweating, echoes sit frozen, melting away on the tip of the tongue. Now it is, the thing that was never supposed to be, one flash was all there really ever was to need, the look, that has always been the end to the means, what no cash or gleam can swing. Stranger things are all that the song can bring. Unique calls to the thoughts that spring, all move through the lone point of view, masked and marked until the words ring true. Setting sun, scram or stun, hold your breath, it's strum or run.
12.
The Cycle 02:55
Statues stand as still as me, moss covered into eternity, but who knows, who knows how? Thinking out aggressively, and then acting out so passively, but who knows, who knows how? Race to the ideal screeching halt, pretend it's fine or not my fault. Conceal the things that make it so, and spin around until I go.... Moving only purposely, and then paralyzed by antiquity, but who knows, who knows how? Writing my own recipe, the concoction that keeps stopping me, but who knows? who knows how? (Crosstalk of two verses) Who knows?
13.
Ahh! Not too long from now, (it may have happened already, who really knows?) Everyone, in every town, in every city, in every state or province. They will be asked, no they will be told to drop everything, save for the clothes on their back, and report to a checkpoint. A single point on the map. Every man, woman, child, able or disabled. Map reference 31.374 Degrees North, 88.4744 Degrees West. Everyone, no questions asked. Map reference 31.374 Degrees North, 88.4744 Degrees West. No questions asked. So the exodus will begin, every man, woman, and child will leave their homes, their homes! and walk in four single file lines, one north, one south, one east, and one west. George the teamster with the broken arm, Elise the young pregnant girl who is expecting at any moment, and Nikolas, the actor. And more, and more! The military will be asked to police the effort, with the expectation being that they will police themselves upon arriving at the destination. No one will know what awaits them, and everyone will merely follow the simple electronic signs which direct them. The first to arrive, Javier and Henrietta, an old married couple who live nearby, will come to where all the arrows point, and find a white chalked line drawn on the unpaved road. They will look behind them and find the masses angrily urging them forward. After passing over the white chalked line, an electronic sign will thank them for their participation and invite them to leave the premises. Two weeks later, a letter will arrive in the mailbox of every one of the millions of people who passed over the white line. The letter will read: To whom it may concern, at the date and time specified below, you were officially acknowledged to be in existence. No reply is necessary.
14.
I've walked along the pantheons, made strangers fear my name. Up a ladder, through rings of fire, I've achieved all my aims. But still an ache inside persists, I'm still a mortal man... Not like you, hero of history, falling upon my knees, the years were better to you than they'd ever been to me. But I know one day for sure that everyone will know my name....Statues of me will keep yours in the shade. Accolades and long parades are small compared to this, you've painted your name across the map and signed it with your fist, but will you ever change the world like my peers all predict? Down they go, oh eons ago, statues fall to dust, away the minds, the memories, the climes, from my hand will spring modern--Down they go, oh eons ago, still you're left with this, away the minds, the memories, the climes, from my hand will spring modern times.
15.
Well I'm a fact in the books of history, I as well make this exist, but I can't compete with the loudening parade, who are content to discuss their personal bliss. We've survived "them" against "us", but the public demands a buzz. Oh Alright! A system of concentric circles that embolden and erase my name. Just as quick as flick of the switch, they create the winds of change. Oh but the public demands a buzz.
16.
Fleet of foot, without excuse, examined lines and crooked looks ahhh. Concrete clues, all while amused, searched high and low, predicted truths ahhh. Slipped between these machines, their buttons and their wires, extracted all the data before they become expired. Line by line, string, code or grid, the language speaks to highest bids ahhhh. Steadied hands on shrinking keyboards, clustered digits fall, over driven by this existence, stutter, stumble, stall. What you get when you've got the information all, falls to you, frozen modules, at your beck and call. What to do, which hands to use, with no ideas, but all the tools ahhh. Wait for cues, and skies of blue, the perfect time just passed on through ahhh. Slipped between these machines, their buttons and their wires, extracted all the data before they become expired.Under lock and key they sit, their bursting boards on fire, and still the human touch remains the once thing it requires.
17.
We both started up from nothing, and we wore our amulets, all our silly superstitions makes me feel so second guessed. Pencil on a piece of paper, mattress hung from balls of twine. See you at our next chance meeting, tricked myself a second time. It's your choice, you do what you want, remember here it's all speculation now. And here you talk about it, all things you'll never know. They tell me he's no fortune teller, he tells you every time you go. You'll get your money back, slipped under the door, rules and revelations, make you feel so sore. But tell me what you think right? What's so close at hand? Go invest in light bulbs, I'll help you pretend. And here you talk about it, all things you already know. They tell me he's no fortune teller, he tells you every time you go.
18.
Tunnel digging, gripping hand by hand. Empty pockets grow full with sand. We used to need help to pull us over, from the place where we built our land. The shocking truth discovered, tripped, held, and bound. Through and against! From the floor, with shadows on the wall, in secret rooms where they screen our calls, and all our echoes were just now spilling over, repeating words like they were our own. Stubborn meanings trap and smother all the nonsense, and in a world where interruptions make no difference, we always feel like starting over, or telling stories to ones who can.
19.
Gone to the well too many times, for buckets full. Two years for me to find what was respectable. These episodes where damsels dream of certain woe, oh tons of snakes, what will it take to really know. Charm me, charm me, out on the hot rocks looking for answers, charm me, charm me, out in the tall grass. Slipped underfoot, go and take your turn, don't roll your eyes. Play hide and seek to stop and quit, your big surprise. Thrown down your skin, then soak and rinse, get up and go. Oh tons of snakes, what will it take to really know?
20.
Witchdoctor 01:14
21.
Escape Route 02:28
There's a slaughterhouse in my ear, tear down the wall breathe free and clear woah oh oh. Time ticks running on, make broken hands reveal all, perpetual. Sync-up with all these common breaths, locate your soul, die many deaths. Go until there's nothing left at all, floor is always under as you go, fight the fear of flight and of the fall. There's still more road for you to go. Blank was all you see, you plead for help with color schemes, oh neon dream. Push out for a more extended space at zero hour and nowhere place, pull the lever, spring up catapult, fly through the air, accept the fault. Go until there's nothing left at all, floor is always under as you go, fight the fear of flight and of the fall. There's still more road for you to go. Be, or be nothing
22.
Each life, lived thuds, common good looks down upon. Breeds, bathes, sanctifies each mellowed lie. See cries, killed, caused, statues built just to be loved. Called, craved to do the same, request by name. I can see you in these hills, I can feel you in my hands, I can see the castle walls, I can hear the midnight band. Road signs, singed, burned, every second a different earth. Each prize pulled away, for different hands. Dark eyes, spent, splayed, water circles around the drain. So though days prove rough, keep adding up.

credits

released July 30, 2013

All songs written by Mishima Strange

Patrick- Lead vocals, rhythm and lead guitars, percussion.

Bryant- Lead and stunt guitars, bass, synth, drums.

Recorded, mixed, and mastered by: Bryant

Cover art and concept by The Fop.

Thank you to:

The Schumacher Brothers, Kevin Ng, Gina Forrest, Stevie Gonzales, John and Christine, Chris Cristomo, Mike Mollett, Michelle Tracy, and J, L, and B.

Spiritual Thank-yous: John, Joe, Marc, Don, Bo, Henry, Arthur, and D. Boon.

"Marvelous animals, beautiful spirits,
We were never much good at being human.
Like heroes in old films,
Frantically we flee the world.
Marvelous animals, beautiful spirits!"

-Henri Coulette

Registered under BMI, all rights reserved 2013

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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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