one after another machine gun bone until the whole station shakes with the weight of the life you’ve inevitably thrust into your own hands you absolute beaut. tear out your inner ear before somebody beats you to the punch but don’t lose your balance. years ago i read something about life in the sewer. people were worms were people and it was all very graphic, very unbelievable, but there was something comforting about all those dragons of the manmade under, as if they were defending something. are we something?
lyrics
they all span eighty thousand beneath the knuckle of their thumb
split molecules, give hope for worlds, not once comfortably numb
i don’t understand the reasoning, can’t comprehend the future
won’t understand myself, oh, don’t know where to put the sutures
in forty years there are no more fish in the ocean and the folds in our brains fill themselves with copper and hysteria. a man brushes his teeth, spits bloody and notices his eyes don’t remind him of his father’s any more. his mouth chews the eggs for him. the wrong headlines chuckle from just right of his vision and the pills don’t work again. they invent another disease. the others won’t cooperate.
but three months ago the gas price was something else,
wasn’t it? something worth paying,
but even when Nietzsche breathed, all tasted sweeter
than an empty wafer, apologetic frosting, or
grape juice from concentrate.
they all span eighty thousand beneath the knuckle of their thumb
split molecules, give hope for worlds, not once comfortably numb
i don’t understand the reasoning, can’t comprehend the future
won’t understand myself, oh, don’t know where to put the sutures
it is an ache, something that is for,
someone, an object even, some lost locus
resonating over the lip, a quiver like static
against the neck of every green collared Fuck Me shirt,
versus the lipstick stains and lashes of cum
flecking the lace he’ll never wear again,
stars in a constellation, the last fish in the sea,
and my father pulls a wine bottle from the shelf.
the cord around my neck keeps beating its tapeworm heart.
and they’ve spanned eighty thousand beneath the knuckle of their thumb
split open skulls, unlocked the doors, silence, silence, then none
i was younger, once, younger than i am now,
when i wore blue, when i walked,
when breathing was intuitive,
when i spent, before
the tank was full. ethanol eats itself.
i am not powered by hope.
i don’t understand my reasoning, can’t comprehend my future
put the gun down on the carpet but don’t know where to put the sutures
credits
from Tabernacle,
released September 24, 2016
emerson fd - vocals, lyrics, percussion
amos damroth - synths, production
Pretty much exactly what you'd want out of an atmospheric, ambient, and engaging listen in less than 10 minutes. Beautiful sounds and textures. Worth yo time and yo money. Free Lemonade Records