|Judul lagu||Name penyanyi||Penulis lirik||Penyusun||Tanggal rilis||Lirik pertama|
White Walls Reap Black Figures
|Cannae||none||none||none||A letter written...|
|Cannae||none||none||none||Troubleshooting death, it...|
|Cannae||none||none||none||Split between choiced,...|
|Cannae||none||none||none||One out of...|
|Cannae||none||none||none||Subject to liability...|
|Cannae||none||none||none||Standing with a...|
Exploiting The Human Opportunity
|Cannae||none||none||none||Nights I lay...|
Dawn Of Dark Skies
|Cannae||none||none||none||In the dawn...|
A letter written home on stationary, the address marked with the author's
blood. I know his leaving was never premeditated, but eighteen years on
auto-pilot…will drive someone's impulse. decapitated dolls. Arson on action
figures. So told, not acceptable acts. They figured if hope was twisted
within a straitjacket, it would be the perfect solution to prevent so called
mishaps. The worls seemed so colorless. White walls masquerade the surface of
punishment (and rehabilitation) I can't grip the burden of shadows. I hope
you die! The corners of blended pasts, uninformed to their futures. The final
solution is to let me deal. Let's see you grip the burden of shadows. Let's
see you grip the burden of shadows. The burden of shadows.
Troubleshooting death, it lets you find what makes you want more. Stay alive
for ten minutes, then die in five. A minute never seemed so long when sitting
at the bottom of a fresh hourglass. Hold enough breath to get to the bottom
and not enough to get back. Freedom of choice can't be regulated by general
(consensus) Why bother? Why try? It's hopeless, destiny shows us why. Teasing
the beast of temptation. Hanging at the end of a withered limb. Why bother?
Why try? These are our lives to die.
Split between choiced, you bleach your thoughts with stories of false
prophecy. Unorthodox methods of self religion, decayed and edge-burned
portraits of mythological entities, a made up story to present the rules we
should live by. If religion is the cure for to blindsight, come now and give
me vision, for right now I cannot see.
One out of a million, they don't see me. I am to this world as a raindrop is
to your forehead. Suppressed only by myself. I need to let me out, out of the
sky falling. Time and mind seperated only by night and day. They all seem the
same to me, no matter what anyone might say, I will never what I want,
"free", like addiction I must come back to this. Endless loops of creativity,
creatively sitting alone.
Subject to liability you say, well at least it was worth it to see your head
sliced in half like a tomato. Roots sewn by your blood and then nurtured
through your kisses. Crawling themselves effortlessly through my skin
manifesting on my insides, they grow and then pull me apart from the
intestines our while postmortem thoughts whirl around my head. How could I be
so blind? Evilness disguises itself so well. I'm better now anyway. Better
left for dead
Standing with a slight slant, the head seemed to be twisted on just right.
Collared shirt and tie. presentable to who, I don't know. A smile stretched
across the face with puppet strings holding each side up. My head fills with
images of old horror films. A smile stretched across the face with puppet
strings holding each side up. Severed limbs, headless torsos. Doesn't that
ever wake you during the night? Demon shaded light tones tip toe around my
comatose body. Disturbing tremors creep underneath skin layers. My eyes burn
from the salt that was there. Just remember, the narrator's only there for
Nights I lay awake hopelessly thinking of this place. The more I think, the
less I want to know. It seemed like before this never used to happen. I guess
it's proclaimed to be over the representation of time on paper. Pen strokes
mark away and with every letter, a new birth. You will see it again, it
leaves a mark on your mind. Pictures say a thousand words. We can tell
stories without saying a single word, yet only to a true perception however,
can this be "felt". I always see things that disturb me, but I would rather
see that than nothing.
In the dawn of dark skies, a painting of mist spread amongst the air, colored
leaves die and then abandon their origin. Flowerless aroma and roots with no
chance, earth wisked away by winds of ignorance. A portrait of blindness we
all possess, and then the all important clock begins to laugh in all our
faces. In the past, not a thought to the future on a sphere that's four
billion years old, the sun will burn everything and then it'll go cold, we
the people will burn to the bone, death ridden corpse will now mark our home.
Boiled seas will abandon shores. Think where we'll be if we don't try to act,
the world will go back to it's origin.