1. |
mild-life crisis
15:49
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Part I. This carnival is carnivore. I dreamt I had grown nails to hold. On just right down, into between, we fake our smiles to keep them free. Your happy days I wish no share. Nor kings nor queens nor (a) buzzing lair. Nor masquerades to keep up the pace. Drunk in trance, for once I break. How do you know I ain't like that. Or would you like a pair of foot stuffed. In whatever suits-you-case, with razorblade.
04:30 Part II. A laugh non-shared, for a fright not-fair. I know you're right, well, I'm what's left. The feet got scars and I'm dressed in skin, (I'm) packed in triplets won’t fit in. At least I (can) shuffle to dust my wakes. They came with white clocks to calculate. With ritalin and ect. And rooms so narrow and sterilized. I fail to follow and I can't swallow (that). All that we see or seem. Are on projectors and wide screens. Are proper beds with wives to share. A lot of toys with time to play. A load of books with no time to read. Frail safety framed us thick. I wish I could swallow. But wishes are not to be borrowed. Can't grasp on my... Can't shit on my own.
13:04 Part III. Can't shit on my own. On mellow comforts. She cuts her wrists. Sober mild-life crisis. Won't find a comfort in this world. Mommy, are you trying…?
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2. |
Idyllic landscapes
09:20
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00:00 Part I. The vomitory charm of redolence drains all caress from tired lungs. Despair is floating like loose flakes of paint make their own ways on a discordant waltz. Let her in. A crawling queen around a gilded crown, devouring clowns that crouch back. Flocks of joyful casts immune, counterfeit and mute, dehydrate in her sandglass. Let her in.
03:00 Part II. So, there seems that there is no such thing as free will or free choice but a subjective feeling of freedom. We experience our lives via the projections of the individual and the collective unconsciousness that controls the criteria of judgement, justice and desire. This is a fact that we cannot surpass by nature. What we can do is to expand the field of consciousness in order to extend the visual field with which we retrieve information from the inner and the outer world. However, nowadays our emotional incentives (pain, compassion, loss, erection etc.) are two clicks away. That is what I call safe sex, safe friends, shaved life. And we come and go back and forth traveling through those idyllic landscapes while the compass is buried deep down in our mother's utero. As we are said that we are dominant. As we come to this world crippled, by birth. Harm is charm when she is missing.
04:47 Part III. All we've built, brick by brick indicant (of our) privilege. (The kind) you shift paralyzed. In our den of vice, (we) sink into demise have a part of my unkempt misery. All we built, guilt by guilt, a sanctified pestilence. Voluntary harms of ignorance, generous sips of bottled relief, with a slice of bad smell and a (greasy) tuft of innocence tied on; tied on.
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3. |
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00:00 Part I. Reservation for one, a glass of novocaine, I salivate at the idea of labeling me. And all the grace retaliates, without a graze, castrated. Reservation for two, juicy, roasted, aroused consumers of flesh redeem competitive patterns. And all the grace stabbed to sleep, on velvet sheets, castrated. Reservation for three, pride is sine qua non, acquired defects molest substantial utopias. And all the grace, stabbed to sleep, on velvet sheets, smelling vaseline.
02:48 Part II. [Now is the right time to]
Shake off--Fake
your skin--particles of
before--this old
the wreckages--and tired world
etch--collapse
their toll--in oblivion
on--without
your innocence--a sound.
Time to--Shake
liberate--off your skin
the self--before
from old--the wreckages
scratches--etch
for time is not--their toll
for--on
free--your innocence.
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4. |
A love bought
15:42
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00:00 Part I. Exkrementale inhalte mit Edelsteinen zu neun Element verbunten. This world is just a frame, on the wall we're living in. So take your clear shot and win the (grand) prize. For there's no price, in debt we're all stacked in. Trembling (scary) off the hot spoon into the skin. So where's the pain, what's the use? As if we could stand another bruise. Hand-on-hand to reclaim this sharp-pit-trap. There's no room to echo this fall. There's no sound to fill the floor's cracks. For what is perished is to be cherished on this love. Hey man, do you have dime? Hey man, would you spare a time?
04:45 Part II. Lather was 61. His toys in chinese rocks. Substance cut in rags. To wrap him when he's drowned. Pale marks on every inch. Trademarks of the leash. Love bought, trading bliss. Come on, all aboard. Ambitions grow old, on bending knees. On charcoal realms, choke in haze. Dissolved, yet complete. This love is obsolete. A portrait cruel and neat, of deep-scared grace. That feels no change. Little people slide on your curls. Tell her dye them bleached red. Little chiggers dance on your neck. So, how does it feel? Shabby shoes, shappy shares of confettis in velvet furs. A leech for a pet to stitch this concrete bed. A bleach for a rent, a gasp for a shout. So, how does it heal you? Paper cuts bites of rats, fierce contrast and knees of rust. Purple kites (flying) in broken heights. Guide the lines of cushion blasts. Keep up don't stop, we're nearly there. Half-way dead. Half-way.
09:01 Part III. Hey, little Nigel come back home. I've been a way in the midnight cold. And if you are to move an inch. I'll be right there to stitch your breeze.
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judy versus Athens, Greece
Judy versus are (Alphabetically): Evgenios (vocals, guitars), Kostas (drums, percussion), Petros (keys, soundscapes, vocals), Vaggelis (guitars), Ch(X)ristos (bass guitar, rythmic rocking/swinging of bass guitar in a digging fashion)
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