New Lyrics

This Might Be A Love Letter * Have you really entertained the notion that we are all going to die? That we are all destined for decay or flames? To be honest, the weight of this concept plagues me at night; I dilute the guilt I harbour for having let the past 22 years of my life pass me by through making the resolution to begin living for the moment at daybreak. I guess inhibitions prefer to make their rounds at daylight. I know that as I cling to my last dying breath I’ll regret the nights I made the promise to act out the scripts I’d devised when sleep left me to fend for myself. I’d propose that we pull an all-nighter, that you make a list of all the things you wish you’d done (but didn’t) and I could play the saviour and - at least for one night - treat you like you’ll be more than just another weathered tombstone in no time…but my fear of life (if you can believe it) overshadows my fear of death , so I’ll just let the silence suffocate so many words left unspoken (but every one sincerely meant).

Compassion’s Procession Has Traffic Backed Up All The Way To Apathetic Avenue, And We’ll All Be Smothered Before This Congestion Dissipates * What has happened to compassion? Empathy? Community? I’ve seen so many ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ suffering in solitude. What has happened to the notion of reciprocity? We’ve become islands, and so many spirits are drowning. “I’ll extend a hand if you do the same. I’ll be here for you if you’ll be here for me”. But, No! Friendship is becoming a dead scene; just topic groups united by bad films and wasting such valuable time chit-chatting about nothing. Have we become so self-obsessed? So cold? Oblivious? Apathetic? Where were you when I was dying? I was there for you - and I’m still here for you. They say that individualism has killed communalism, that a cutthroat society spares no room for pity. I didn’t believe it, but now I’m starting to open my eyes. Try not to feel. Try not to need anyone. Try not to feel. Try not to break down. Trust me, you’ll regret it.

Dramatis Persona (Strangers With Familiar Faces). * The Balinese live their lives like life’s a stage. Down in Bali they don’t even pretend to be sincere representations of their inner selves. Lek serves as a concept more unsettling than death. Spectacular manifestations of forced self-conception. Aesthetic illusions compulsively maintained. I’m well aware of my social prefabrication but playing for the public feels like an occupation. Seems everyone’s company implies expectations for self-deprecating wisecracks and potent cynicism. The song and dance of a translucent man, singing and dancing for his translucent friends.

Harmless. * If you knew that I’ve come to associate your eyes with the taste of my own blood, you would thank me. Hands clasped, oblivious smiles - would you fear the visions which adorn this boy’s mind? I’ve grown so weary of chasing butterflies and shredding their wings. I despise what I become. Angels of my own creation, flaws ignored. Romanticisms designed to hurt us both. Best intentions laced with poisons, oblivious and corrosive. My silence may save you (but…). I’ll brave the wounds. I’ll take the bullet. A sincere token of my affection. A sincere symptom of my infestation.

La Fin. * If you lie in anguish taunted by your presupposition that no one cares to know you, I have failed. If you lie awake all hours plagued by your misconception that no one could understand you, I have failed. Has knowing me enriched your life at all? Have I failed?

The Sunrise Fallacy. * Galileo drops a stone; did you see it fall? Simple logic would suggest the Sun stands still, the Earth revolves. And innovator turned heretic? A genius gone insane? Galileo Galilei is going to burn for his claims. Divert your eyes from the sky lest you want to watch Heaven die. Recant! Recant! The commoners have taken to the streets, vibrant with the notion that their being may one day cease. The stranglehold, it weakens as questions spout from their lips: "If what is written proves untrue why submit to it’s commandments?" Galileo Galilei, beaten, broken, blind. Fallen victim to the workings of a curious mind. Victim to the workings of a critical mind.

Broadway. * This city lives and breathes like a concrete beast, rivers running through it’s heart like fracture lines. A prairie-bound metropolis stricken with leukemia but don’t worry little albino boy, it’s going to be alright. Down south strange fruit used to dangle from the trees, but up here it still grows right atop the frozen plains. Pull that blue shroud down, it’s hunting season all year-round, but don’t worry little albino boy, you can sleep sound tonight. I watched a six on one; I lost any hope I had for this city on Broadway.

Because We All Know They’re Just Cashing In On The Punk-Rock Resurgence… * I had those words pegged as my last and, in a sense, they were. Here’s to revelations. Here’s to new beginnings. Here’s to abolishing everything you think you know about me. I may be fragile, but I’m not weak. She was wounded, I played the saviour - then the shackles - then the broken soul. She was wounded and now we both bleed. Oh, dear stargazer dreams, may I belong to you again? He was lost, I offered the cold shoulder - then indifference - now I play the grieving son. He was lost, now we’re both fading memories. Dear stargazer dreams, may I belong to you again? Looking back on a skyline laid to waste, and I belong to you again.