1. |
Mission: Stoked
01:55
|
|||
|
Sergio
spat out tall tales
to a group
of nightinggales
& mute mockingbirds
in a run down
cabaret downtown
We jumped those cars in '57
when we had hearts of iron
our blood pumped the purest mercury
to the tunes of the 1950's
Sergio
spat out more lies
to the daylight owls
& the morning flies
"I want my youth back!"
he barked at the top of his lungs
till Mikhail stood up
& punched him in the gut . . .
|
||||
2. |
Ragdoll
02:07
|
|||
|
She stares at me with
The lifeless gaze of a stock
Broker in heat
Making calculations on the auburn
Skies she never misses
A beat
Oh!
The smell of raw materials turns me on to
the point of self-manipulation
Oh!
The gasoline-like aroma burns my eyes
Oh I want you as my possession
Jet lagged and slightly
Productive
Her gaze is more than
Seductive
The moths beat themselves to death on her lights
Little do they know that she’s a ragdoll in disguise
Oh!
The smell of raw materials turns me on to
The point of self-manipulation
Oh!
The gasoline-like aroma burns my eyes
Oh I want you as my possession
Disabled Bloodclots!
I’ll make it blue!
Sacrifice the eldest son!
I’ll do it for you!
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
I know a man that mumbles
Jumbled off-beat rhythms to himself
To the tune of a white noise lullaby
He’s going to do it till every clock melts
Constantly picks the scams off of his eyes
With the pulpy appendages he calls hands
I wonder why he never confides
“I want to feel young again!” is his alibi . . .
I can feel the terrible urgency of
His blind seeking mouth
Licking the salt out of his festering wounds
He's just another prowler of this hole of a town
|
||||
4. |
Mosher
02:25
|
|||
|
let's strip to the ways
let's make it a clean fight
let's hit above the belts
we should do this outside
let's see who gets her
heart soul & body
let's divy her up
& treat her like property
it's so normal
it's so classic
it's so masculine
it's so Americana
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
We’re living in a cesspool
A society of broken teeth
Potholes populate the streets
Where the young rodent ruffians
Roam at night
And you’re caught in the middle
Of their human sacrifice
And your best friend watches from
His cardboard tenement
And everyone gazes in awe
With bloody, broken jaws
And no one cares . . .
We move like ghosts through new buildings
We move like ghosts through old telephones
We move like ghosts through dead frequencies
We move like ghosts through cheap microphones
The fundamentals of
Being accepted in a world that
Doesn’t know you exist
It’s a tough situation to be stuck in
But we as a minority struggle
With a code of flawed ethics
Isolated and miscalculated
We are the few in a white
trash society
The misguided misfits
Trapped in a land where
The hills don’t exist
We move like ghosts through new buildings
We move like ghosts through old telephones
We move like ghosts through dead frequencies
We move like ghosts through cheap microphones
|
||||
Red Exit recommends:
Sofia Black-D'Elia b/w Rachel Thevenard
by Arab Spring
Mac's solo project.
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