|
1. |
|
|
|
|
No fourth estate in a corporate state,
casting ballots, what a fucking waste.
Obfuscation leaves a bitter taste,
I have no faith, I can't relate.
WOKE.
|
|
2. |
|
|
|
|
Won't stop talking but you're saying nothing.
Just keep acting like you stand for something.
No conviction.
|
|
3. |
|
|
|
|
Compulsive insincerity,
repulsive lack of clarity,
presumptive solidarity,
without a second thought.
I wanna be disconnected.
Subjective or reality,
a black and white mentality,
just shallow generalities,
no context to the plot.
I wanna be disconnected.
I'd rather be...
|
|
4. |
|
|
|
|
Disgusted and drowning,
I loathe my surroundings,
what happens when you're out of songs to sing?
Losing interest in beautiful things,
except the calm that silence brings.
A touch too short,
a breath too late,
contemplating all that's left to hate.
It's all shallow thoughts and misspoken words,
that leave a shattered ego disturbed.
Truth lost in casuistic dialect,
I'll get more honesty from a noose wrapped around my neck.
|
|
5. |
|
|
|
|
One more fucking obligation,
another chip in the cracked foundation.
Expectations.
Another weight on my mental state,
one more straw and I just might deviate.
|
|
6. |
|
|
|
|
Faith is nothing but a shadow cast
on fading light from half-dead stars.
So keep your hope and empty prayers,
we've been through hell and we wear our scars.
We've been through hell
|
|
7. |
|
|
|
|
Shouting in the wind while daylight burns,
signaling virtue with a mask of concern.
Toe the mark with your beliefs,
for a pat on the back and a sense of relief.
Are we living in the same world?
Praised on social media,
another mass hysteria.
The witch is hung yet the devil roams free,
left to bespeak your vanity.
|
|
8. |
|
|
|
|
Tread lightly and watch your back,
a salve won't save you now.
The fallen angel has you in it's claws,
the show goes on with no applause.
It's time to disassociate.
Give in to the demons, accept your fate.
We are what we pretend to be.
|
|
9. |
|
|
|
|
Complacency envelops my dreams,
grasping at threads of a shirt I once wore.
No voice to scream. Left with no fucking say.
|
released October 10, 2017
Recorded / Mixed / Mastered
by Tom Gardner at Rift Studios in Brooklyn, NY
www.riftstudiosnyc.com