1. |
Insert Coin (Intro)
00:47
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*scorching music*
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2. |
Rope Burn
01:44
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My conscious burns well into the night. I’ve got more problems than a rope has turns. They multiply like mice and never come to light when I’m sober and not drowning in the vice of guilt, regret and shame; all trying to sink me. Surface tides change but the bottom stays the same. In concrete boots of doubt, I’m settled in the silt and my screams are merely bubbles spawned from the shouts. Don’t judge the miles on the dashboard, I’ll judge the weather on the tread. I’ll pull my hair until my head is bald and the breaks are all but bled. The wheels spin and tyres screech. That distant hope is now far out of reach so when the tank runs dry and the fumes fade out, we’re as good as…
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3. |
Blue Collared Chumps
03:13
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That’s it. I’m out. Into another year of freedom from financial doubt. That is to say I’ve hidden my cash under the bed and just walked away. They say that a penny saved is a penny earned and though I appreciate your concern for all the cash and bridges that I’ve burned, if there’s one thing that rings true it’s that I’ve learned: You’ve gotta lace your boots up, worker-man, and don that collar blue because your master has a plan and it’s not for you. You’ll be a millionaire the day trees sprout money. But not before we’re all stripped bare and been brought to our knees by these bastard suits that seem to feed on currency and spew out nothing more than more bullshit lies sold as plans and a billion idiots dressed just like me. Just like you. When you’re finished working in the din of the engine room replacing cogs stripped bare and wheels clogged with rust, make sure the floor is clean. By the door you’ll find a broom for sweeping up broken dreams and bones that have been ground to dust. I know it’s shitty, son, but a lot of the time it’s simply easier to tow the party line. So as your alarm wakes you from your dreams of sleep and your aching back cracks as you bend to your feet to lace your boots up, worker-man, and as you don that collar blue, you’ll realise that their plan was not for you.
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4. |
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He’s paid his dues, he’s even with the house, all bets are off and the slates wiped clean. No more will this empty life be tormented by his violence or need. Death daily held above his head so without you life is painful enough. Sleeping dogs weren’t allowed to lie and a torturous soul with a lust for blood was the one allowed to inflict malicious grief on a tortured life already hard enough. So when you bound Ed at the feet and cuffed him at the wrists, satisfaction wasn’t complete until smoke billowed from those balled fists. A failure to follow procedures taught and played out rehearsals (on top of it all) were shown, but still claims of ignorance were told to the higher ‘people I know’. But all of this now means shit as the pain and smoke you were waiting for burns before your eyes. So now you’ll watch, you son of a bitch.
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5. |
Gestation Crate
03:36
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I wake and turn on this device. My mind is emulated. Every moment captured. All actions monitored. If this screen goes black, I leave. Controlled. Digitally viable, divided yet tethered. Gestation crate. Self imposed. Meticulously filtered. My experience pilfered. Privately controlled economic slave pens left to the will of business interests. Centrally organised brainwashing forces capturing your mind from conception. Return to your grey pod. Adorning your grey pod. Roll over, suckle, repeat. Details of my life in all aspects flashing back at me. Memory weakened. My life contained. My life constrained. As this digital life unfolds, meaning shifts from a life worth living to the worth of life. Fragmenting our actions into the tiniest function of a machine. Building a world that escapes the facets of our existence
My life: Gestated.
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6. |
Yankee Blue Jeans
03:56
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We ask you to strive for your best, but not in this case. Just settle in, knuckle down and get used to second place. Don’t forget, we’re not the ones who shot the gun that started this race but if we asked you to, you’d cut off your nose to spite your face. How can I light a fuse when I cannot spark a light? I tried to fight the booze but it won’t go without a fight. Just another vacant lot on the low road of society. No matter what I try, I can’t better this side of me. “So you’ll tax my income and tax my vice?” / “Son, these are the rules. We don’t have to play nice. I wasn’t asking you, boy, so don’t talk back to me. Just think of this as the ol’ money back guarantee on all of the shit that you buy that you don’t even need. As you share with your friends a piece of the greed, mate, we’ve got our snouts in the trough and our pockets are lined. Just handover the cash, nobody gets hurt and it will all work out fine.
It won’t go down quietly.” We drink, we smoke, we fight in bars. We battle demons inside our heads, inside our hearts. We’ll blister and we’ll boil, we’ll pick the scabs that turn to scars. The smoke and drink will be the last thing that will take me beyond the stars.
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7. |
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We’re no fun to be around anymore. Squirming our way through each and every day. We’ve got black eyes from smashing our palms into our faces. No, don’t want to risk it. Taking each day as it comes. No, don’t want to risk it. No, not this time. If I hear the phrase “it’s about the little wins” one more time I’m going to snap. Changing from horizontal to vertical every morning is an instant regret.
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8. |
Pride of Lions
02:07
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These are the pride of lions well past their prime. The ones drinking on the green and slowly running out of time tell stories of conquest long gone by. They’re told countless times under cloudless skies. They’ve seen the standards lowered. They’ve watched as prices rose. They’ve stood their ground and got back up after being dealt one thousand blows. These men who used to fight for freedom now fight malignant and benign. And now they struggle with jealousy of friends who were cut down in their prime. They shake their heads and wonder why.
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9. |
Visibly Hanoi'd
03:10
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Inside windowless rooms, not unlike catacombs, the shittiness relays some hope. The hair on the soap. The noose in the rope. The filth and the death don’t phase me. Rendered concrete rendered useless by small unskilled hands, weather and time. Breathe the fumes in deep and blink the dust through your eyes. It’s Hanoi. Everything will be fine. Cast your doubts aside, swallow that dirt down with your pride. To the lawlessness of these foreign lands, you shall abide. Your compass demagnetised. This structured chaos scares even the cat with all 9 lives. Safety concerns from mistakes past are earned but here they seem to bother no one. A horn blares, dodge buses here and there, eat rotten meat. Hey! Not a worry under the sun. You’ll burn bridges for desires on the street in small wildfires. The dust now joined by ashes being blinked right through your eyes. The smoked good fortunes rise into a city, more like a hive. Here in structured chaos somehow everything survives.
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10. |
The Drop
01:48
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It’s been a long time coming and I’ve been heavily involved in the making of. I’m starting to bloat and the rot… you better not mention the rot. They say it’s lonely at the top but I’ve never experienced that level of success. I’ve been living at the bottom for as long as I can tell and I’ve got a lot of dead weight to shed. The chains are rattling. Scattered, reckless bones. The chains will continue to rattle as I grow increasingly impatient waiting for the drop. I’ll keep my face in the soup and my feet in the gutter until my lungs are full and my feet are gangrenous. I’ve been planting these seeds for too long while I’m counting down the days.
Now I’m begging for it. Some say it’s lonely at the top and I’ve got quite a lot of dead weight to shed. You know I don’t ask for much but I’ll settle for some water to wash this piss from my hands.
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11. |
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This city is no longer for us. The streets no longer fertile like they once were. Neon lights growing dim while the developers are marching in. This isn’t fun anymore. Living like roadkill carcass left to rot. Hack off what you can; what you’ve still got. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it
The grass on the other side is greener; more vibrant. We’ve got some work to do here. You can stay and nurture what you’ve got only to have it stripped away. With the other option to pack up and move on. Do you see this shell of a city? Barely a whimper of what it once was. These are not the streets that we believed in. All those memories now fucking lost. Have we asked for too much? I think we have. There’s bleach thrown over the tiles that killed off all the weeds that made this place what it was in the first place. The reflux burns out the taste we had, which was already diluted by the salt water poured over us. What wrong turn will they take next? I guess that’s the thrill now. We’re the ones who want it all or so say the ones who no longer have to crawl as they tear down what we’ve worked so hard to create around us.
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