1. |
Hal
04:58
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The subtle spice was a fore and afterthought
When our skin was painted
Orange, black, and white
Are we a fox? Are we a tiger?
They'll question.
We've got some years;
For now, the treat's in the trickin'.
The harvest yielded fields of candy corn and crows
Little sprites were rotting teeth into the night
Loom on the trees that reached for our devilish gains
We played the game
Trading lollies for the same
Are we a fox? Are we a tiger?
They'll question.
We've got some years;
For now, the treat's in the trickin'.
We've got some years
Would-be werewolves
Will be vampires, baby.
Would-be pitchforks
Will-be bridge fires, plainly
So, are we fox?
Are we a tiger?
This haunted house has gone all
dark and void of light
Save for the glow of past lives
Futuring, tonight
Are we a ghost?
Are we a fire, baby?
Would-be werewolves
Will be vampires, baby
Would-be princess
Will be distressed
will be distressed
will be distressed
Are we a fox?
Are we tiger?
Are we a ghost?
Or are we in the fire?
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2. |
Torchlight
03:31
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I've been trying to draw a bead on you,
burning circles in the ashes of your old flame.
Dirty windows --
save for the ovals
you made so I can see
you're not coming to me
Three of a kind, to show you're taking time
to write a letter, to see it disappear.
Paragraphs on the screen
give no new meaning
to this, your heartbreak;
to this, we can't make.
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas;
I'll sing to help with this,
to bury us
and bury everything
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
Good, you write/right the wrong ideas
Darling
I've been trying to draw a bead on you.
Every ounce of a chance swiftly decays.
Done my trying,
now I can head on home.
Head on home.
You know you never said why.
Nobody ever says why.
You know you never said why.
Nobody ever says why.
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3. |
Frontiers
04:31
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She withered away
Fell for the prolicide
Rifled by coffin
He went along, baby
Coma commander
Set for the divide
You went Pariah
Black Oleander
Let ‘em run
and let ‘em hide
and let ‘em seek, away
What winding
False floorways
Let ‘em whisper
Let ‘em murmur
Let ‘em run astray
This endless home here,
stocked with the finest fear:
stairs bleeding head-room;
walls changing costumes
Riddled with 13,
You caught them in-between
hard glass and stained wood
All this, posthumous.
Build on
Build on
Build on
Build on
Build on
Build on
Build on
Build on
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