1. |
Claymore Wholesale
03:09
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As dry as desert palms
the open flower of an empty hand
cold stone of a vacant lot,
from the broken window of a Cadillac
I’ve seen you seething all over this
we’ve been deserted by the only home
we turned our backs to
Crooned, a love so abused
a manufactured force of habit
ziplocked for future use
No, I’m not scared
No I’m not waning
memories melt like polaroids
over blue inverted flame
ignite like broken glass
eggshell footsteps over old friends
like a minefield
reinventing what it means to live
on a minefield
Iron boots and a septic soul keep us grounded
I lost it all for less than that, then I found it
erase me then we erase it all
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2. |
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Time’s adjusted to the window
we worship (light) the way it frames the day
ignoring real life like sickness
cause we’re fucked without it anyway
we kill the things we love
A simple practice amputation
of small essentials that make us want to leave
we fix routines around our broken parts
and then eliminate our cravings, for some fiction of truth
FUCK!
Fast moves of a shadow boxer
Shy room of a shadow boxer
no fists before or after (and no)
blood’s coming out
We cut our own teeth faster
We cut our own teeth faster
We cut our own throats faster
now blood’s coming out.
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3. |
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Your hand slips from the beams
load bearing, unequal and heaving
showed up, twigs, leaves, and dirt
your (fixed) point spinning the earth
solid ground for a weekend
shifting root for a day
fisher king never blinking
no flame for the day
your foot slips from the hillside
landslide eroded by toil
No fulcrum, counters your dead fall
and your shit turns to soil
raised up, force fed, sacrificed, sprouting
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4. |
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Wrap lips around fractured glass
it’s better than therapy
Crust the air with dirty dollars
watch smoke turn into little birds
watch walls strip like orange peels
swimming in your rum
watch no one bat an eye
You!
Are!
Gonna!
Die!
Swap your blood with kerosene
pull cigarettes from your chest
blow smoke through jaundice teeth
coat the gums in a pretty yellow
Keep the matches close to your skin
burn the track marks off just like a scab
watch no one bat an eye
You!
Are!
Gonna!
Die!
Sink your tongue in a prostitute
It’s so much better than eating food
Stick a needle through a burning tube
it’s so much better than our love for you
Don’t let curses drag you down
(because) they bounce off you, stick to me like glue.
(So) sink your tongue in a prostitute
it’s so much better than our love for you.
Cocaine spewing from your nose like snowfall
got you writhing on the floor like an angel
(you) transplant from suburbia with acid eaten hair
but, fuck it, you’re a rebel.
(And) you must feel safe face down in an ocean
with boots lined across the back of your neck.
You don’t hear the sloshing in your lungs
so light it up
light it up
light it up, mother fucker.
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5. |
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If my heart
should burst into a firework
of red and blue
Let horseflies
do a swing dance
all around my filthy head
the walls will be a freezer
#10 a cold grave
a carpeted coffin
where no one will find me
no one will find a beat
with severed fingers pocketed
(Weird guitars)
Crickets and violins
sing me a serenade
as my face turns blue
as the red muscle
slips through my teeth
and it feels so fucking good
and now I see a comet
heading toward my face
it'll bury everything in sight
so no one will find me
no one will find a beat
my severed fingers pocketed
(More weird guitars)
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tudors Long Beach, California
P.O.C. fronted Noise Punk from the Los Angeles area. Always lower case the "t."
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