1. |
One
01:03
|
|||
You're in my head so much it's got me blacking out in the morning.
There's panic and frustration but I'm too tired to give the attention.
The smell of coffee reminds me of the mountains, and working those old char-lifts; staying in the beds across the lake.
But now all I can think about is how much fun it all really was until you walked in with someone else.
It made the beer taste sour and the weed hit harsher, and the color seeped and drained away through my eyes until it looks the way it does when you're half asleep and walking through the fog at dawn.
And I don't know what the fuck happened to me,
but up until that night I could shake anything off and come out alright.
Now I'm just numb...numb except that.
Sometimes I'll catch myself thinking of you and it'll bother me so much
that it ruins my cigarette.
|
||||
2. |
Two
00:55
|
|||
I've been lonelier than this but the time is moving slow,
like the blood inside my fists contained in clotted lava flow.
I'd like your hands to hold my wrists, but got your tendency to go,
and that's the thought I can't submiss, so now the gaskets gotta blow.
When the pressure hits the peak I bet my eyes begin to glow,
and in the wake of your deceit I'll let my monsters start to show.
And if you ever ask to meet em, you'll encourage them to grow
cause they bed from whats within but on the skin you'd never know.
So we could all be in the sky looking at the earth below:
blackened feathers in my fists contained in clotted lava flow.
We could all be in the sky with our tendency to go,
but even if we all were birds you'd be the dove, and I'd be the crow.
|
||||
3. |
Three
01:20
|
|||
Nature is my goddess. Take me back, make me foliage,
and let dampened moss come envelop my organs.
Filing-cabinet morgue rent to pay after your mortgage;
gut whatever stale porridge you're told is the proper portion.
I keep to the trees, sway and change with the breeze
while you freeze-dry and fashion a socially acceptable passion.
And I understand the need for concrete understanding
but a compliment of mask is not sound validation.
Lacking any patience to overcome the complacence
has you fighting every sensation of that festering truth-
because you just want someone to love you.
You must have someone to blame above you.
When I upturn my eyes I find the word "space" accurate:
70% water so I'll mostly evaporate
while watching you dig up dirt through contradicting words.
I hush, and figure I'll have plenty of turns
to taste this earth in the end;
when the weather makes fertile soil of my skin,
erodes this lost heart from the outside in,
and gives all my breath back to the wind.
I end where I begin.
Peace of mind is my mind in pieces
not that some entity inside me releases
my body, and floats from all I've ever known-
transcending the places only astronauts roam.
Pine tree bones and saliva sea foam:
Nature is my goddess and my only home.
|
||||
4. |
Four
01:05
|
|||
Cough outside through the cold and the smoke
while I lay in the road and choke on exhaust:
I'm melting
with slush islands in the street,
and the snowdrifts with miniature graves dug by feet;
everyone through their day all fleeting away.
Old friends passing by but have nothing to say.
Everything's gray.
The power lines seemingly stretch into nowhere
and I want more than the crosshair's of cupid to go there.
I've been disappearing for a while
out in no-gravity air,
to visit other planets
and they aren't as suffocating.
Loneliness wears me over it's body when it's cold outside,
and for the third day in a row it's ten below.
I'm glad I make a good something,
but I wish it wasn't a coat,
cause I feel more like a castle with a honey filled moat.
I feel like we mean more than the pains that we tote.
We're patched up old boats barely keeping afloat.
My hands bend like an old dog's bones.
The wind calls me naive
the steam gasps I won't win.
So I sigh with the smoke and relax my tired limbs.
I like being the bed you lay so comfortably in.
|
||||
5. |
Five
00:50
|
|||
On Mercury I'm 84. On Jupiter I'm 2.
Kind of makes me wonder: what's a lot and whats a few?
Here on earth we all forget the sky's not really blue.
7 billion sets of eyes and I still look for you.
On Mercury I'm 84, On Jupiter I'm 2.
Kind of makes me wonder: what is old and what is new?
Perspective says it all, but we don't talk about the view.
Here on earth we can't exist- unless for revenue.
Either way I'm getting old and either way it's true;
I'm getting out of bed today to make a buck or two.
The water's getting toxic and the sky's not really blue.
7 billion sets of eyes and I still look for you.
|
Streaming and Download help
The Ponder Jar recommends:
If you like The Ponder Jar, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp