1. |
Communism
05:58
|
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|
Revolt. Go onward.
Don't look back when leaving.
They said I was great,
but their pockets said otherwise
They said they do great things,
but their practices said otherwise.
So, I left.
This is labor power.
We are one, of many.
Now feel us.
We take form, a righteous union built on our backs.
In fault of what you've done, honor lights with nothing to leave the ones you profiteer.
I'm going to wave your life under our golden mind: its commune.
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2. |
Chimera
08:14
|
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|
We once had an understanding.
Went by many names.
It all started with a loss on the grip of reality.
It became our problem.
All through negligence, spite.
What once was mine, in the ground.
Just because she couldn't help you,
it turned turned so sour.
Lying, blood in the shower.
Didn't want help,
you would threaten yourself until it came back around.
Falling down, we all knew.
But then, they died
and we saw what you said.
We all saw.
Dead wasn't enough?
She was dead,
and you had to go around gloating.
Corpse still fresh.
No wonder your friends came back to me.
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3. |
Dull Pattern
05:33
|
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|
I thought I would learn.
I thought it would be better.
All this intimacy would better me.
Every time, I succumbed to it.
The intoxication, the concept of love.
The infatuation, concepts I'd become.
Little lies, corners cut.
Mind justified what heart could not.
I lead the charge into abandon.
Just because I didn't know, but still my fault.
Innocent entities strung along.
5 lives, a year prolonged.
And once the pain and disillusionment
became too great, I had to pull the plug.
It's the only way, to maintain love.
By then, they were stockholmed.
By then, they're pained
There was pain in letting them go.
They had no net on which to glow.
Rug pulled out like fucking crypto.
I'm sorry,
but most impoortantly
I'm disgraced.
Time will judge me.
|
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4. |
Beacon
07:48
|
|||
|
The night fog, thick with dust and smoke.
A depression over sea for ages.
Tainted by this void, a lighthouse remained unlit.
Silent until an inevitable, habitual spark.
The lighthouse burns a beautiful flame,
its warmth and radiance drawing many from the distant dark.
Sentimentalists, misanthropes, vagabonds,
all converging and communing around the beacon.
Its heady inebriating light bringing wonder, vigor to lives.
As the density of benefactors grew, so did their warmth.
The heart fires and body heat compounding greatly.
Storm clouds replaced by an inescapable, passionate blaze
steaming and suffocating the view from the lighthouse.
The stairways inside collapse into embers,
the dancing of which entertains the visitors.
Patrons each take bricks from the lighthouse to claim their own
but lament the lost stability.
Her tall pale body, once hardened and obscured in darkness,
now fragile when it's most featured on the horizon.
The beacon dismantled,
consumed in twisting, combusting delirium celebrated
by all who witnessed it.
Until it left them no guide through the raucous cliffs,
and ashes to further shroud their view
like they had been for so long.
|
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5. |
Audition
05:59
|
|||
|
The stork's beared many gifts
and it's finally come to interact,
looking to enlist others,
expanding its territory.
In the guise of understanding
you copy it, an homage
selfishly sharing in its moment
as if it needs your acknowledgement.
The bird ain't here to touch itself.
It wants to diversify its flight.
Mastering treaded path isn't proof of carving one's own.
The stork can't fly through a mirror.
It needs a door.
|
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6. |
Itemizing
03:26
|
|||
|
This spider wraps its acquaintances
into easy packages,
constructing webs around observation.
Its foundation catches prey automatically.
It bites the heads off its mates.
But it loves most
those who defy these expectations,
cannot be contained
or predicted.
At first they're an adversary,
but that maintains a purpose
which this spider chooses to uphold.
What truly engages this spider challenges its livelihood,
escaping its method,
not for strength or validation
but to reveal its routine was not purposeful at all.
|
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7. |
Two Masks
06:10
|
|||
|
One laughing, one sad.
We are we held hostage by dichotomy?
Easy relief in pain
is the control of laughter.
Used to dominate the faults of life.
Quickly, our mechanism is intoxicating.
If not directed inward,
our weapon used for critique.
And often we fall asleep at the wheel.
There are many with talent
who've been corrupted by power.
Once smiling in the mirror
now bent under by hatred.
It's the tragedy of comedy,
the ones who fell away.
The horseshoe takes those with an eroded compass.
Is it even a joke anymore?
|
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8. |
Sensitivity
08:46
|
|||
|
Our mother had the best intentions.
She knew what we all shared,
being a little fucked in the head.
When it came to her oldest,
he was her challenge.
Challenged.
She thought she knew how to handle it.
The attempts to understand dwindled over time.
Patience ran thin.
He was alienated, even when celebrated.
Now there's distance, though slowly healed by time.
It pains her, the silence and wait.
She wonders why, racking her brain.
We once had confrontation, spelling out the cards.
She still didn't get it.
Now we just move on.
Our Law, Grace.
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Remorseful Massachusetts
Remorseful is communist, antifascist, and intersectional feminist.
Logo by @Deuteromali
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