|
The role of the artist is to be that of a musical tarot deck.
Through sound we should offer reflection. Through words we should become the opportunity to dive deep into the psyche, To transform that which overwhelms into that which can be sung. To cry out in harmony the praise of the evils that rack us and the heavens that won’t admit our trespasses. Through these notes and vibrations we hack into the operating system of the fabric of the universe. We steer it fast and loose into the night sky. We tear hearts apart and readjust their course. We make maps out of barking dogs. With nothing but a truly guttural growl a man may become a great beast. With no more than a whimper he may become like a child or a field-mouse. Our words may carry us on the backs of history Or Shuffle around our feet like the reputation of cockroaches. When we sing we pray twice, For we bring forth the hell inside and offer it up to the light for examination. A lonely planet. A single word Long were we gone. Never quite knowing how long we were here. Luck. Suerte, And his horse.
0 Comments
Going to be shooting a documentary while on tour. Excited about hitting the road with Onry Ozzborn, Rob Sonic, Upgrade, and DJ Zone. Learn more about the documentary in the video below. Hope to see you at the show! Breathe.
Even our sighs seem heavy with stolen breath Eyes set out on sights they can’t quite undress It's rest she hopes is playing next But the music don't ever sleep my dear Because there's no room to bury the night here Every dog comes in limping No place to dry the proof from teeth, or let it sink in Someone’s hunger is curled up in the kitchen sink Now they've lost the sharpest thing they had That's the hardest thing to keep Because there’s no place to bury the night here Or get right by the morning So Bundle your body up in bad weather Singing the same song you've sung forever There’s a haunted bet floating round the crowd About whether My knife hits rust or bone Before the thick becomes too skinny And puts me up against a gypsy curse Or turns the windshield against me If I loose You get my spade, my verse, my dues But if I strike a nerve, or oil, or gold Before the morning gets right by the night it stole You bury me standing out under the back porch AND turn the lights off with me So I can finally see the sirens singing the moon down When you howl out that same song now, it’s promising You'll remember the good things that I done too child You'll line one up and knock TWO down. Hollering We were thick as we were sharp as we were thieves Vigilantics and Me |
RSS Feed