1. |
Guillotine
04:05
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GUILLOTINE
Hands
your little hands
grasping tightly
all the wrong things
This is what you did
That’s what you asked for
This is what we
Hands
your filthy hands
fondling desperately
as the blade falls
This is what you did
This is what you asked for
This is what we
And those small words uttered
...you, the unhappy people!
This is what you did
This is what you asked for
This is what we do
This is what you ask for
Holiness
is expired
Your holiness
was never there
Holiness
Hands
your filthy hands
fondling desperately
as the blade falls
This is what we do
This is what you asked for
This is what you
drowned out by the drumroll
That falls on deaf ears
This is what you did
This is what we asked for
This is what we do
This is what you asked for
Holiness
is expired
Your holiness
was never there
Holiness
The morning light shines bright
on the artist at the square
painting pictures
of your little head, of your little head.
The morning light shines bright
on the artist at the square
painting pictures
of your little head.
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2. |
This Is Not My Home
04:20
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THIS IS NOT MY HOME
When unnaturally colored men lay at my feet
and desperately throw their money to the trees
I will stand in the deserts, crying, screaming.
One last redemption for my Mother.
She worked herself insane
Toiling to mend the messes
That came from
Careless and violent play.
My Mother is angry, didn’t she tell you?
I did my best, but my education betrayed me
And I am left desperate: A starving animal
That has grown to depend on
The taste of its own flesh.
I, the child, am brilliant.
But we, the children, are doomed.
She rumbled in the night
Anxiously seeking rest
But she’s scarred for good
And may never sleep again.
When unnaturally colored men lay at my feet
and desperately throw their money to the trees
I will stand in the deserts, crying, screaming.
One last redemption for my Mother.
One last redemption for my Mother.
An apple she grew became soot in her mouth,
Though it looked so ripe, and it felt so crisp.
The running water turned suddenly to sludge
And the flower on her windowsill bit her.
Rushing to cover the wound she saw her blood:
Blackened like the oceans,
Drying like the oceans.
She coughed through cracked lips as the air became thin.
How did this happen?
How did this happen?
Let the cool water douse your face
This is the last time, so make it sting
Stand in the shower, shiver hard
What else can we do besides
Drink the final drops
What else can we do besides
Continue to ignore?
What else can we do besides
Continue to ignore?
A deepness takes control and she has to leave.
This is not my home! She cried,
How did this happen?
She sits shocked in the same home,
the same mess and realizes that
this...this is it.
How did this happen?
The door is locked but she forgets which way is which as she is hit with
Dashes of grey,
Spatters of black,
And brilliant flashes of white.
A cacophony, a symphony, a destruction bigger than ourselves.
How did this happen?
This is not my home!
How did this happen?
How did this happen?
This is not my home!
When unnaturally colored men lay at my feet
and desperately throw their money to the trees
I will stand in the deserts, crying, screaming.
One last redemption for my Mother.
A cacophony, a symphony, a destruction bigger than ourselves.
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Tófa Reykjavík, Iceland
Female fronted art-punk band influenced by 20th century literature and creating noise in the likes of Deerhoof, Perfect
Pussy and Fucked Up.
Tófa (The Blue Fox), cute and cuddly on the outside but vicious and bloodthirsty on the inside.
... more
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