With vigor this town breeds incompetence, slow and content. With vigor complacency and baggage are the pop trends.
Only the strange will leave then we can design an alliance against the traitors of our community and glorify our corrupt stars and give nothing back to a world that owes us everything.
With knowledge comes problems more complicated (so abusive) than the next paycheck and next fix.
Escape, I had to reluctantly and drown in the shores of rebirth only to return to a bitter museum of sheltered and shunning drones. They have the nerve, "You've changed."
Like I wanted to stay as you, the stoic addicts or to become one of those pathetic drunken so-called "educators" who taught us.
I know you've been watching me with your big brother cohorts and tattling. I'm kind of liking how you always have your attentive eyes on me. Those seducing looks I give to the vents are just for you. My sweet spy, passion audit me and find the angelic letting shell.
The agency's perverted doctrine has your base in bland and constant motion. (Am I a training op or are you fast implementing my devised extinction?)
So sorry your home is a road with sleepless nights of ethic woes. I'll leave the light on for you and tease you in my silk robe.
We have the same problem: your job makes us both drink. My cabinet is stocked. I can twist and shake... two martinis for you, for us. To bask in your arrival I'll be waiting naked with a candle lit and a .45 drawn. In case you can't cut your ties I will still be pointing with shivering paranoia until you are lying next to me and we've known each other once more. More!
Am I inventing she's here?
She's here!
Don't believe the suicide note.
Sex. (Woo). (Yeah).
We are the Merlot matadors for tonight. They will fill our wine stems as we shout "Olé! Olé cunt, slut, cow."
Someone brought a gun to the party.
I saw the devil pose wearing someone else's clothes. She tried to hold my hand and write eulogies in bed. She's lowered her horns.
So starts the masquerade. She acts the apathy. My character is caring. Cheers.
When the final cape has been raised I expect to be the one thrusting and gouging, but I see her beauty's been sharpened to pin me down. If I submit we won't be known as the atlas stars of "Slaying Taurus". We'll be domestic eunuchs.
This pastry is primed for consumption. Overbearing and undercooked. Before she's stale we'll carry her away. Callow and callous our common bond.
We're not politicians. It's more than simple sexual misconduct.
I covet your impulse to indulge those that have already been had. A virginity abducted. Assail my clandestine (act) you're media event. Drop a quill in her hair.
I hope she's still conscious when you're on top. She's a bottom rung.
"Don't stop."
Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop until an impression is all they can make to be sure.
about
Demo
credits
released December 10, 2004
Nicholas Stephens - Guitar, Vocals
Steven Coffman - Vocals
Nathaniel Mullins - Drums
David Siegal - Bass
Recorded by Nicholas Stephens
Layout by Jilliane Gaffney and The Glasses Otter
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