1. |
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I’m on a steady diet of sugar and sweets,
barley, hops, and caffeine.
I drink the ink from every fountain pen I can
get my hands on, and then
puke that shit up just to see what sticks
to the soles of my shoes. I’ll pick
up the pace as I race through my brain,
stomping a map, marking each day.
And I’ll tattoo
every last bruise
on the face
of everything I do.
I’ll scatter my brains on each page to gain some piece of mind, and staple my skull shut with nickel-wound wires and come to life.
I surf along each nerve right through
grey matter.
Traversing maps that can define my life
and smile lines.
These are the marks I’ve made along
winding roads.
I mix metaphors while standing firm
on constant shifts in fault lines.
And I’ll tattoo
every last bruise
on the face
of everything I do.
There’s something to be said living within the space of a synapse.
An electric pulse to the heart muscle can make the biggest difference.
I’m not sick but I will speak with an 8-track therapist,
who can burn my thoughts to plastic discs I can peddle to folks who’ll listen.
My mind will race until every last stain has been washed away.
|
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2. |
Stars and Star Maps
02:57
|
|||
No sound escapes
my mouth as I
scream to a sky that’s not listening.
But I still scream,
and the stars still shine
light that never reached me in time.
And now I see
that I have wasted my voice
on fantasies created by my grief
There is an urn
encased in a shrine,
and I have yet to
stop on by.
There was a life
I chose to ignore,
but there are stars up there
with something in store.
This is the last
of my second
chances, and I know
that these decisions
will hinge on this.
And I have no clue...
What to do
Wake me up next time you’re down,
but from that perch I can’t imagine how
the ground
holds any sort profound
meaning anymore as I’m
hard-pressed to find any type of design,
or a sign,
or a hand to lead all us blind.
There is no one
watching me now
If you are, I’d like to know.
This is the last
of my second
chances, and I know
that these decisions
will hinge on this.
And I have no clue
what to do.
|
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3. |
||||
I’m a deer in headlights,
scared stiff and wide eyed,
waiting for my bones to be smashed to dust.
My guts are twisted,
tied up with heartstrings,
churning up the shit I have become.
It’s a shame to find out too late
that a hunter’s come and flayed
off of all your skin,
leaving muscle and tendons,
putting your insides on display.
It’s hard enough just to cope
with your guts being exposed.
But to be poked and prodded,
and then forgotten?
What is left but to decompose?
Hang me on the wall
for everyone to see.
I’m a decoration to you.
You’re an enemy to me.
If I come down off that wall
and attempt an escape,
would you come and pursue me?
I’d lead you on a merry chase
Bullets won’t put me down.
You’ll have to come gut me yourself.
Perhaps if you catch me, you could convince me
to follow you home
If you’ve got the guts to wait,
and if you’re stuck on catching me,
observe all my patterns,
uncover what matters,
and make my innards worth the wait
I’m a decoration. You’re an enemy.
|
||||
4. |
||||
I define discord.
I’m distorted.
An atonal note in a nasty chord.
I’m a squealing pinch
harmonic.
I’m all tinnitus and self indulgence.
I’m screaming but you probably aren’t listening.
I’m a bit abrasive for your taste.
If I could sing, I would, I swear.
So I’ll have to scream until you hear
what I’ve been holding in for years.
I’m a whole step down.
A compromise
between integrity and a cliché line.
I’m a complete lack
of melody.
No wonder you sing every song but me.
If I sing softly will you finally watch me?
I’ll stick around in case you show up late.
I’ll run a tab a mile long,
waiting to sing a softer song
until every cent I have is gone.
I’m the minor to your major scale
Equal parts with different appeal.
|
||||
5. |
Ghosts in the Antiques
03:57
|
|||
The air is chilled tonight.
It’s a crying shame, because everything was so warm
and bright
that optimism poured
down from the sky,
but I missed the storm
by staying inside.
I still watch the sky
for some kind of sign.
The sun shines less bright these days,
but the stars have made new constellations,
blazing a path, forming a map,
pointing to your star.
The clouds have been wrung out,
raining the blackest ink,
engulfing me,
and it has been absorbing,
seeping into my
scarred up skin,
forming a tolerance for condolences.
The storm’s been heavy here,
drowning faith in tears
If there’s nothing after this,
I’ll follow you to nothingness.
With your maps of space,
I hope one day I’ll find you there.
In spite of everything
I’m still standing, living.
If there’s nothing after this
I’ll follow you to nothingness,
so you won’t be nothing alone as nothing.
As nothing we’ll be free.
|
||||
6. |
Antiques
00:52
|
|||
7. |
||||
Keeping up
isn’t worth the air I waste
to be part of
a pack of fools I swear I hate.
And I can’t spend
another moment treading in a sea of shit
so deep I begin again.
I don’t want to be
mired knee-deep in failed ideas,
but I cannot see
myself doing anything but looking up.
I’ll find my own way.
I’ll do it how I want.
There’s nothing to be said.
This is all I want.
All I’ll say is I do want I want.
Keep your looks.
Don’t point them in my direction.
I’ll do mine.
You stick to your old routines.
And I can’t spend
another day standing under doubtful eyes
so blank I can’t begin again.
I don’t want to be
mired knee-deep in failed ideas,
but I cannot see
myself doing anything but looking up.
I’ll find my own way.
I’ll do it how I want.
There’s nothing to be said.
This is all I want.
And I can’t
say I’ll
succeed, but I’ll…
Well all I’ll say is I do want I want.
|
||||
8. |
Ender
05:34
|
|||
The sun has come up now,
but the chills have stuck around.
And even though I’m so goddamn cold
I’ve thrown out my winter clothes.
To hell with the elements.
I’d rather just get sick,
than spend another hour bundled up in this restrictive stuff.
I’ll tear my coat
to threadbare shreds
to let
my sheltered skin
draw a frigid breath.
Now that I’m exposed,
my skin adjusts to the cold.
And I’ll admit I’m scared to death.
Here’s to hoping it’s all been for the best.
If my skin cracks don’t worry just yet,
I’m just shedding off my diseased
shell in attempt to wrestle my way
back into the sun’s rays.
Are these goosebumps a warning sign,
an omen for the times?
If I cover myself again
will I be sucked right back in
to the gaping maw I called my home.
That warm embrace of wet skin
was an empty place.
I was comfortable.
I’ll tear my coat to threadbare shreds to let
My sheltered skin draw a frigid breath.
Now that I’m exposed,
my skin adjusts to the cold.
And I’ll admit I’m scared to death.
Here’s to hoping it’s all been for the best.
If my skin cracks don’t worry just yet,
I’m just shedding off my diseased
shell in attempt to wrestle my way
back into the sun’s rays.
|
||||
9. |
||||
The air is chilled tonight.
It’s a crying shame, because everything was so warm
and bright
that optimism poured
down from the sky,
but I missed the storm
by staying inside.
I still watch the sky
for some kind of sign.
The sun shines less bright these days,
but the stars have made new constellations,
blazing a path, forming a map,
pointing to your star.
The clouds have been wrung out,
raining the blackest ink,
engulfing me,
and it has been absorbing,
seeping into my
scarred up skin,
forming a tolerance for condolences.
The storm’s been heavy here,
drowning faith in tears
If there’s nothing after this,
I’ll follow you to nothingness.
With your maps of space,
I hope one day I’ll find you there.
In spite of everything
I’m still standing, living.
If there’s nothing after this
I’ll follow you to nothingness,
so you won’t be nothing alone as nothing.
As nothing we’ll be free.
|
502 South Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
DIY shows/Punk Rock Narnia
502 S. 49th St.
West
Philadelphia, PA
502 South has put on shows with some of Philly's most exciting independent bands. We have done shows with:
Welter
Alright Junior
NarK
Vintage Kicks
Gentlemen Christ
...and many more!
... more
Streaming and Download help
502 South recommends:
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