1. |
Baigongs Be Baigongs
01:56
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The streetlights penetrate my window,
Manifest the broken light, they slowly
Lull like indecisive furniture. Twisted Baigong pipes
That no one knows where they go.
Vapour trails and harsh rain.
"It's getting late" you whispered.
Can hear ringing from the church bells, clinging
On to distant memories.
Detached and disillusioned.
It's all just a myth anyway.
The mystics in the bed sheets.
I'm talking to myself again.
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2. |
Uzumaki
02:17
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Like an hourglass, we're threatened by mortality.
The spiral deepens, It coils all around me.
Bereft I crawl with my saddened eyes,
The stairs lower than ever before.
I see pain in the granite, here
In splintered mirror images.
Shards, deep, I mime
Them going in.
Driving in.
Lights,
Still sighs,
Still blinkered.
I see them always,
Close my eyes, clench
My jaw. Always the same.
The spiral deepens, revolving
Around it coils all around me. I'm
Possessed by this infliction, I can't
Handle this affliction, poison vindication.
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3. |
Winter
03:07
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Cold leaking through.
The window panes and floorboards.
Rain streaming.
Scars of the night sky,
Lights permeating dusk beneath
The curtain of black outer nothingness.
In the wind, solitude is the trees,
Standing oh so tall and oh so alone.
Is this how it's supposed to be,
Branch out but still we hold to home.
Cold leaking through,
Sad days sat by the radiator.
Chilled all the way through.
Blankets barely covering,
Shivering legs, shivering hands.
Yearning Mind.
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4. |
||||
Here I sit in silence,
In the place that all the rain goes to.
I fiddle, pick at all the holes,
Praying that it all ends soon.
I can't go out, here I remain,
In the place that all the rain goes to.
Compounded by these sunken walls.
I need to get out soon.
I'm going mad just being here,
In the place that all the rain goes to.
Lobotomize me please,
This god damned rain will be my doom.
---
It rains alot in Preston.
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5. |
Invocation
02:24
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I blind myself; rip out my eyes.
To sacrifice; I hold them high.
I elevate; Rise to the sky.
Hidden beneath covers, beneath bed-sheets, beneath mattresses.
The dirty little secrets we all keep.
Smothered, its ugly head and a thousand backs,
Held beneath the waves, foot on it's head.
Struggle then die. A metaphor for life.
I don't ever want to leave the covers, the bed-sheets, the mattresses.
I'd question my life choices, but it's too much to ask.
To suffocate; To Immolate.
Stardust and emptiness.
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6. |
||||
I have my hopes of how I would be after living in exile
after closing your eyes to me
I even wrote scenes where I re-emerged boldly, bearded alive
with eskimo eyes
new baby on my back
but I didn't count the fact that I have ghosts in my mind, stored away
great ghosts of my life
great ghosts of old wives
and their howling
so I spend my wilderness time, rolling on the ground
pulling my hair and wrestling them of
yelling at none, punching snow
I gathered ghosts and gave them my lecture, bid them away, I pleaded and cried
there's no room in my life for you or your howling
let my undo these ropes and go on living without you
not just change where I live
go on get, I said
I had my hopes of how I would be after sending them of
after getting set free
but there's no such thing as living without their prowling
as you can see, having descended the hill
I still look like me, I still wallow as Phil
and forever will
I'm teaming with ghosts and I still whining for wives, unkniting my brow
but now I've surrendered
In fact I've joined in
You can hear us howling
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7. |
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i was walking on feet just like my fathers and my knees were trying to reach you at
your mothers cause my nose was screaming that you smelled like a lover but my hands
were happy to treat you like a brother then
we do the dance up on the plains
then i shake your shoulders
you push me down into the grains
who rubs our noses in the night? we do we do
pow pow now now pow pow now now
ive been into the plants and simple treasures
and i sew patches on pants and i get pleasure
and i dont make particular plans cause they dont matter
if you keep on foolin in bed with my sleeping patterns
we do the dance up on the plains
then i shake your shoulders
you push me down into the grains
who rubs our noses in the night? we do we do
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8. |
malaise demo
04:17
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Great Ghosts Essex, UK
New solo acoustic project from one man mentalist, Liam White, formerly behind 'Lord Hugo Whitedorf'. Combining sketchy lo-fi recordings with enigmatically obscure songwriting creating a unique experience altogether. He feels the Great Ghosts in him.
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