1. |
Country of Eternal Light
01:42
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2. |
Wieland
05:48
|
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3. |
Indigo Children
13:04
|
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|
I met my hero on the bottom of the ocean floor and he said, "kid, whaddja come here for? You'll soon be silt, your mind will wilt. There is no kingdom above, there is no ivory christ to hold. Your dreams are all lies. Get ready for the grind of your teeth on the sinking cliffs, your legs in the dirt, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, hung from a helicopter, helpless as a horseman of the apocalypse. There is no hope, there is no hope, there is no hope, there is no hope, there is no hope, the sea is breathing smoke, we're all drinking molten silver, and lies, lies are the body of the poem. Lies and lies are all you'll ever own." and he kissed me on the head and he said. "stop waiting to be dead." He said "Stop waiting to be dead." He said, "stop waiting to be dead." He said "stop waiting to be dead. to be dead. to be dead. to be dead." To be Dead...
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4. |
Motor Oil Sunset
06:24
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|
Ostriches, Acid, Antichrist, Evergreen Motor Oil
Motor Oil sunset
Motor Oil sunset
Dank turbine subdirt ovulating orange trees getaway drive
Sacramento crackhouse, empty sacramento, acne sacramento, sebaceous and destitute backwards rebellion sacramento
Undrugged concrete calling halogen reflections and transplanar mountainscapes halogen halogen halogen
breathing underwater magic acts with rats and sad dads
bad asses
Thank you for your friendship
I do not deserve it
Neu arte compeoseors cringing
infinite outwards in bullshit blameless baseless
baseballs hot all
benchminded and tearing out the arid roots
climbing trees to reach couchroof alcoholic
renegade sunrise for sore losers
aching iron ushers swinging endless tendons of sweet heat dc
straight from it, anyway.
Blown out speakers rock the hardest
my art is not started on sodden thoughts suddenly soldering ostrenanie humble undulate
my name
hairdon't dalai llama in a day in an hour
Scraped up knuckles that lose balance too fast
sweating misused construction tools door dents
kick drums
post post post post post post post post post post
my doorknob mode urn itty bitty bit of sunshine
all mine
all mine
to use and abstain from in the woozy morning where my anxiety does feel distant
and the surfaces all seem intentionally parallel and intimidating
documentary idolatry wikiwhat dust trail and birdmarsh
laugh harder and sleep longer, we distributed the bricks.
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5. |
Emily's Song
03:20
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6. |
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7. |
To Nastasya Fillipovna
01:04
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8. |
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