Speaking to a barren room again. Filled with bodies but empty heads. No concern for preaching to the choir when all it changes is their clothes. I’ve lost my voice screaming reason and the world still won’t listen. These works are a tomb, filled with broken statutes, veiled motive and false ideals. Walking contradictions, sheep dressed in wolf’s skin. Sweat burning, blood boiling, fists pounding, the purpose buried in the sound. The year is always one, our being remains none.
Track Name: Black Celebration
Summer worn asphalt burned acrid death in my lungs. Killing time and pain on street corners in moonlight, buried our secrets with spray paint and stop signs. Severed youth in empty lots, on apartment floors painted with broken blind light. Pick through the pieces, pick them to pieces and making them whole. They all fall apart, they all fall into place. Passing through motions and cordial responses. Empty words on baited breath, eggshells and timid steps. A somber procession, in black celebration.
Rest in peace, Jeffrey Jonathan Kemmish.
Track Name: Disintegration Repetition
My eyes avoid everything so my stomach won’t turn. I feel as cold and empty as the lines of this notebook. Disintegration repetition; comes back around to break me apart again, comes back around with my face to the floor again, comes back around like it’s the first day again. Oh-two twenty-three eleven. I’ll always wish you’d stayed ‘til the end. That sinking feeling is holding my chest again. That unanswered phone call is haunting my head again.