Decomposure - Island Lyrics
Blessed is the apple cored: two dozen slices packaged, each one soldblessed are the buyers’ notes: divorcing knives from the affordableblessed are the vendors’ stores: heaven unrolls, each mile collecting tollblessed is the oneway road: an apple cut cannot again be wholeThe seers shout from their towers, ‘everything is infinite’pray you don’t find they’re wrong, for you’ll be hanged for telling itThe earth is a lonely islandwe have been steady drinking our own urine for far too longwe’ve heard the story time and time againwe’ve seen the ending and know we deserve it when it comes homeTurn your costumes up.remove your voicebox and roll it smooth on the counter.the second law of thermodynamics sends your eyes on a tapdanceevery moment on call, forever on the precipicecan you decide an upsidedown teardrop written in blank numeric verse?decision points, thumbnails held open with alligator clipssinking slick ships riding black waves of the unobservable pastcome on, ashes - lick your chapped lips and pout for fashionvanity veins and sunrisethere’s a white backdrop waiting to powerclip our hope inwhatever’s in the cup, you can find someone to drink it and say it’s deliciousstarcrossed glasses banging pots in the kitchenthe laff track swells, john galt peeking under the shellsthe future isn’t coming so we’re turning to saltinjected in our necks like antiradiation medicationfauxconscious rappers with their ation rhymes selling taster’s choicecouldn’t struggle from their la-z-boys to answer the doorwhen the poison made landfall. we cried,“i wish there was a mainstream left, so i could hide in its meniscusnow all is edgeless, all is one hundred and ten percent.my friends stripped and chatter pith down the river stored in a faraway gridmined for primes and rare statisticsuntil they’re formally replaced by scale replicasStormfront to backstabbergathering facts in baskets that trackback to themselves on white latherthe light unravels while blackness hovers over the surface of the shallowthe swallow shot for the gold ticket in its beak from the gallowsstraining for the ground as they swungand we spin around the scene smooth and freethe programmers have the camera;does it matter without tension between real and imagined?tragedy’s skin deep to an avatar, avarice rentacarobserving is a hungry syringeuntil you’re peering through one red frame of old 3d glassesit’s so easy i don’t care where it’s from.”the angel of death peeled his eyelids offand placed two golden coin eyecups and mini tvs too in each socketsinging teenage dreams as bristling electricity for eternitywhile its bright thorny roots pushed through the back of his skulland spread like hotcakes generations wideerecting trees without branch or leafimpaling the conscience dreamers in flightlegs tight as a cramp in a dance routinedogwhistles and moral hazards, so believablecan you hear their snaking chrome whispers spitting liquid smoke?i’m being followed.don’t retreat, reload.grip the wheel and explode.the end is within reachwith a few more on the boardfrom beyond the arc or slam dunki hope you didn’t need those armsred dawnswim to shore as it erodesholla back when your bones show
