1. |
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I’ve got friends that you don’t know
And we’ve got madness of our own
I think we’re on to something here
There’s one you would not understand
Cause he’s such an esoteric man
Somehow his motives aren’t yet clear
So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!
This trite fashion overgrown
This culture you bought as your own
Well don’t you wonder where it came from?
That fleeting image stretched so far
Made you both prisoner and guard
You’ll never free yourself from this one
So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!
[A brief monologue by Mr. Horatio "Buzzkill" Johnson]:
Quite contrary to the quasi-optimistic mantra of the liberal democratic establishment, casual resistance is a vapid gesture; merely a dead metaphorical allegoric manifestation of the snake eating its own tail. See, all of the good loopholes and conveniently accessible exits have long since been redirected; gormandized, perverted, and paved smooth by a self-embellishing xenophobic totalitarian cultural monolith reflexively seeking to neutralize any outstanding challenges to its own venerated mediocrity. To make matters worse, you’re implicated by association from the very beginning and therefore equally culpable as the greedy cigar-chewing thugs who toil tirelessly behind all manner of curtains to perpetually dull the already blunt business end of this diversionary macabre reality show. Think about it: your slightest actions yield chaotic consequences beyond your wildest comprehension; while simultaneously the entire ambit of your so-called “human experience’ is both directed and facilitated by shadow forces so elemental to the whole charade that you probably wouldn’t notice them even if I did take the time to show you.
…and as for the alternatives?...[chuckle]…you’re nowhere near ready for that shit…
So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!
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2. |
S.E.T.I.
05:40
|
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I have seen your truer face
The skin beneath the silk and lace
The subtle curve and angle of your hips
The paralyzing apathy
Blindly looking back at me
Echoing the silence on your lips
I can fight the gravity
The ghost of feeling chasing me
I'll leave it on the page and walk away
Picked apart and analyzed
Polished into clever lines
Everything that I could never say
To you
Darling, I just want to see you fight for something
Stand up and hold a little ground
Would you rather see a story end in nothing?
THROW UP YOUR HANDS! and let the world lead you around
Thought outside the reach of will
Distant but familiar still
The same old pattern panning out again
A scene to match the memory
In agonizing clarity
Standing on the margin looking in
Silent, slipping through your hands
Anger I can understand
The dire consequences of the dream
Madness by another name
The moth that truly loves the flame
Unafraid to stand outside and scream...
Darling, I just want to see you fight for something
Stand up and hold a little ground
Would you rather see a story end in nothing?
THROW UP YOUR HANDS! and let the world lead you around
That picture stole a tiny piece of you
And dragged you back to brighter days
It's something way beyond a memory
Not worth the effort to explain
Far away and free but still you can't let go
Bound in by sensation hiding just below
Even when you close your eyes you're not alone
When what you know just makes you wonder what you don't
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3. |
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4. |
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This story holds such lovely pictures
Woven in diction near divine
Dogmatic watercolor fiction
The myth and legend of your time
Come see how quickly it dissolves
Your feint composure cast away
See temper sliding to a higher state of disarray
Lit up for lack of a better way
Burning down
Somehow I fail to see the beauty
The classic robin hood romance
Caught in a shower of burning snowflakes
Soldiers in riot gear advance
Come see how quickly it dissolves
I hear you beg the question but I think you know
You slowly built this fire on the times and
It will only grow
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5. |
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Even more sick.
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The Drake Equation Edinboro, Pennsylvania
The Drake Equation brings you engaging and intelligent hard rock made by dangerous radicals who read books and
shit...
-The Lineup-
Pat Troester - Vocals, Keys, Samples
Cam Ferranti - Guitar, Vocals, Keys, Samples
Mike Ross - Bass, Vocals
Mike Mast- Drums
Buzzkill Johnson - Inspiration, Political Theory, Black Powder Hunting
... more
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