Eye of the Enemy - Abrasive Turns of Phrases - Official Lyric Video | AIW Records

Описание: Eye of the Enemy - Abrasive Turns of Phrases - Official Lyric Video


The wait, the gait
of men divorced of meaning
betrays their state
as pigeons stopped from preening.
A plaintive plea
is useless sophistry.

I never wanted to be questioned why
I’m here, now.

Grey, and unmoved.
Twitching, unceasing,
the tension taut between
pain, unsoothed,
and loss, twice removed.

Normalised the fucking state of life
where the fog alludes
to the internment of mind.
The interminable stay in a section of swaying thoughts
and retorts.

I, I can’t escape what’s prophesied,
but I refuse to treat the wisdom as received
just because another life has felt reprieve.

Narcissistic terms, apologist conditions.
Strenuous in turn; constant atonal renditions
of unconscious whims, sung by damaged neural strings.
I can’t help what I can’t see
but I don’t presume what I could be

I’d rather be alone, than leave a space for spacelessness.
I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness.
I’d rather be alone, than be a space for spacelessness.
I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness,

and stress;
a constant source of weakness.
Your hand, interned, immune to touch and life and burns.

You are not their progeny
even if you want to be.

I’d rather be alone, than leave a space for spacelessness.
I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness.
I’d rather be alone, than be a space for spacelessness.
I’d rather die at home, than leave your face a sordid
mess.

I never wanted to be questioned why
I’m here,
now.

Pushing the envelope.
Punish the interloper.
Pressure our nascent joy to stray.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes
(You are the pebbles that my self runs over.)
and in fresh numbers, number all your graces
(You texture me - you move the way I move.)
the age to come would say “this poet surely lies,
(You bend my surface - you reshape my groove,)
such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.”
(break the perfection of the rhythmed sliding surface of my heart.)

Faces.

Faces, unclean, they gleam
with saline acceptance.

Phases, abrasive turns of phrases, like “life is a veil of tears.”