1. |
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They shot him down. His blood stained the sand. The fuckers all cheered. Ear to ear blood flows now. Draw your weapons. Take 10 steps apart, turn around, fire. The rope is chafing as I hang before the crowd. My heartbeat doesn’t stop. I stay here and watch the sun rise. Half past noon, I’m standing at the wall. A thousand barrels in my face, scent of powder in my nose. What do you expect? It’s John fucking Wayne. His thirst never ends. John fucking Wayne, he wants my blood. I tried to run, I tried to hide. Time to face my judgment. Tried to run, I tried to hide. Time to pick up the gun. Face my foe. It’s his time to go. I’ll shoot him off his high horse. A hundred pounds of lead tearing through my skin, I’m still standing. I am not afraid of the consequences. My last stand. A hundred pounds of lead tearing through my skin. I’m still standing. I am not afraid of John Wayne. The guns fire. It severs flesh. My blood stains the sand. I tried to run, I tried to hide. I faced my judgment. Back from the grave, rotten, decayed. Time for my revenge. No coffin can hold me. My limbs still move. I am unstoppable. I’ll find a weapon. I’ll hunt him down. Wayne will regret the day he put me in the ground. The town is empty. It’s me and him again. This time I’ll be the one that lives.
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2. |
Picking Scabs
02:10
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It’s on my elbow. Haven’t seen it since it bled. You are bored. The sun doesn’t show. You feel “Forget this.” There’s nowhere to go. There’s a scab on your arm gets caught in a door. It’s bleeding profusely. The memories come back, you remember that day. Good times were part of the pain. You wouldn’t want anyone to see your disgusting habits, your masochistic ways. Summer is wasted, winter comes in due time. The wound hasn’t healed, still occupies my mind. I still pick away. I still get the same thrill. But if I don’t stop my scar will only be worse. The memories come back, you remember that day. Good times were part of the pain. But you’re alone now. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the wreck you’ve become. At my throne decaying, I refuse to take action. Time to get back to the good old days.
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3. |
Phantasm
03:34
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Wading through the ether, time is running thin. Ending up in nowhere, lost deep within. Never ending blackness, never ending sin. Deadly burning phantasms ripping at my skin. Phantasms come crawling. Phantasms kill me slow. Phantasms. Franticly I run. Falling through the fog of this forsaken place. Landing in the same rooms, broken bleeding face. Wandering through the corridors, blades that fill this space. Broken bleeding phantasms. My thick veins they trace. I am fading. Kill me faster. All in my head.
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Life Withheld San Diego, California
2009-2013
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