1. |
Trading Habits
01:54
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2. |
Rustproofing
03:53
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I can't feel my legs, I can't feel my legs
Not the shyness or the yielding of my knees
It's a subtle change to a classic taste
What was honeyed is now cloying and sickly sweet
I was so far off the mark
Pissing standing in the dark
Pleasure I knew once before
And now cannot ignore
Without context, my sight was convex
So I scoured my mind for hours for ways to make it last
Did you see me, could you see me?
Eviscerated of all the hubris that I'd amassed
Still I grovel at the gate
Hunger I long to satiate
Let me feel it one more time
A bluff I swore I climbed
A book I swear I wrote, riddled with misquotes
That hit you in the guts, but quickly gather rust
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3. |
What About My Dying?
02:37
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4. |
Painted Brick
04:51
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It was mine to burn, I struck a match
I could feel the gleaming shame, rubbed raw by feeble tact
I took a final look, at everything I owned
And I could see the spite in me by what I'd reaped and sewn
Did I even leave a mark?
It was mine to ruin, I took it back
And I can trace countless mistakes in every dent and scratch
I took a final look, at everything I made
I'll quash doubt and learn to tout this person I became
Did they notice me at all?
Or was I always fixed to fall?
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G P Hutchings Toronto, Ontario
Songs written alone about collective experience. Hopefully sounds like a cold lake.
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