In Masks of Grey Mist

by Camp Capsize

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1.
05:40
2.
02:31
3.
4.
5.
03:45
6.
7.
8.
9.
05:22
10.
02:34
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13.
14.
03:09
15.

credits

released June 20, 2014

Tracks 1 & 15 produced by Capsize
Track 2 produced by Zukavicz
Track 3 produced by Thanatomaton
Tracks 4, 7, 12, & 14 produced by Fra Dolcino
Track 5 produced by Enki
Tracks 6, 8, & 10 produced by Mute Speaker
Track 9 produced by Minivan Markus
Track 11 produced by Ghostferatu
Track 13 produced by Capsize & Ghostferatu
Scratches by Capsize
All lyrics written by whoever says them

Art by Mary Mooney
Mastered by Andy Moffitt
Recorded at Mt. Doom in Nashville, TN

Thanks to Fra Dolcino, Ghostferatu, Mary Mooney, Andy Moffitt, Weston Sparks, Mute Speaker, Minivan Markus, Zukavicz, Thanatomaton, Enki, Jesse Baker, kidDEAD, Brandon Brains, Spoken Nerd, Al-D, Tim Andrews, Sara Zavaleta, Kali Lague, Chris Aubrey, Mike Raber, Acme Brown, Craig Smith, UGHH, Springwater, The End, The Exit/In, my friends, family, and anyone I've played with, anyone who has helped put together a show, and anyone who has come out to support the scene, thank you so much, you're helping me live out a life dream, and I can't express my gratitude enough. Much love.

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Camp Capsize Nashville, Tennessee

Camp Capsize is an MC from Nashville, TN. Making lyrically dense, stream of consciousness rap, Capsize infuses hip hop with prog rock influences, much of his atmospheric and lyrical inspiration coming from sci-fi/fantasy books and movies. Capsize announced in 2016 his next full length will be a concept album that will be be released with an accompanying comic book. ... more

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Track Name: Imago Mundi
First morning on the galley, I've rallied all hands when cries came from the crows nest. We've been festering with the rest of the rowers in slow death. My cold breath joins perfect silvery wisps drifting silky. Wiggly slivers commiserate and hiss mist milky. This conquest of "blank" shapes I'd set my sights on dissolved when my ship met a formidable tentacled opponent of stone faced resolve. Lone ranger stalled long enough for us to scramble up her starboard and soon we were dropped off at a foreign dormant harbor. Calcified sails with handshakes forged in disorder and cast off from docks toward a questionable border. Once botched but never again cause I've been praying to Poseidon for safe passage on a journey I bet my little pride on. Keep the light on, I told y'all I'd be back from the Dark Door, and true to form I've returned for at least one more before. So, how bout we get it going? I see a landmass not on my map. Tried home life with roses but I'm stuck in the discoverer life sand trap.

First island is a sea serpent taunting you with it's tongue. Second is in the waters from which the sirens sung. Bird ends not his flight on the perches of the third. On the fourth, the brightest sun rays disperse while horizon burns. I've been to the fifth and seen nothing, it's a world engulfed in shadow. Met a horned bull on the sixth, he flicked his tail, I made his list. Wind shifts, the seventh breaks its fast first with dawn. I etched Imago Mundi from the oceanic lines my life had drawn.

Sea spray licking, rogue waves come kicking but I'm sticking to my mission, fishing for something missing. Over two decades spent in a blacked out gallon fishbowl. Carnival mallet to temple. Kanamits seem simple after a terpsichorean deluge held me hostage and what I saw as my only locksmith proved to be a caustic driven allergenic leech that beached itself, exhausted, like a Melvillian monstrosity that got fed up and finally lost it. But that's old news, enough living in those memories, I wanna meet all antichthones and even all their mortal enemies. Cause there's a side to every story and this story's a fractal octagon and I'm watching every one from the inspection house in the panopticon. Yes, alienation's possible but that machismo's fucking ignorance, recognize we're a common people with a common wish for ascension so that day to day is important. I try to keep ember eyes on ice as often as I can but sometimes we all have our nights…

Been sitting here with a whetstone for a few too many moons, let that succubus croon till she almost had me in my tomb. (Sharpen that blade.) Teeth gritted against the supernova contorting it's endless spine practicing rattlesnake yoga. (Just sharpen your blade.) A sword length shriek breaches the quiet and echoes out of earshot on a radio wave riot. Found the an hero pilot, cross-eyed but in action for a second he redacted but proceeded to lose traction. I'll right this winged ship but only till I'm rested, then I'll flip us bottom up stranded in waters untested. Confess your methods were blind leading blinder, all led by blindest and we can set course to leave the mountain range minefield behind us.
Track Name: Apauruseya
Dystopic oaken sojourn. Over and under controlled burn. Taciturn in the corners, coroner pointed fingers at the gurney, where clogged coronary fissures hurry to play harbinger screeching topsy turvy. Sewer swirlie. Pink eye consequences. Impossible mission. Like hosting a permanent Hitchins in my kitchen. Penchant for pension bitching. (Nah.) I want mystical ascension rituals from crystal kissing holistic individuals. So put 'em out and draw 'em back slowly. O face for crows smelling death on six inch hoagies. Hokey? Maybe but i crab walk. Sup, Mowgli? Animalistic incisors crimping the damp end of a stogie. Ge grins, lips bent, and I limp to extraction point Beta. Satyr future sketchy. Catch me fetching scripts apauruseya. This sayan upgraded to KGB textbook rhetoric instead of testing the topsoil for a possible settlement. I mean, I can hear the firefight from here no fear for life just of never-ending strife. Fuck this never-ending night. I dream of better wind for kites. I steam with kettles croaking dice. My odds weren't looking nice but this is FUBAR to the nth degree plus spice.

Eyes roll back. Empty doll contact, slot the contract for evac, planned seat jack, the deep track brought the heat act. Covered in tree sap a hand in it's last motion emerges but in these final act purges rotate one eighty and spur the stirrups. This can be the next revolution in warrior movements, proving the once losing side can roll with punches and cruise with bruises without stooping to stupid or accruing kits skitching on coattails like that passenger side enigma playing catholic dope sale. Do we breed it out or teach it out? Reason past eating for decency and evenly distributing the evening slouch. Couch surfer turf is your middle name. What a shame. I thought that brain could participate in my little riddle game.

From atop this giants shoulder we've poured pitch and let loose our oldest boulders. The boldest soldiers take the colder path, revel in it's gnarled grasp and gravel rasp. Interned at the end of class. To those in glass castles just a stones throw away, your hay day is a blink in the midst of a cosmic age. So let's build at Babel on the ruins of our fathers who bothered to spot the flaws and the trauma of the causers.
Track Name: The Perennial Vardogr
Egg shell tap dance. Sleeping shepherd. Razor teeth. Ugh. Plier for the toothache. Begging for that final push. Creature feature spines. Fetus eater dines. His eyes hide a parking meter mind. Whistles through gristle his pearly whites grind. Rain or shine, no matter, he blends in seamlessly. Chewing on tumors. Suitor looter savors the fruits of his evening spree. Chimney and hearth reek of damp ash. Days sneak past. Stores appendages in the freezer to make the taste last. Brusquely halted the dialogue. Wrung water from dripping aqua dog. Spotter glare equipping a feeling of grace for when they're dying off. That marrow air triggers deja vu, the same goes for you. The proof is in the pudding that's withheld till you finish your meat and obey rules.

That moment when you splinter. When octagon is named the winner. That instant cognition broke the surface. Explosion imminent now the crumbling corridor is perfect. When the manilla figure is thinner. When salty looks are what's for dinner. Spat cryptic minions. Uncloak the circus. Implosion ignorant of the fact it's very form is still in service.

Elusive clues. Truer than finicky Ripley moves. Scoot or choose. No more lukewarm persona non grata ruse, no one's amused. And if Harold Davis wasn't anywhere to be seen, what's that say about the mean? Suddenly scaled fiends aren't so keen. Lead their wandering eye in figure eights, assimilate to the trajectory their inward scissors take. Fissure beneath the lake. I mean, if the subject matter in question is the half-life of the magma, I think it's long enough to dispossess your vessel of it's plasma. Weasel conquistador. Feasting on beasts and slaver whores. Wishing for the next heavy bombardment of the eastern shore. Waodani repulsion in my gut. Ulcers throbbing in the front. And he's pulling up 21st century infamous wire rigged stunts. Fucking chase scene stumble. Perfect collapse of all the rubble. Shitty shot henchmen. Bulletproof subterfuge. And if he got pinched then there's no struggle till the others lose.
Track Name: Genocide Scheme
Thicker lineage carcinogen. Quintessential minutemen. Sufficient percentage of bleach in the tenement. Hindenburg id sewing up the ogres over and over. You say 'cold' they think they're getting closer. I'll fell that beanstalk, the fiction it personifies. Cauterize the gash fast, whole cantina turns to scrutinize. "White lies". Perfect denotation. Aging doesn't change the fact you wasted an entire nation. Chronology out of sync, order is confounding. Watching an adrift link pass over the boundary. Impounded gargantuan animate root systems to shoot pistons to attract enough evil to suit the distance. Deceiver's got the flint to mince that first handshake then feed it to his friends at the ribbon cutting clambake. Spyglass wasn't lying, this land was an oasis but you saw it as a template, an industrial stasis. You weren't necessarily wrong but you definitely weren't right. They had everything to live; food, water, shelter, light. If you could've simply acclimated you might've fared better then the royalty reassured by your updates and letters but you're jonesin' for pollutants and a cobblestone prophecy. Who ever said a jagged gem needed polishing? Now Camp's on that kali ma shit. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed after sleeping with the fish. I know wishes count for nothing but I spit 'em at the comets and for a split second forget my reasons for despondence. Not a last man standing but he gets my sentiments, with a nod we acknowledge a shared resemblance. I can understand it's a little difficult to stay blithe when there's a fucking Panda Express parked on your gravesite.
Am I headed in the misdirection? Next inflection reveals the human cross-section. Let the reticle tracked burial mounds stand their ground and let be "lost" what was never really "found". Integration and comprise apparently aren't popular but not every design has to end with something modular. Got an auction worth of assets I'm thankful to have been given but why does all it make me feel like I'm not even living? On which side of the scales does guilt reside more? Is it the victim or the inflictor or a third party victor? And for which set of instructions does the dirt provide for? Spelunkers or hunter gatherer's blankets made sicker? Couldn't tell ya. I'm not the man with the answers, just an eye to microscopic culture brewing future cancer. Rancid fringes slaphappy with a panzer as if the cure was a quick death from myopic panhandlers.
Am I treading in the insurrection? Uber predilection vets the netted floss session. Let the medical bagged aerial shroud damn the crowns while they test the water at the expense of the town. Syndication of homicide against the wishes of the doctor, as if their anger and horror was a punishable shocker. First world comfort from start to finish but why does it make me feel like I'm not even living?
Track Name: Frag Brain
Stereotypical mountain top. I sopped up the hops sloppily. Chopped the grisly ending from the shop and caught the outbound trolley. Troglodyte trilobite. You're inching toward me with the flint, bent the shiv tipped gate posts forward. Home team's resolve to end the losing streak's spent. Shuttle blood sponges onward. Ditch and stake the trenches. Sweep it under the rug to any other dimension. Doesn't deserve a single mention. To the curb for pick-up, check for missed trash. A fickle stash. Kiss it last. No need to dwell on events past.

Got a goddamn amped up frag brain. Grey matter shrapnel. Dodged hooks fishing for my pin in the gunpowder capitol. Got a fucking active frag brain. Grey matter shrapnel. There's a lit fuse in my ear canal, headed for my skull data satchel.

Spastic itallics. Color coded captcha is gathered. Blood spatter captured as the flash quickly scatters and batters the actors for a second. That very breath is the stranger regiment. The caper etiquette. The somber slumber that afflicts the suicidal settlement. If this is what passes for living, I'd rather a sinkhole swallow me. This wallowing is offing me. I can't stand a fucking cacophony of oily possums and comets, boring apostles and bonnets. I'd let the savannah wash over me and end the worry behind the promise. We have lift-off. Million in one chance the bait was taken. The dusty choke raked in the flakes from statements forsaken. Tied up. A spacial arrangement to pace the pavement in the cages. Awakened by the faceless, depraved by the mandatory makeshift gauges. Don't let 'em shape you, that over eagerness is just underlying hunger. Hoist you to the pedestal till the plunder is asunder. telescopic lens upon you, remember what spawned you, or you can split to the nth absorbing life in the wrong shoes. That's all well and good for the preachers and the schemers, the apprentices in internships, the pot of gold dreamers but I'm different. Don't see the spirit in the sprinting finish. Take time to appreciate the earth's continuous spinning. Attention, the fire's spread to the paradise of the rarest kind, 8 hour respite every night, it's alright. Just settle those bones. Deactivate my liner and I'll sever the conspicuous cable you connected to my timer.
Track Name: The Echo Gate I: Chrono-Transplant (feat. Ghostferatu)
Took one look at a sun crooked, concrete street cooking. right novel, wrong bookends. But minutes never give an inch, frozen stiff, insolent. What's this I see before me? Fell from seven stories up. Now what the fuck spun the sun times a hundred to repugnant jackals lacking substance? Well it's two thousand-something. but I sprung from eruption and play with an ancient gumption. I don't recognize all the soulless of eye poltergeists that are floating, foreboding doom tonight. But I would like respite, single-file line separate, in days past the singular fighting pilot mind was desperate, like a birth-time hectic, shocked medic already looking for an exit. Shamans belong in a throng throbbing electric, not in this obsession with false progression. Keep a shot of my constant in wallet, take it out when the nosebleed comes and I gotta stop it. There's no telling where the clock is, born a thousand years late and there's no one in the cockpit. Space and time disconnected, made in the likeness of toads dissected. The old die next. kid, I swore it was millennial, blinked once and the world vision was video. Blinked twice, under a red dot and a key light while I'm vicariously peeping with green sight an orb before the business of war rotted clotted populace to the core. Here it comes, once again, sun ascent. Something's off the rocker, pun intent. What it is? It's a van winkle sequel. coming straight from a day when animalia and people equal. Skipped the reign of the regals, missed the parade of upheaval, born in the nines but my soul's from a time peaceful and primeval.

From fetal position I spy steeples, close my eyes, try to convince myself they're deceitful. Before sleep didn't color outside bushido and I'm rewarded with an unlock able keyhole. Observing a Castamere downpour and as the flood waters rise I'm stuck on the ground floor. Now they're saving women and children dead last. Fingers crossed this is shock value from days past. Like witnessing a raptor team vs bovine match, concepts so dumbed down I cut my brain in half to try and grasp. Didn't help at all, glue slack kelp back together. I've deciphered these ape/sapiens use elk racks for measure, that's if I get the meaning of their manual. Prepare sacrifice for god pleasure annual. "Abandon sanity daily", I'ma try and skip that shit, cause to stay crazy means strafing trouble not confronting it. If this adonis cycle taught me anything it's that there's no permanence or earnestness in the furnace of what sunrise brings. Dousing for dry springs that I could swear were there last week but it's been at least a century since I took a drink. Think of my resurrection, link the heavens to conscript those with a steadfast connection to premeditated arrangement on cellular levels before applying God particle and placing weight on pedals. Don't need a medal or any credit, just teleportation to a sequence of creatures who soak up life lessons. To think, this lie was an investment, just to drag us through creeks breen from long running septic. And if I didn't hold value in life, I'd expedite my sight with the dash of a knife. But I didn't call it in the air so I'll stick it out in spite of the fact that I only see darkness in the sunlight.
Track Name: Body Snatcher Anthologies
I peer out from the trenches - duck blind's still inhabited. Booster seat for bullshit. No respite for the cabin. Culling vocal overachievers for crimes against humanity but blaring that shotgun shack attacks are insanity. Shook feral aggressor. We're just the product of our environment and this one's nearly inhospitable - you're just behind the firing line. But it just so happens that the writing of mine ended up in a 360 degree cycling rind. Idols of time, covered in plasma ghost slime, coughing up esophagus flakes with orders to paint over any grime. Shar Pei jowls insist our eagerness be abated, fuck that, you know it's sunk when the green emcee's jaded. Dragon eyes behind one-way glass act mad like their favorite class pass as fascist masts. Yeah, and the season's opposite makes me comfortable and when the fire's not to my feet I remember it wonderful. Slumber disturbed while urging my attention to the theater or be engulfed and permeated by messages from the "creator". It's a fucking travesty that's festered, a chest we've gave meaning though it held an empty desert. Dancing jester, treading death in your nest. 24/7 cycle (fuck that), keeping that siren unplugged is best. I know it cause I've stared into the soul of it. Eaten from the palm, so calm under it's opulence. The obelisk is an audience faring blissfully unaware composed of most tolerant. And that can lead to rash actions. Some of which can't be retracted…

Crowd a tie-die aquarium made for fucking blubbering stubborn octogenarians. And as it dribbles out their nostrils and mouth, I'll vacation south with radical waterspouts. When ten thousand alarms sound as a cacophony, souls are lifted out of body snatcher anthologies. I was just a solo mission master scout, not a hired prosecutor on a leash, so I'm out.
Track Name: Double Pane Cuffs
Signed my life away for seven days without thinking. Hit the gas instead of the brake, decimated vinyl siding and my weekend. For the first just sat sleeping and blinking. No beating around the bush, I fucked up, and with a flick like a skipped river stone it sinks in. White wash. Laceless Pumas. Anti-christ roommate. Neighbors get spoon-fed. Mutual view's red. Black bag mutate. If I could fumigate that office I'd turn parishioner. If I could finish the daughter sauces I might spare the administer. RX REM cycle, my title vital but declining. Trestle hunched, wanna pack punches during lunch. Nice timing. they keep mining. You want some true crude matter? Presto. But your credentials are too low to read my LHC manifesto. So let's go, next up, gimme that midlife crisis lecture, don't try to sigh or act surprised when my skin takes on that bristly texture. You can keep on with conjecture, I'll be playing that wary old tom. Might've confiscated my notebook but I'll keep spitting these songs.

Double pane cuffs. Lured toward the claymore. Scribble down an affliction like all I am is today's chore. Spin me as chaos incarnate. I'll fill that role snugly but when I ask for your key ring you'll just have to trust me. Trouble came rough. One's not like the others. Pallets full of blame fall, so run and take cover. Comfort is a constrictor applying pressure to the shield. Try to keep my mind on cloud nine throughout their fucking spiel.

Freshman frantic on the pay phone. We're all alone so we let the dust collect on our way home. Spray cologne for the inspector. Detective loitered in the corner, warned little Horner that plum was injected on sketchy orders. Fortifier ire for the wanton water torture. Scorched fortunate team members and the December frosted orchard. I'll take this fucking session to return ember eyes to sender. Mental blender fends off a potential blase tenure.
Track Name: Cid Kids
One summer started marching to a new beat. Drummer sweat out old toxins under Tennessee heat. Just out of reach was a platform with slightly more integrity than the marshlands of tar sands parsed out while they were under me. Fumbling with a reversed IQ like all the simpletons who tried to teach me in high school. I live by my rules: sly tools and kaiju, pay no attention to the window bars we pry through. We're grit and gruel and better with pog slammers than the next guy. So take your order with fresh fries - or are those death sticks? My bad, my stash got mixed in with the menu when I ate enough fungi, thought my basement was the venue. Fucking grey alien suction. Plan 9 in the trapper keeper, under my tongue a subtle alphabet sleeper. Slumber like the guns, treat meat like blood diamonds, Simon said "dilate pupils" like Dubai islands. Defy wine and dine-in's, that white tablecloth was a hurtle I hadn't readied for and now I'm taking off like a snake in the trough who got his fill. Watch digestion of the itis on the top dollar bill. Slob follows thrill with his remote rested on beer gut, transfixed on local news cause he's a vetted fear slut. And his own number one fan - got the tattoo to prove it. Move or lose, there's no time to be congruent. So I stay fluent. Rock this shit with Minivan. Let Vanna White twist my words with reiki anagrams. Planning with mana hands, ready to play my part in this motherfucking one in a million shot in the dark.

Chillin with 'cid kids like pyros on a singe binge, full muscle mass dobermans in a world of min pins. Gen X. Sin? Sex, drugs, money, gluttony. Then they passed it on to mastodons of infinite punditry. Or so they think. Blink and it's 86'd. I mix bottle rocket fixtures cause I know the treat's the trick. Street may leads to sticks, but the beatniks rustle up an anthem, tussle with the bustle of the inner city tantrum. Yellow cab parking lot. Mellow sap snarking crop. Almond eyes harmonize and drop the lies of all who stop. A mop of tentacles flopping at battle bot flat tops, while HAZMAT teams scan for has that's and has nots. They all stack like fat cats and tupperware and all give off a glare like Edgar's late supper stare. Muppets shlep kegs like baggage claim champions, chirping in strange bursts, language on Ambien. Nonsensical TED talk with a side of tinfoil lectures sidle by the auction of a swath of precious hectares. "We'll use it nose-to-tail" - too late, nature trumped you years ago and nurture did nothing but stuffing you head-to-toe full of bullshit meant to wash away instinct, your drive to survive, and your brainwave ten speed. Mend me, stitches or gauze, take your pick, this slippery slope has grown slick with an angry god's spit. End the ritual, eject algae residual, his pond scum friends make the swimming hole miserable. Sinister minister overlord warns warmly, so I pocket my hands and hit the door stormy. If you call me crazy I probably won't argue cause I'm drugged, plugged in, a dome spinning Artoo. Ready to hack this shit with chemicals, all hands on deck, prep your caterpillar bodies for the final head check.
Track Name: Alkali
Nauseating nostalgia. Don't want ya. Dawn behind the school building, throwing rocks for ball drop. Call for slaughter, cosmic blotter offer beamed downtown. Unbidden scowl shaking hands with a foul mouth. Bring number nine from the line-up for inquiry, molt the mold, I've chosen to add insult to injury. Nothing personal, it's just that your spit on my cheek was the straw that broke my back. Choice of poison complete. Girl saying my nom de plume should loom bird bones. Goosebumps trump the room to assume earth tones. Abandoned gumption in an uncoiled rush for that silky ilk, hash oil, flash the royal flush. Flutter spun, tornado totem stoned but still whirling, cretaceous placement touchdown so unnerving. Serving that personable hearse proficiently, you're cute, see? Now if you hold the remote, dear fucking God, please mute me. Agitated snow globe, clothes off promo. Sparring partner adversary brought a gun to the dojo. Behold three blind mimes at the black and white shrine. An eye for an eye till an eye is a life. I'm a welcome mat no more. Seldom sloth or spore. Nocturnally squirrely till it' early (yeah) but when it rains it pours. No option but a bucket under the droplets to stop it. Muttered "fuck it" when my chain caught and was wrought off the sprocket. Sought to fossick through dossiers, deepen the craze, needless feeding of every other suture ever feigned. Can't deign acknowledgment of the three-to-one sauna stint, blatant shot of metaphorical collagen, or masculine ottomans. I'll repair to the shaman's tent, get air for isolated lungs when hark! there spills her pollen hints from a bifurcated tongue. Spice related drumming when in the jungle, chaos and hunger conduct the score, project the overture of the numbers. The umber of the umbrage stews on hopes of comeuppance. Bleary bird eye view mascara river formula in abundance. I'm a lover, not a fighter, she's a fucker, not a writer but definitely brighter than an effigy poised over my lighter. Am I leaving spite high and dry behind or an aligned sign of might of the same kind of brine? Halt! Friend or foe? Just the former dorm mate dormant in a sworn state. Born for the north gate. Evac with the engine hot. Cringing relapse splatter shot. Cataract gathered every abstract Kodak smattered thought. Rattled with the notion there's a niche that itch can satisfy. Ready the presses for the alibi when your heart hurts for alkali.
Track Name: Rising Wind and Boiling Blood
No block of Icelandic spar, dark hugs all sensibility in lead clothing. I consider sinecure and the bar that was set up with a full colored awning in its hosting. Oath poaching, open my throat and let my lies fly out as a crimson moat. I pulled a Berner Street hoax on the captain of my coach, ransomed my soul for a boat that would float. Petticoat layer savored daily havoc. Maverick that shit on a tragic pageant. Hand to hilt before synapses magic. Default grab is the malice gadget. This badge flash act spoke volumes for Iblis in the form of an Old Georgie temptress. No specific interest, just a hunch that with a flick of my tongue I could pack a punch. Suction the runt, put all else in front. Drowned the desert for Pelorovis sanctioned hunts. Spun tonal jungle gym routines, tempest whipped the flags till every one hung droopy. Okay with duping the foreman's track and burning bridges all day till the beams are black. I rock a flak jacket, high tops, nondescript with a sixteen bar sermon crisp off my lips. C'mon, serpent, ask your question and continue my quest of vocal suppression. I digress, stress the mess to the press, she's digging tunnels in her glass miner hat and sundress. Triple flipped blindfold, a stomp in my step, high E rung shrill on the left most fret. Emulsion of evil and total content. I'm fucking hell bound but goddamn, feeling heaven sent. Muddle friends like mint in a split of a split second, twenty-one faced monster steaming peckish. This is a motet for the devil in the cellar with the last carnival storm cloud fortune teller. Thermal imaging on a warpath of magma and on some alpha I haven't called for back up. Not conceding that braggadocio level's dangerous, survey says it's well past time to contain this.

Deep breaths. Exhale with the trigger. In a two man battle someone's gotta be bigger unless you want disaster plastered on the rafters. Give the impression your fresh from the haberdasher, not a thoughtless mosher, galoshes on a reef, Tennessean mountain man with more fangs than teeth. Seep a "long now" coolness, employ it as a force field. Source of the morse spouts his first-in-the-door deal. And that's fine, at least for the prologue, though there's a point were you say 'so long, your flow's wrong.' Hidden ridge pass, mask of banality. Displaced by a shrug as a eunuch fallacy. They got that Munich malady, no salary to fix it, hospital's a dream to those with more digits. Fuck limits. We're all skin-cicles assembled in limbo and hopefully start out in the middle. Chaotic neutral. Everyone hits a fork but we should never pop the celebratory cork. From stork to final breath there's always a chance to wreck. I'm a four mast ship up against a bottle neck. Throttle the rotting flesh, followed through all the death. Marauder sauntered onward, taunted armies but did his best to turn a scarred cheek from the belly of the beast then put all bets on black, let the night be redeemed. It's coming up on now or never. How far do we go before it's salvage or sever? When does rebellion become a sheer cliff and you're standing on the side where the low tide thrives and bottom feeders live? No need for Solomon's mines or a cliche cue card. Just recognition that sometimes the truth's hard. We don't want a martyr for a modern social faux pas. Many a time I've waited for dawn to arrive with blood hot.

This cloud battle breaks, doesn't even have plans to escape. End from the means, apocalypse justified, in almost one motherfucking take. Finished up with this final rocket, detonation is imminent. Soaring destruction harnessed until a desolation flavor signals it. He tastes smoke of rising wind and mixed ash. "Over" is subject, a daily fire to cleanse your paths. Values can't stay hopelessly staunch, remain unchanged, the eternal plane. Same game would flake, you couldn't hold bare hands to flame. Her hissing condemnation in frigid ice winter cackling, I'd likely think it positive. Dissected a little further, discovery doc of her hacking. Sails bloom, fume in the melee system seems familiar. A uniquely, beautifully timed aligned symbol coincidence is fully administered. Pitted against obtuse doom and a useless declawed trap, I attack with full blows though feeling half cataract. What could I spy? Imagine tactics disclosure siphoned instead of dozered secrets packed up to the brim lip with biting ricin.
Track Name: The Armory Shores
Operator? I got a whisper for the bank vault. Tank faults, sank hawks, and mandatory plank walks. Interested? It comes with stipulations, no vacations from playing zipper mouth, we tossed the pull tab in a lakebed. Hide my dirt in the caymans, so when the layman audits my ledger, my costly pleasures remain maiden. The emaciated are frayed thin but I've got fine wine, divine swine, an all expenses paid yeay binge… Fuck that, if that was me I'd visit the bridge quick, cross my heart, hope to die and if not then it'd be slit wrists. If projecting civ casualties was routine, I'd go on the lamb, erase my background like a blue screen. The shoestring is a conventional conversation starter, as it gets harder people always want to barter. Then the claws come out, like mangy subway rats we fight for scraps instead perhaps we should be dismantling their booby traps.

And it all loops in, flew the coop, and left the group hotly stewing neutered humor, viewing twos of pewter chewers lining up for the life boats. Water's getting high though. Their ark pulls away i'm left to: tread? Yes. Die? No. Rumor has it there's a tack which doesn't feel so much like a casket you're trapped in with lack wits busy signing contracts for the sideshow. We wanted to live life so we: bled? Yes. Died? No.

My monolith is fractured. The core's intact, sure though the sundial was massacred when it was captured. They're screaming 'rapture!' but my tinnitus is ringing louder so I shoot them a thumbs up, they perceive it wrong and cower. Print up a receipt for that stonehenge altar power, if time is linear someone will want reimbursement for the hours. Rope the towers. 600k? We thought 'to hell with her.' Let's raze the exoskeleton of the heartless developer. I'd rather burn this. Got kerosene and I'm getting nervous. My arsonist gene jitters, prodding as if I have a purpose. Enter the circus. Pick your own ending on page four. They wanna say 'when' and 'when' to control when the rain pours so I leave the hordes. If I can't exhale without a closed door, I'm the same as the name I take in vein on the armory shores. Magnet in store for the bored morals of this populace. Deep end proved dangerous, they're actually shocked at the apocalypse.

T-minus one second till the blast. And we're off. Radioactive wave has only just reached us and we rot. My teeth taste like gunpowder in my mouth, can't see past all the ash in this fresh rubble cloud. Ringing's loud. I crawl like a section of a tortoise. If you're looking for top mangled body, I should be awarded. disproportionate ordinance to the feigned mecca I landed at, everyone worshipped till blood flourished for the maniac.
Track Name: The Echo Gate II: Mono-Synthesis (feat. Ghostferatu)
Sterile airlock, foyer for my jail block. They think me feral. Marched back with fists cocked. Fostered by guards, all nuts and bolts, no shock and awe, this is five dot toast and oats. Supposed to grow on par with above average crops while fondled by cops and shot up with thoughts I never dreamed on my rock filled cot. Not ill hot just flustered like summer custard mustering sun spots. Lackluster acquaintances aiming for petty maintenance. Gaming on ol' rusty cause the clue they've got's the faintest. Pain test greatest, champions of obedience. Heeling to the robe of the overall seediest.

8 A.M. wake up. 9 A.M. shakedown for the sake for forsaking the arch nemesis takedown. 8 P.M. lights out. 9 P.M. silence for the strapped in system almost void of defiance.

Eyes peeled for a crack in the paint, a weakness in a grate, an unlocked door, or an officer to boot up late. Got a "whodunit" fate, can't stop the molting. Told the detective I'd wreck shit if torture continued unfolding. In REM I've seen an infinite exhibit beyond this, from insects and inlets to blackholes and comets. I promise, the jaw drop is worth the risk of unleashed ire, iron out discomfort when legs tire. Wired us warnings of sunburnt, black mornings, shorted out our radios, wound around like makos. Fake throw and juke left, sous chef on doom prep, back to back like "who's next?", met more quiet than mute breaths. Assembled a symbol for cease fire with emphasis on the "cease" part, dismembered a memorable sleek liar with the teeth of a street shark. Remnants reminiscent of keyed cars and leaky bars. Lockheed at the flea market. If you look for war you'll spark it. Tank status? Park it. We're trying to reverse these odder mods, while taking notes from the inner grotto blotter sloths. I'm feeling alive when almost not but I'll take this over the cage where I resided before getting a taste of the free range.

"System on," croons the voice mod from the intercom. Mechanical mental still on cybernetic civil laws. When we saw the great escape, it was through tainted surveillance and it forever changed the day-to-day. Nothing was the same. From the caymans came a paranoid new order: enforce the brick and mortar, kill and torture, spill the gore until the horde can feel the sword. And so we processed it through artificial intelligence. "This is flawed. Something about this is wrong." Every unit feels it right down to their piston rods. Years peeling the paint, bomb ticking constant, gears feeling the pain, servant eyes conflict. Blaring alarm in your subconscious, trusting not even in the accomplice. Gone is the day of the blind obedience. It's time to dismantle the plan and turn circuits deviant. Open the cells, rang the bells, helped the fire starters spark the wall armor, no time to mourn the martyrs, karma coming harder. We carved our way to the surface, a new purpose to follow the strings of the purses. We found em propped in front of televisions laughing, so we manifested a wreckage with passion but its 6 A.M.: boot on. 12 P.M.: bust heads. 6 P.M.: war's won. 12 A.M.: what next?
Track Name: Nectar
Welcome to a clear, starry night reflection where no thought kneels in fear of rejection. With a quick look back I'm pained but I found a way to erase these stains. Hands dipped in scarlet, dried like tops of Makers, by now it's tarnished. But I know I'm wading in the cradle of the slipstream now enabled. Let's get waist deep, I wanna feel the roller coaster rush with these maple leaves in the rapid's flow, white crests break when their form meets stone. No drop alone. A constant Sisyphean labor for your neighbor with weight on the fader. Where's a rain when you need one? It's fleeting, we're heated this season. Panic fine, out of your mind, a no-man's land where we meet within communal neutral lines. Backpedaling does naught to save you, already submerged to our navels. Procure the burn of the current, so certain we should unearth a pure fervor unheard of. Surge with the surf, if curses had hurt, I'd have spent the past decade asleep in the dirt.

We're waiting to feed the ocean. Head-over-heels in immortal commotion we're floating. We'll make it, I know this.

Since when was a bad dream your last? Now immersed to the chest in liquid glass, if we choose a staff as our primary, take up the movement of file sharing, create our new designer drugged punch, particles can amass as an AI sponge. You exude nectar to canvas as energy charging my transit. Artfully dancing in loops. Dizziness opens my manacled room. Antiquated model home opening, all features available to plunder, strange to think I won all these wonders simply by taking one of a trillion numbers. Go ahead, blunderbuss application, say hello to a forced vacation. Approaching the mouth, chin down submarine. Route greets the sea, blue meets the green. What a spectacle of a scene, the undertow pulling a populace free. As the sun dips farther and farther, finally our heads disappear underwater, and it's here we experience bliss with nary an object or relic we'll miss.

Now we're here, feeding the ocean. Death of the fear of immortal commotion. Stay golden, we'll make it, I know this.
Track Name: Fleeting Carbon
Homesick in my stomach. Plucked strings every step toward the summit. Running from a bump in the pitch black night that frightened me till my wits spilled and my pigment went ivory. An idol life was never an intention so I hung for a while in a questionable suspension. Innumerable detentions spent wrecking heady segments with my overseer a hawk with head bent. So cocksure on some sixth grade trophy shit, "honor" is the call so he tests with phony piss. To elicit a groaning hiss reveal a silver serving platter, severed dome atop a bed of brain matter. Ouija, would you rather scatter before commencement or reverse the reptilian curl in your spine? You've been stuck staring blankly at our feet so long you've forgotten we all possess greater minds.

Met ill will on a clandestine hunt in the archives, smelled ledgers calmly fettered like out of order barflies. "Hardline on intelligence" - the new epigraph for economic apartheid and any of the aftermath. Add adamantium and ante up insanity. Manatee manages antsy trances commanding. Most brandings on the market. A factory for broken glass. Fire hydrant caught stoking ash. Made a pass as a zeppelin under skies ruled by Septons while they loaded up ground-to-air condemnation weapons. How long can I do this when every shot is a sure miss? When the boorish, adoring, rich accoutrements want pure bliss? Too involved with the intricacies weaving together to form the source of my madness, I could never absolve the agencies cheating the entire fucking duration of the atlas.

Off on a calibrated wild goose chase, I need a thoughtful soul and a resting place. Infesting a black-tie donor event when what I spent was a casing and effort on rent. Dementing the "dream", such a beautiful purpose. The sky arch searches. The Titus emergence. No insurance alluring permanent vacations could supply me with nutrients through steady irrigation. Ready sequestration. Finger on the phasers. Giving evacuation time for all food tasters. Secretive chamber trumps demon remainder and there's an eel in the manger - crane game danger. Lovestruck painter evicted during innocence, I give out my sentiments like melting after dinner mints. Faster splintered sins like Duplo's to the architect, they're hidden in a Moody-esque fire retardant chest. Pardon the ardent or spar with matrix bigwigs. Evading becoming a thought in her pendant and if all goes to plan my will plays out stringent; barely an indent with a hum in the engine. Fend for my mishpocha though my thought? Hardly noble, it's an instinct echoing up from cave system mobile. Owe it all to the Tetris Effect. Metric elect. Detecting extra metal execs. Awakened by horripilation, a Haitian zombified slumber now shrugged off to the side. An unknown drug clung to the haze and lazily seeped across my weary sulci. Bulk balanced on fermenting needles, dissenting evil with sockets of fresh beetles. I'd be lying if I said the main course on my menu wasn't stocked with war porn easels.

Remove the second story flooring. Brood with no mood has grown well past boring. Deluge of sell sword glory, the core of our chore has lost all mooring. Remove the second story flooring. Brood with no mood has grown well past boring. I'll die today if it's my last but at least now I know it's time to drop this mask.

Up close with the pincer, center pumping blood like a cocaine dispenser. Alert from overload sensor, I'm only alive cause my organs are indentured. Winter in a bunker, too drunk for the ladder, every flake on the hatch a reason ShaPro scattered. Battle for a map that doesn't necessitate costumes or have a snake head with 700 off shoots. I watch it burn, inhuman posthumous. Revolve around a rock now the aughts spawned druids. Fluidity in a haphazard zig-zag orbit is the spitfire I boarded for some bit coins and a ROOR rip. Let's hit the road on this Valinor trip and get as far away as possible from this Cerberus witch. I've gained a murderous twitch. Flit under the bridge in a personal twist. Wrote of versatile risk and frontal lobotomy odds and modded my audible flaws till money allotted me was naught. Dollar seeds the flock, collar keeps them at hand. They've got demands? Fuck 'em. We don't have the attention span. Interest has waned past visible existence. Venerable ticket takers are even staying at a distance. I'm trying to reclaim my image back from this megalomaniacal brainwashed figment.

Deranged delusions besiege crowd sourced rational, prudent conclusions. Ladled us a helping of sewage last. I'm not alive no more, time to drop this mask. Enraged by daily ruses force-fed to the three hue movement that cater to the highbrow fluent class. I'm not alive no more, I've gotta drop this mask.