album name

Bring About The Cliffs

band name

by Social Blonde Hair

  00:00 / 00:00
1.
01:57
lyrics
2.
02:30
lyrics
3.
02:52
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4.
01:09
lyrics
5.
02:20
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6.
03:33
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7.
01:37
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8.
01:46
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9.
02:45
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credits
released 01 July 2009
Nathan E. Forshee - vocals, lyrics; David L. Small - guitar, drums
tags
tags: electronic hardcore metal punk rock Redwood City
license
All rights reserved
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Track Name: Vaccimulgence
Face consumption, dream eruption, telemarketer voice box.
Drama class tears rubbing a consumer belly, mistakes realized in a dial tone. I am not safe from the always constant influence. Dressing in stench, completed, ready to be saved, only to be deleted, hard drive, nose dive into ever present financial negative. An individual in the sea with identical individuals. Drowning like I’ve always hoped I would. Upside down spit dripping. You are not your own continent.
Track Name: Glacier Eraser
Sickness. Dribble past corners with weight. Eyes to the front blind to the side. Pianos and beat out shop door, along the shop floor draining. Picking city planted flowers, tossing in the wake. One direction shoots and slots. Could he just make it rain for me. Dilute and drain along side counterparts. Impact ripple beat. Earth of miles, set outside. Alone I can explore heart attackers. Limbs ghost to heat. Sea plus sand, lie black blue and altered. I’m gone but ecstatic up here, in here, inside the divide. Wrist wreath ceremony. Go hands, feet, torso, head, me.
Track Name: Very Vanilla
Reentering the human hole. Water runs thin, trampled under bare feet. Lost in corners making mind merge with middle. Not a lot but a little. Left again, brakes with bends. Phrasing phrases already phrased. Plastic sex with no fluids. Connecting idiot. Beautiful vomit, empty ejaculate. Rewind the way in which you came. You’re trouble, down stairs becoming milieu. Elevated, I’ll be becoming a trance. Please stay sweet, fluids starting to turn. Missing your __________. Please leave, (it happens, seven year practice). You don’t warm me, tracking through tall grass. Shaking trauma, slender drama. Dream opener outside, you stop pursuit. I am not us, not we, but me, ready to bottom out.
Track Name: Anti-Gravity Bath
Detach, explore a new depression. Remember a coat with pockets and weight. No more use in drinking or bending. Finding a strong permanent paralysis, last day. Too old and old enough. Lost to those who could not see anyways. Celexa, sex and cup of tea. Muscle straightener, antihistamine. Trampling, blurring, sleeping, sinking. Sleep.
Track Name: Vagrant Blues
There is no summer anymore, just hot months. I don’t smile as much as I used to, as a child. As a child I was happiest, and I cant go back. I have grown old enough for my liking. And its time to grow lungs to sing the blues. Then to say good bye, to bow out before I am always sad. Lost in the woods, where I will find my new youth. Alone, weaving through trees forever, a steel pack of dogs. A sixties child, a southern man, a receptive wine bottle. If their presences lacked, so would mine. And of course, the needle skips.
Track Name: Future Survival
With a blank surface to skate on and the white snow to drowned in. Tear back, dream out and light the lake. I am a drought of a human being, kill me before I do. Spill now before you forget. Out and out, up and up, death before a drop of blood. Ears ring right before the crash, rewind the crime. Take me back to last year. Slow. Build. Create her for your quiet life, drop her in your own see, sight. Now, right before I drop deep sing to me. Until the end, until the end. Miles north in the frozen white. Liquid fuzz creation, I’ll top you. Drink, drink up this is your happiest explosion. Frozen water pipes, drowned the city streets. That’s where we will meet. Remember dark corners in your lamp (find) shade under the tree. Relax then quit, quite quiet. Still the ringing feedback, blow await, just remember where you put her.
Track Name: Faulty Escape Pod
Dreaming up above the muted background waste. Down the hall and out the left, android grow goose bumps
as the grasshopper drags himself along. Is that my mother on the phone, I have become the contortionist
the mind dulling coitus pouring down his waist. Release cicada, shrieks form the culture. “I'll take you outside and show you what its like.” I am not a man. Either drop your dress or clean. I am not a man. I am the muted background waste.
Track Name: Buster Keaton
(This is happiness). Alone with drugs, making it matter. Masturbation and steam soaked pores. Placing wine glass next to soap. These bites will shrink, fetal white and pink. Totaled, complete, creating yet obsolete. Bringing love alone, glass, water, light. Shake swaying calm, disconnection. Gone to the inevitable consuming rot of companionship. This is happiness.
Track Name: Prehistoric Salt
I knew that she’d be back, she always takes me by surprise, taking me to where I’m alone. Lost in a sea of dead trunks and misery, creeping in the fog out on top of it all, but not with her, she erases me. I am narrow moving and grazing trunks of trees with hands and shoulders knocking off bark. To see a small puddle in the dirt and want to drowned myself in it, but, I may make it out if I give it time. Blue, white, gray, green explode in dreary color. Running, shaking, wasting away to the edge and jump falling through blue white fog picking up speed. Failing.