1. |
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Under this waning moon, out from her fetal tomb
Beneath a plastic encased box,
I watched the nurses pass,
A wheezing bulbous mass of bloodied bubblegum.
You’ll ask “Does she have my eyes? The curly hair I had dreamed?”
Lord, let her be believed.
Under this sterile light, the nurse waltzed into sight
Blood coats my lower lip
Blow a bubble till the bubble splits.
The band is setting forth
Upon the new Queen’s court
We’re letting time kill itself unmercifully
But still you’ll ask, “Does she have my eyes? The curly hair I had dreamed?”
Lord, let her be believed.
If love’s eternal grace harbors shelter for the meek, then why should it be I know you, but you not me?
Gaze into my eyes, as I orchestrate Ada’s masquerade, oh darling, please be brave.
Does she have my eyes? The curly I had dreamed?
Lord, please…
Pressed up against the wall by room 239, footpaths of blood extending out of sight, like a trail of rose pedals, into the darkness.
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2. |
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Wind me up in slow motion,
The heat is searing off your skin in this cramped space
Playing dead, but I see your hand
Slow dancing with a mild abandon,
The curtains close but I could never exit.
You’re not dead, no, not quite yet
Freeze frame this scene’s close.
Blood sprays these stark oven walls.
Your prayer twirls on my finger, bleak pleas of desperate lovers.
Hush now my darling.
The fumes are licking up you’re last chance,
And at just first glance, I’m prone to laughing from the anesthesia
Split your skull on a dense steel fold.
I meet your eyes just for a moment
They’re just like carousels spinning round and round and round…
Please excuse all this blood
Freeze frame this scene’s close.
Blood sprays these stark oven walls.
Your prayer twirls on my fingers, bleak pleas of desperate lovers.
Hush now my darling. I feel my hindsight slipping, as I see the cast pour in, the house lights dim. Who smothered our innocence?
You split your temple as my logic splinters
A gaping tunnel of scarred flesh, blood clots.
The doctors crowd around the newborn pine chair.
A row of angels with the most vacant stare.
You split your temple as my logic splinters
Praise be to Jesus! She’s so happy sitting on it.
It’s a miracle, It’s a miracle, It’s a miracle. Hallelujah!
Blood on my favorite tux, you smile, I smile, there’s no denial.
Well now, look who’s fucking laughing?
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3. |
Black Sea of Trees
02:31
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When are you returning home to me?
You know I miss you so terribly.
You know my beds swaying faithfully.
Make out that all the signs are in their place, but something feels terribly off, when you’re floating through walls in my loft.
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4. |
Impaler
06:15
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A haze of smoke hovers, with the tail end lingering by my lips.
I breathe the cloud in, her severed appendages,
Of tar and nicotine.
As the children laugh and the blind men prance, the alleys are growing colder by the hour, but this drumming is increasing in fervor. .
These roads echo the pace you have set, stubborn metronomes reciprocate this unending haste.
I don’t know where you are leading me, but I follow still believing that you’ll pity me one day.
As the children laugh and the blind men prance, the alleys are growing colder by the hour, but this drumming is increasing in fervor. .
As the children laugh and the blind men prance, the alleys are growing colder by the hour, but this chase is increasing in fervor.
------
Then she stops in her place, floats to me with both feet strapped and dangling midair, a grand translucent light, such a lovely dead sight and she says,
stand by me. whisper that which is trite, were you ever sincere? If it’s love that you seek, then darling don’t be weak.
Wield your blade and don’t you stop until my heart and my feet start to shake. Seize this chase. Be gracious. Would you please just kill me now?”
“Save your haste, I’m a torn holy book, all the lies you mistook. If you look close enough you can see black ink bleed into my seams.”
Save myself? I ran my whole god damned life just to prove I was right.
But you’ve always been so far, out of sight.
“Save your haste,
Seize your chase
I’m your ghost,
I’m your slave.
Woe is me,
I’m pleading impale me”
“Shove your fist down my throat,
Threw my guts,
Make it slow
Woe is me,
I’m screaming
Darling impale me.”
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LAVOLA Los Angeles, California
Appealing to an emotional space of lost comfort, forgotten feelings and artistic angst, Julian Cires’ genre-defiant indie art project Lavola crafts dangerously intimate and fiercely vibrant songs and live shows filled with volcanic energy and striking nuance. Lavola makes music for painters, music for lovers, and music for the masochists. ... more
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