1. |
the moth, pt. 1
00:49
|
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|
the moth was fine til its wing got nicked
now each flap makes it tear
the farther it flies
the sooner it dies
so it thinks "i'll just stay right here"
|
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2. |
desert
01:44
|
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|
days
days go by
and i'm
just along for the ride
no will or tooth
dont care for truth
just want to see how far down i can slide
blood
gash in my side
it drips
makes mud which then dries
the dry mud cracks
air fills with gnats
darkening the already fairly dark sky
no path, marked turns
the brush already burned
desert
everything already dead
including i
|
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3. |
a song for em
03:03
|
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|
in the winter, a snow bank trust fall
face down or face up, the good kind of numb
i know i can leave any time
i don't cause that would require a spine
and i'm just
head full of dreams, feet full of lead
if i wasn't such a coward
i'd be dead
the snow comes later every year
there are fewer days you can throw yourself to the ground
and be caressed instead of beaten
always beaten
always
head full of dreams, feet full of lead
if i wasn't such a coward
i'd be dead
|
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4. |
the moth, pt. 2
00:34
|
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|
the moth had found a life on the ground
stable and happy and free
but deep in the night
the moth dreamt of flight
and all the things it couldn't be
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
it's pretty bad, but not that bad
tolerable given a small enough dose
and yeah, the doses add up over time
but not enough that i can't say i'm not still doing fine
it's ok, i think that we are gonna make it through
not unscathed and not all the way
what else can you do
you gotta keep moving, gotta hold your head high
while the blows, they keep on coming and coming and coming and coming
and then you die
it's ok, i think that we are gonna make it through
not unscathed and not all the way
what else can you do
it's pretty bad
but we'll be fine
|
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6. |
a bell jar
03:23
|
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|
the ceiling has a story to tell
it wont be one you care to hear
but as a captive audience
it's just something you're gonna have to learn to bare
a siren from a world beyond
calls out from beside your head
a soft entreat, a god you'll never meet
step out in the street, think of what it said
floating past a rock salt shack at the edge of the coming night
recalling tales of someone somewhere smashing every last electric light
there's a black sky laid on power lines
a wire flow. a brief respite
it's a straight shot sound-off overhead
and it's singing its song to the living dead
|
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7. |
the moth, pt. 3
00:34
|
|||
|
the moth sure liked its friends all right
loved them dearly in fact
but when the light shined
the moth lost its mind
flew towards it and never came back
|
||||
Botfly Mother Washington, D.C.
the bleeding edge of tranarcho-pop.
all songs released into the public domain. copyright is illegitimate.
soundcloud.com/botflymother
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