1. |
Lenders
01:40
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2. |
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Singing riddles and rhymes, appealing to flies they feed out the lies.
How they prosper in shit and point to the sky, plead if I die.
There’s hate sewn in the seeds they plant, with towering branches reaching out.
The roots dig deep; make holes in the ground,
Watch where you walk if you fall you might not get out.
I’ll have mine, my right to die and not wonder a thing as to where the fuck I’ll be.
Oh I’m told to keep in mind all the sins I left behind,
Best kept remembered for we face them again at the end of the line?
I am no saint nor sinner, the stories you read made my ears bleed,
No saviour for sin, no bliss in the skies.
Convert, control, suppress.
There’s hate sewn in the seeds they plant, with towering branches reach higher and higher.
The roots dig deep; make holes in the ground,
Watch where you walk, if you fall you might not get out.
I’m no saint nor sinner; the language you speak means nothing to me.
I believe not fantasies nor lies, no saviour for sin no bliss in the skies.
Singing riddles and rhymes, appealing to flies you feed out the lies.
They prosper in shit; they point to the sky, plead if I die.
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3. |
Puppets And Wires
03:56
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4. |
Blank Canvas
05:07
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5. |
Debtors
03:57
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You were sick and weak but wanted control; your own body wouldn’t do what it was told.
So you created something bigger than that, to enforce a law, the be all and end all of us.
I see no value, I see no truth. Just an image of something that looks good for the sick and weak and tired of life; death welcomes you with arms warmer than mine.
Now we struggle as we suppress the drives that make us what we are and thrive to live for something made of disease, enforced by the sick and driven through us like a knife to the eye, blinding us of truth.
Instead we live on collapsing foundations built by men with an eye for control but a body waiting to snap.
The herd can sit and wait for their end (as if there’s anything more), it all means the same; they just don’t know how to live.
Self-control, self-belief, I will not reject my humanity.
I see no value, I see no truth. Just an image of something that looks good for the sick and weak and tired of life; death welcomes you with arms warmer than mine.
Nailed like that to your cross you have no hands to write you have no feet to walk.
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Tangled Talk Records London, UK
Tangled Talk Records is an independent label based in London, UK and home to some of the best bands in the world.
Tangled Talk Records recommends:
Incredible instrumental album that never gets boring.
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Horizons / Rapture
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Mind-melting mathy head-fuck from Brighton.
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Bracing post-hardcore meets festival-ready rock on the Tokyo band's sharp new EP, mixed and mastered by Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight).
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MUSIC LOVER EP
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Kathleen Hanna returns with another set of bruising, synth-driven songs from her band The Julie Ruin.
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Death is Nothing to Us
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Boston band featuring members of Have Heart and Basement take their earnest, motivational post-hardcore to thrilling new heights.
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