Music:
Member Since: 2/26/2005
Band Members:
This broken poet was given two choices, the comfort of quiet or the struggle of voices. There's nothing so easy as to build your own silence, and nothing so violent as to kill self-reliance, but anger is danger demanding a guilt, and nothing is dangerous but for the way that it's built; we build ourselves up, end result is a pride - convenience is a way to feel empty inside - and pride is an emptiness that evil can flatter, there's only the truth and nothing else matters.
And the truth is your tired and hurting and scared, but the song of your soul is loud and prepared, for the struggle that all must embrace to exist, or give up on themselves and refuse to resist, the forces of sameness that would own what you are, kill your uniqueness and snuff out every star, for a world void of light void of beauty and truth, where they own what you are - where what you are isn't you.
Beauty, most truly, is something unique and alive, and good chooses truth, over a way to survive.
What is right
And what is easy
Should always
Be seperate,
As hope
Is faith
For the desperate.
Influences:
Sounds Like:
a snap in g...
Sounds like a trumpet when you pump it through my heart, the blood from the intentions that deception tore apart, the echo of the retro stunning catapulting joy - shooting tooting secrecy like notes from girls to boys. (Like symmetry, like history, like something that was meant to be, an open breeze, a faux-disease, a dream that only thaws to freeze).
Sounds like a liar might desire sin and hate, manipulation's saturation flooding through the gates, (they never break and never bend, and never read what we don't send - through sentiments we meant to mend).
Sounds like a reason to believe in something real, something bigger better brighter, a divinity that heals, because evil doesn't need you to corrupt the things you feel, and your feelings don't need evil to add weight to their appeal.
)To all the people
Who've danced in my words,
To the poems in the shower
Washing clean all the hurt,
And the children who know
How the hate is absurd—
My gratitude is indelible
And my faith undeterred.
[Her eyes play havoc
On my mind
Piercing darts
A lifetime long
A lovesong deep.
(It's a peculiar beauty
That can make a man weep):
The fearless forever
Of a moment asleep.
In New York City
Uptown and Downtown
Aren't just places,
They're directions.
If you're going from 125th street
To 116th street,
Downtown is where you're heading.
-This is what I mean
When I talk about Heaven.
Type of Label: Indie
