turn down degobah sound-system,
kick back and fill gaps with floor of psyche paint splatter incisions
this situation seems nothing but ambiguous
and these sails pull hard because this rigging is rigorous
so i split lids and sit up, take in the night view slowly
and hear a silent lullaby to the glowing tips on incense sticks
now give me space for a pause, take the quiet and run
never ask for directions, reach deep within your blood
with shameless stars-or-bust fashion release the inner seeds
with the elixir that sits in soul that shifts the pitch of your deeds
i've been there silently screaming like black and white film crackle
and only now do i seem to be hatefully re-mastered
i spit a tongue twister to untwist my mind
and the kaleidescope breaks and time becomes a lie
(forever chase angels)
every now and then there comes a time when emotions bottle-neck
when i lose the right to speak to a broken soul and a crooked neck
there are times you can accept, and others exist too
where i want to run down an innocent wall to stick my fist through
so today my soul had a vacuum that could smoke 10 cigars in an hour
to drown my brain, eject from misery and snuff the light in the tower
now its wind chimes, wind chimes to cut me from the thin lines
that i attached via double-knot methods to an angel's heart
this angel's heart made it start to cool down inside a furnace
that burns beneath a heart that pumps diluted blood in earnest
and long story short it seems more than a year has passed
and i look upon this angel from the other side of an empty glass
will i sit here forever, to gaze on sparkling faces
or will i try to walk the line that almighty God's finger traces
it becomes better visible, as i awake from stasis
and if i could choose who to walk it with it would be hand grasping an angel's fist
so change the channel for a second, to a parallel universe
same day, heads up, it's time for tails to face the dirt
because she's a beautiful winged lady who's wings have been clipped and battered
who's been force-fed lies and her dreams have been lifted and shattered
i'm the weak and ugly type who prefers percussion over harps
and who prefers happy endings over falling tears and broken hearts
i'll forever chase these angels, to be solid ground to walk across
and i'll do my best not to find that your hope is all but lost
and my words have begun to weaken by the second
because i use all different ways to say that you were sent from heaven
so as my words falter the phone-line waits
the static sounds like rain and we pray for an escape
because we walked straight to the chalice of love to take a drink
now we sit here and wonder what it is we're supposed to think
now the image that slaughters eyes flickers on then off
then it starts in a brand new place where pain remains with faces gone
and i sit exposed here in a room without any windows
with no doors to speak of and just a singular lit bulb
i'm alone with myself, and the pen stops cold
and these pages solidify, temperature drops among these folds
and it's pitiful when i second guess my painful maneuver
and cry to the source of my elation and agony
i just wanna pull the rope, drop the curtains on a show
that the audience quit watching more than an hour ago
no one wants to hear about this self-inflicted tear explosion
no one wants to hear about this spirit's grip on erosion
as i grasp on shimmering halos with feet cemented and smoldering
and shrug this andromeda that my shoulders are holding
i lay beaten after contending with angels
the same fist that smashes also ends up a savior
'
dear God hear me, i'm so tired of hurting
i want to rip out my stomach and throw it as far as i can hurl it
once you tie your hair back you'll hear a story that will curl it
as long as i see the beauty i can tell my self its worth it.
my heart ached for this man...blow on blow fell on pontius
i march and run to an inside voice that screams inside my lungs
i try to protect my soul from that which is never done
can i go, can i stop? can i fly? can i drop?
can i taste success in attempt to fight my malady can i be
or will i forever be ghostly mostly its a voice i avoid
with it's own special echelon echoing on the blundering dawn
i'm bloody but calm, i may trip but i'll always be on
and now its "taps" on my ear drums
put me to sleep and flee from my dreams
come survey the wreckage with breakfast of bricks
and rations of free love you speak of
i dig through layers to find forsaken snares as angels tear
this cloak of denial that i run with
i come with pain, i leave with knowledge
i ride the wind amidst the rain
perpetual rowing in river of flame
surpassing the shame that laughs at insane
packaging hearts to send them away
stuck in a shrinking room with detention-level bliss
giving a definition to this molotov kiss
banzai tree zen-level, lit side of the tunnel
light-ray with edge beveled, the dark will come running
and i dance across the fine line to a shimmering pictorial of my own sin
i pray i don't lose control
and these angels run fast upon the wind flowing silent
and my heart struggles as it tries to contain this violence
beautiful and ugly, juxtaposed under broken roses
my ribcage sings in the spots where the whistling blows hit
i feel blocked from the sky as the seraphim lift
and uncover my eyes in the second my heart splits
and you appear frightened by the mystery by which we are enveloped
read this, my scroll, and give to me at least an understanding
he flies swiftly into the dawn like a shadow with a shadow
forever chase angels, and ugliness follows me
i resist to release my thoughts as i stumble and fall to my knees
go ahead and kiss me with a match on the tongue
i'll be here with a fuse in the teeth and a boom in the lungs
and i'm still here, a shadow of my former self
like a puddle of melted ice and i drip continually
i lay in this cavernous void of my left ventricle
do you want to lay with me? do you think you could handle it?
do you think you could understand my undecipherable eulogy
of a man who lives inside who died? it's nothing new to me
and my conscience is battered by my own misguided hands
it's a never ending story, how could you not understand?
have you ever lived in a way where the wind hurts the skin
and every time you see the beauty it further cements your sin?
where the room slips and falls, where the walls begin to scream
where it's far too vivid to even consider a dream
do you really want to know me? take a look at my sleeve
and i guarantee the bloodiest of organs will be there to see
hanging from broken filaments struggling to look up
as glistening scissor blades pull back and then cut
Fantastically versatile, uniquely fascinating and all-around exciting avant-garde music that reflects genuine outsider art aesthetics at its finest. Very recommended! Wings Of An Angel
Extraordinary melodic ambient opus, with strong spiritual undertones. gut-wrenching pads shimmer across an emotional landscape of lost dreams and unreachable memories. masterpiece of timeless music. Wings Of An Angel
Unique intellectual experience in sound, with deep meanings hidden within. An axiom that should be argued with; Is art a means or an end in itself? l'art pour l'art dystopian nightmares in Technicolor Wings Of An Angel
supported by 110 fans who also own “CD 2 - 08 - Chasing Angels (Feat. Agent Smith)”
This album makes you feel like you're inside an old computer that is on it's last legs. Everything is glitchy, aggressive, and decaying around you. There are only a few moments where it feels something is still functioning and intact, only to be followed by more sounds of disrepair. Truly a special experience. icu8some2
In the music of Paul Jordan, digitally manipulated field recordings become striking electronic songs that feel eerie and surreal. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 7, 2020
