1. |
Invocation
05:47
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During which stage of desperation,
Does it become permissible,
Become a necessity,
For influential men,
To betray integrity?
During which stage of progress,
Do they become amenable,
Become accepting,
Of complacency, blind and contrived.
The visceral clarity of reality can be ignored,
It can even be triumphed,
By those who decay in decadence,
While others are lucky enough to decay in silence.
And although it may be hard to stomach,
There are those who revel in this silence.
There are those whose thoughts approach
Calamity with a startling ardour.
There are those who still believe,
The world can yet grow darker.
Truths become unraveled and memories fade,
Loose ends become looser, and men of faith,
Gather in public, in town squares
And on corners of streets.
The breath of the crowd is harsh and jagged,
As the appearance of the place they inhabit.
A legacy held in memorandum,
Remembrance of some unknown tangent.
There are those who will succumb to what has been worshipped.
Speak to us, oh, throatless voices
our pleas are sincere,
salvation is our motive,
deliver us from despair.
No escape. All efforts fail.
A truth so clear,
evading their blank stares,
passive omission.
Shun those who won’t accept,
they’re all damned to hell.
Amen to the savior,
we sing, “hallelujah, hallelujah,”
he screams, “kneel before me
give me praise,
scum of the earth,
kneel before me,
I am god.”
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2. |
Panacea
06:45
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The plague has fall’n
over the land.
From town to town,
Treks one man,
There is a cure,
A decieving hand,
Alternative arrival
to where salvation stands.
Redirect, retranslate,
Instincts programmed to procreate (recreate).
Redirect, retranslate,
When the ashes settle,
The smoke will dissipate.
Come one, come all,
Relax from weary trails,
Listen to whispers of fate’s past,
Caught within tall-tail,
By similar means,
horse’s whimpers get trapped in stable.
Indeed a fable, that which entails,
A hero to admire, admonish, adore,
A belabored journey, that which explores,
A land torn as much by disease as by war,
Where corpses of plagued soldiers blanket the shore.
Victims scatter the shore.
Witness all that’s endured,
by those lucky enough to be sure
of their immunity from those observed,
as they helplessly watch the waves consume,
the thought that their humanity can be resumed.
Non-alleviated symptoms
characterize and cast into a mold,
the fabric of collective unconscious,
tidal force, that beckons and calls.
If there is no discretion
how can they know,
effort is for naught?
If life is truly sacred, why
Is the opposite sought?
Why then is the opposite sought?
Whence comes revival?
Whence comes rot?
If there is no discretion
How can they know their efforts are for naught?
Perspective, losing all value.
All of my time spent alone.
What happened to all my regret?
Buried and dead is the past.
A sober mind is forgotten.
Distortions, bending perceptions.
Tossing a line into the void.
Simply in spite of myself.
My lonesome self,
I suppose it would be a factual statement,
to say, I need some help.
I guess.
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3. |
Eulogy, I: Dissipation
02:28
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Consider this a forewarning.
Silence, that which creeps and is lurking,
diatomically burning.
Try not to fall victim to,
Try not to fall,
Does it make them beautiful,
without their flaws?
Corspes left behind slither and crawl.
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4. |
Eulogy, II: Lament
04:35
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My memories are not my own,
Setting in which I dwell, not my home.
But what of my skin? What of my bones?
They resonate with mismatched melody,
the wrong tones,
How is it, I’ve grown so cold?
Am I merely a pawn?
Merely a drone?
Some facet of another’s plan,
My very actions by their hand.
Did I willingly choose this?
Or was I abandoned?
Forced to build, from what I’d been left:
Burnt wood and ashes?
When I awake from my dreams,
I feel as if I’ve been reborn,
But I never remember,
the events that occur.
I’ve been told,
I relinquish words while I’m asleep,
but I mutter them, an indecipherable speech.
What’s it feel like to grow old,
to have your flesh decay?
To have the ink ridden cells within this shell,
slowly fade away.
Have you ever fallen asleep
to the sounds of war?
Have you heard the Reaper
Knock upon your door?
The tip-tapping of skeletal hand
The whimper of a lonely man,
Yes, the reaper comes, as he goes,
Has no friends, nor has he foes.
That reaper man that all men know,
I wonder what it’s like to have him at your door,
asking, “What’s it feel like to live forever?
What’s it feel like to never grow old?”
My past’s nothing short of tragic,
That’s why I leave, I choose to leave it, the fuck alone.
City of dual existence,
We must find for ourselves
The New Haven,
Located in mirror dimension,
We prepare for exploration because we realize:
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5. |
Eulogy, III: Exodus
04:35
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This municipality has seen a transformation.
All the politicians perished,
from this sovereign nation.
All the former leaders dead.
This ship has left its station,
This former kingdom’s bloodlines,
have been abandoned.
All that’s left, rememberance
of a river long stagnant.
All that’s left, rememberance,
of some unknown tangent.
I must learn how to read
what has yet to be written as words.
I must learn how to listen
to what yet has been heard.
Vague messages sealed away,
how do we decipher them?
We spoke of the devil,
now we face him.
All I want to do is leave this life for something new.
We set sail on our maiden voyage
into the depths of the metaverse.
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6. |
Rejuvenation
09:20
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Selfish gene theory states
altruism in nature is multi-faced.
Mutualistic tendencies,
order form of higher being.
This is my escape,
if only for a little while.
Take a hammer to the floor
rip away the shattered tiles.
Place them on a pedestal,
this is their escape.
Capture the ego.
Experience becomes unrestrained,
Psychosis shroud is lifted,
Chemically induced paranoia leaves my system.
Uncensored dreams allow me to seek his manipulating visage.
Sensory overload direct from inverted dimension.
Unrestrained, unfiltered,
Unadulterated, uncensored.
Become impure.
There is a cure.
Only in dreams, am I free.
Pre-existing persona,
sealed behind trap door,
I break the seal.
There's no way of knowing which direction they are going.
There's no knowing where they're rowing, or which way the river's flowing.
Is it raining, is it snowing? Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing, so the danger must be growing.
Are the fires of Hell a-glowing? Is the grisly Reaper mowing?
Yes! The danger must be growing! Cause the rowers keep on rowing,
And they're certainly not showing any sign that they are slowing.
You have already kneeled before me,
your fate is set in stone.
My palace resides in your mind,
Where I sit upon my throne.
My lonely throne, all alone.
There must be a way of knowing,
which direction the river’s flowing.
But his mental manipulation
Has taken its toll,
Trials, tribulations,
all I’ve ever known.
Your life is what I make it,
thus accept your's basic.
Now all I’ve ever is known is lost.
Psychosis shroud is lifted,
electromagnetic imprintations
no longer hidden
from the metaverse’s face.
Pyschosis shroud is lifted
now prepare for exploration
into the depths of the metaverse.
All is known,
discovering I’m alone.
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The Collective Unconscious Morehead City, North Carolina
Based around common musical interests and a passion for being creative, The Collective Unconscious blends a stream-of- consciousness music style with a conceptual narrative. The Placebo Effect EP, self-recorded in a home studio, is our first attempt at making an engaging auditory experience. Free downloads encouraged, we hope you enjoy. Thanks for listening! ... more
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