1. |
graveyards
05:35
|
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|
It makes my heart hurt,
sitting on a cold bench, empty street.
It’s the bleakest November we’ve ever seen,
and I don’t want to mention that I miss you.
It’s been said before,
I haven’t written a thing since you left.
Tranquil dreaming.
Where did you go?
Are you coming back soon?
We miss you.
I miss you.
If graves could talk, they’d have a lot to say.
You ran into the night with nothing but your wits
and an empty two-six.
The cemetery was tranquil dreaming
of days ahead and the dead to listen
to the dragging feet through the crisp dry grass,
and I will see you again
with a new lust for life.
|
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2. |
mutually exclusive
03:43
|
|||
|
I feel nothing at all.
I wanna feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
I wanna feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
Where did calm seas go?
I feel nothing at all.
Why are waves crashing down?
I feel nothing at all.
I feel nothing at all.
I feel nothing at all.
I feel nothing at all.
And I, I’d like to be exactly where you’re not around.
I’m getting lost to lose the feeling of losing. Of losing.
An ocean air has kept my eyes dry.
A quiet grey silhouette of the city
has kept my head up.
I’ve walked these streets before another time,
more assured of what I thought
were mutually exclusive ideas
of who I am and who wants me.
|
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3. |
stimulus progression
07:51
|
|||
|
We chain our bodies to the things we hate.
An object of desire.
Not ‘the one,’ but a one.
We chain our bodies to the things we hate.
Because I ask for it.
Please walk across my spine at least I can feel something real.
We chain our bodies to the things we hate.
Because I ask for it.
Please walk across my spine at least I can feel something real.
We chain our bodies to the things we hate.
I am this overflowing ashtray.
I am a bug on your windshield.
I am a hole, a hole in which to fuck.
Not even second best, a consolation prize,
unworthy of your time.
Searching for tenderness,
never reaching a peak.
Writing notes of our failures,
reminders of emptiness.
I can’t feel my face anymore.
I can’t feel what’s beside me.
She waits for a moment
when it all slows down.
I am this overflowing ashtray.
I am a bug on your windshield.
I am a hole in which to fuck.
Not even second best, a consolation prize,
unworthy of your time.
I have forgotten my role in this equation,
one woman, one man, no consent.
I have forgotten my role in this equation,
one woman, one man, no consent.
I am only flesh.
You are only flesh.
I am only flesh.
You are only flesh.
I am only flesh.
You are only flesh.
I am only flesh.
You are only flesh.
I am this overflowing ashtray.
I am a bug on your windshield.
I am a hole in which to fuck.
Not even second best, a consolation prize,
unworthy of your time.
I am this overflowing ashtray.
I am a bug on your windshield.
I am a hole in which to fuck.
Not even second best, a consolation prize,
unworthy of your time.
Please forget I exist.
Confusing love with lust.
Tracing words on your shoulder,
hoping to feel something real.
Please forget I exist,
let me sit and stare
at the world above,
let the bugs have me.
Please forget I exist.
I am only flesh.
You are only flesh
Please forget I exist.
|
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4. |
sometimes underwater
07:53
|
|||
|
I wish I could have taken you up
on that offer for a ride from the airport,
but the night skies in the east
were bursting with red,
so I thought that everything would be fine
in the morning.
Too caught up in my own anxieties
to notice the western clouds,
I guess we all make mistakes
sometimes
a laugh is all we’ll ever need,
and at times I still forget to smile.
Airports aren’t the same
when you can’t sit at the bars.
Life is not the same
without you around,
and how I wish I could get over myself
sometimes.
|
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Ophelia Tapes Vancouver, British Columbia
Ophelia tapes is a small DIY label based out of Vancouver, BC. Our mission is to give a platform to the other, to anyone that feels like their voice is unheard or unimportant to the status quo.
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