1. |
Cutthroat, Fire!
03:32
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Constricted arteries are streets, the open parks obese. We leave our homes determined. Not even the ruthless, the cute chicks, the sober ones survive. Feed off each other and thrive. We're alive and it's cutthroat it's cutthroat. It's cut throat we're alive.
Tonight we're loaded! All bodies angry rockets, in our pockets empty wallets. Tonight we're loaded, this city is loaded! This town's on fire. The streets are bloated! From the scum on the bottom rung to the upper class now. Tonight we're loaded and this city is cutthroat. This town's on fire.
Forget the morning awake. If it hits you hard, you've stood up. 'Cause It's the dependence of earnings, shit-gripped all week. It's our time to instruct. Tonight we're alive, tonight, tomorrow, we're dead!
The most practical thought in our heads, get wrecked, drunk musicals with our friends. Set the kit, heat the tubes, break the air. The most logical thought in our heads, feed our fires, who's to judge or inspect. So set the kit, heat the tubes, break the air. Sing hard...tonight we're alive, tonight, tomorrow we're dead
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2. |
Antidote
02:22
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Must be a cure for the raging optimistic right? Help for the free minds, get a shrink. There is a lot of meat here and big money takes their time while dining, as they always have they take their time.
Quick, someone has got to do something about this.
Now, 'cause common folk just need a stop to it.
Antidote! Antidote for the new metropolis, to fix up those who choose not to comply. Then reconfigure the disobedient 'til their drones, conducted.
And I don't! And I don't want to submit to the grit at a stoke of the clock. Then punch in and comply as they put in place-to-erase, a system that seizes your identity, while you grease the grinds.
Still not a drop of serum you could find. Not a drop to find. So break the bind. There is no blood in metal, the steel of machines. The metal in our blood magnetized to life void of decree, at one's own liberty. There is no antidote for...
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3. |
Siren Scream.
03:20
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A distant wail flails and cuts through the calm. The white van honks at the traffic, get the fuck out of the way, quick, she can't breathe. And today that's why the sirens scream. But believe, somewhere out there the blood desperately needs to clot. And make haste, 'cause the sirens don't scream for nothin', someone's life's on the clock. Retreat cause I can't listen to the ear-piercing urgency, barking a loop-track of life-threatening severity. And then without fail, the sirens. Again without fail the sirens scream.
A distant wail flails and cuts through the calm. Is mine the only mind that acknowledges this? Maybe a few, one or two, man at least. At least pedestrians take no notice of it. Fuck, so take a moment to dwell on it, and tune in to a common background noise the conscious mind declines. Life and death do ride on a fine line refined. Just shrug it under the rug this time. One final adieu, adios, to someone's life as they've known it. Catastrophic events went and shook their world. An avalanche of disrupt buried their business and swallowed 'em whole, forgot to spit 'em out. Hollowed the warmth right out of their bones. Dead marrow fed through the phones held to the ears of their parents. And this all happened not too briefly after the sirens struck the silence. So now tell me how the fuck does one pay no attention to it? 'Cause if I'm not mistaken, it's the universal noise to be alarmed, something is serious, somewhere something is critically wrong. They've hit the pedal dead on, now flick the lights and sound the alarm. Just shrug it under the rug, just shrug it under the rug this time.
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4. |
Shit Grinner
04:06
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No holding out, no turning back. We're giving this one hundred and ten percent. Regardless of whether it's been thought out. Regardless of whether or not it's been thought out. It's all in or you're out. Hey! I may or may not be, may not be quite the same today. It's how a human being that defines a time can really rub off to stay. Rub off to stay hey! Go!
Our battered hearts, our charcoal clothes, our weary eyes, a mother's defeated soul. I'd like to think that I'd supported them all, I hope. Held up their wilting heads as our own heads they felt like lead instead .
And you can bet we'll toast every last drop in your name, speak your name. Shit out laughs for hours and have pleasant thoughts. Because, as I gripped the handle I had a thought.
You've claimed a vital part of our lives. It settles into the earth, it settles in with you. And know I mean just what I say when I say you're face will never fucking fade. It'll never dissipate, no!
Do you remember when we used to rage to punk rock in the back of Hoog's van? Do you remember when we infinitely had violent hearts, and tattered clothes, searing eyes, and never-ending souls. Do we grow old? Or so you were told.
And you can bet we'll toast every last drop in your name, speak your name. Shit out laughs for hours and have pleasant thoughts. Well because, as I gripped the handle....
I could trudge on through the vast valleys of prose, backpacks bursting at the seams with memories of old. But I'll have to withhold, cause one song just won't suffice. Try as I might I still can't write this right no.
Do you remember when we spilt our guts, unspoken trust, with no regrets. Do you remember....
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5. |
A Pinch of Crushed Glass
02:08
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Hands of the Few Toronto, Ontario
Hands Of The Few, based out of Ontario, Canada, is a band with a drive to constantly produce something new yet familiar. Music that is energetically trashy and raw, yet at the same time is strikingly melodic and technical. The band strives with various musical influences that have caught the attention of all members. ... more
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