1. |
Dreamlife
03:11
|
|
||
Unfazed,
in a daze,
running red lights on my bike, half-asleep.
Saving time, I guess.
I'm on my way to
get a pizza and go home to eat some.
I'm running red lights on my bike, half-asleep.
Shop neon signs, swelling bright and blurry.
It's a quarter past nine and I'm real hungry.
Running red lights on my bike in a dreamlife.
|
||||
2. |
Post-Art Panic
03:25
|
|
||
Young tasty eyes,
crosshatched and open wide,
immortalized on card stock;
you came from my mind.
you came from my mind.
you came from my mind.
Long tediously drawn hair,
artificial lighting glares,
No wasted time in making art.
you came from my mind.
you came from my mind.
you came from my mind.
I have you to look at,
proof of how time’s passed,
pain from a hand cramp,
and panic over what to do next.
|
||||
3. |
Afraid To Be Afraid
02:35
|
|
||
I'm not afraid of tires on my bike,
they take me to place I couldn't go otherwise.
And I'm not afraid to work.
I know I need to make money.
And I'm not afraid to hug
a dead woman, if it's my mummy.
But I'm afraid you'll leave me
if I admit to being afraid.
But spiders give me the creeps,
and I'll scream if I see one on my bed.
|
||||
4. |
This Sucks
03:01
|
|
||
I'm not afraid.
Places I couldn't go.
Why not afraid?
Places I go.
|
||||
5. |
Lemon
02:31
|
|
||
Thanks for selling me a sour
bike with a flat tire I have to replace.
I'll be pushing it on the sidewalk
to your shop in ChaShan.
Will you please fix it?
Oh, I won't get my hopes up.
Will the pizza be ready in
time for me to eat a slice
before I need to punch in?
Oh, I won't get my hopes up
to fall down. I'm down
to rush the chef and
make him box it up, but
I know I'll be late.
Who cares?
Thanks for making me eat a lemon.
|
||||
6. |
|
|||
In need of
something that's smooth and feels
polished. Zero bran. Poured.
The truth in its truest form.
A taste of relief.
Ferment my insides.
Still I can't sleep
through the earthquakes I feel.
Underneath the floor boards,
it's alive and it wants more.
Mouth fulls of deceit
ferment my insides.
Earthenware bottle, smashed.
It leapt from the 10th floor.
Soak into the street.
There is no truth inside.
In need of
something that's smooth and feels
polished. Zero bran. Poured.
The truth in its purest form.
A taste of relief.
Ferment my insides.
|
||||
7. |
|
|||
I’m lost
with no trail of crumbs
or sand
to retrace my steps.
It’s cold.
Little flakes of snow
hit and melt
on my head.
A fever
keeps me warm,
yet it doesn’t
help me.
Thirsty, I
throw back sake from a flask.
I can’t breathe.
Slow embrace of death,
don’t hug me.
I feel warm
yet I’m losing
my heat.
Where am I?
My face is numb.
Soon I’ll be done for.
Where am I?
In these mountains alone,
no place like home.
|
||||
8. |
Ouroboros
03:47
|
|
||
I can't wait
to be found.
My belly aches
start to tear me to the ground.
Emaciated.
Forgotten out here.
I have lost faith
to be rescued.
My mind is breaking.
The hunger wills me to
bite at my own flesh.
Cannibal, do you know who you really are?
When you peer into the abyss
does it peer back into your heart?
I felt full imagining all
the meat underneath my scars,
so I waited a couple of minutes
to tear them apart.
|
||||
9. |
|
|||
My hopes lay drained and dry
like evaporated sake,
gorges dividing
its cracked up bottle or
a broken chain severed from
the bike it once propelled.
My hopes, scattered like
rats when a train hits the station,
well-prepared to be:
dashed, crushed between dirt and wheels.
I'll just bury these
casualties by the railyard of sleep.
What's the point of keeping them?
What's the point of keeping anything?
What's the point of keeping them?
What's the point of keeping them with me?
I'll leave all these hopes
awe-struck on the platform.
Taking this train into oblivion,
I will not fear a thing,
least of which: uncertainty
about how this world ends.
|
||||
10. |
Metro Stops: Odd Dreams
02:03
|
|
||
Reassembled
in a dream world
where hope is cash,
no welfare to catch
my broke ass.
So I'm begging
strangers for a metrocard out.
Just a swipe is all I need
to wake up from these odd dreams.
|
||||
11. |
|
|||
Lights
flicker overhead,
my eyes
are ill.
Hot air breathes
itself like a glitch.
I cradle
my
phone.
It subdues the lack of hope coins.
So I'm not alone,
scrolling down for the opiate kick.
I am
afraid
to put it away.
I'll die
without
my
phone.
I might never wake up without it.
Is the line closed?
No alert from maps to tell me that.
Whatever, I'm home
anywhere I can stare at my phone.
Hey. Whoa.
It's grown teeth
and it's trying to eat me.
|
Humans Etcetera Wenzhou, China
Christopher Henry, alt rocker from West Virginia, music master in Wenzhou, China.
Streaming and Download help
Humans Etcetera recommends:
If you like Humans Etcetera, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp