Dark Lyrics


1. The Mortality Of Doves

Every angel that drips from the faucet into the sink
Tumbles down the drain
And deep into the ground
The choirs resound in an empty room as
Angels seep into the earth
And no one noticed this coffin heaving
These earthen boards thick with deceiving
Every angel
that drips
from the faucet
to the sink
Tumbles down
down the drain
And deep into the ground
The choirs resound in
resound in an empty room
as Angels seep into the earth
And no
And no one
no one noticed this coffin heaving
These earthen boards thick
Thick with deceiving
And it swallowed
Up the spirit
In the mire
Of division
As man
As mankind
Looked on and glutted itself
Upon derision trampled underfoot
The seeping of the soil
As man
As mankind
looked on and grumbled ever
Louder with the toil of every day and every year
And every century
And it swallowed up the spirit
In the mire of division
As mankind looked on and
Glutted itself upon derision
Trampled underfoot, the seeping of the soil
As mankind looked on and grumbled
Ever louder with the toil
Of every day and every year
And every century
Lost in thought
Or thought is lost
On the creeping multitude of heaven
They could never see beyond
And so there was nothing beyond to see
One after the next for ever and ever
Stepping over the statues of gods
Lying broken in the streets like tyrants

The cynical heart too oft forgot
Its blood in course of vein
As circulated phantoms drain from
Spout to sink to silence
And vigilance betrayed by neglect
But uttered not in defiance
Sleep, the uncloaked sleep of doves
In mortality
Drawing down the shade of years
Over the monstrosity
Shutting the lids and shutting the sight
Bridging the break and shunning the life
The Earth entire has become a wasteland
A marsh intense, a swamp of flatland
Not so flat as desolate
And deep with poison and with regret
I cry aloud as I am pull’d beneath
And a body hangs over the shower rod
Like a towel left out to dry
Drips call out their protest to a dark and empty room
Sadness decorates the silence
As a gathering of the gloom
My cries are the echoes of a long-lost suicide
An angel bleeding out, a dove that has died

2. Offramp Cycle, Pattern 22

Broken glass under a poison half-moon
On some shattered highway that goes nowhere at all
Wraps around its prey like a concrete serpent in the acid rain
With fangs fastened around my throat
I choke on the fumes as the world in a blur
Falls away but leaves me clouded and hollow
Blood on my hands, and a thing in the backseat
That used to be human
Flying on the highway, trying to outrun me
Drained of thought, but the broken glass, it haunts me
Glittering like gems or sparkling like evil rainfall
That turns to steam in the heat
Ugly, hot, and shaking
With the thing in the backseat
It seeps through the plastic shroud…
As I push the needle faster and further
Coronas around the judging eyes of streetlights
Mad with thirst, almost enough to lap up iridescent rain
Just a little further, but the pupils of night are diminishing
By the time the smog sets in to eat away the morning
I should be somewhere, praying that I’m dreaming

3. Longtime Disturbance On The Miracle Mile

The weight of murder fills the sky
A neon shadow rising up like vespers
From the haze that burnt away
The peeling painted stratosphere
Newspaper blowing by on a shriveled shred of apathy
A chronicle of missing persons
Only I know where I left the parts of them
A night-time fantasy in action
A knife that bled the life of faceless passion
I watched the moon all cold and icy
Suspended far above the severing
I separated the spirit from unwilling flesh, and bound
The body in a city’s sorrow
But no one cares about the broken
Flickering in summer air
Stinking in suffocating breeze
I will wear a mask of normal
To hide my mask of orgasmic shame
The cars on fire on the sides of the naked street
They light my way, they free me
As I crawl back into my concrete cavern

4. Library Subterranean

Suffer the gulf
Of a hundred million years
The sand that buried centuries
The burden that drew its shadow long
That tried in vain to hide unfathomed
He drew the pictures of his dreams
Unlocked the shrine withdrawn
Threw open doors unmade
Remembering elusive shade
In pieces, like knives of sleep—
It leaves the soul in ruins
A body is only a garment useable
He in me and I in he…
I was given my way back
I sliced through millennia
But I left my record written
In distorted hand
In alien archives whispering
Buried in the sands of centuries

5. The Assassination Of Adam

Eat from the hand of Woman
The Wise
The Tempting
The centuries of castigation—
Defeat rose up from a beautiful gloom
It twisted itself around a tree
Like a love around a love
It so loved mankind it fastened
Its fangs onto his neck
And it killed him with its poison
He sank into the earth
No ghost to haunt the wicked
Nor to enlighten the strong
The beautiful gulf fades away
It leaves a bounty untouched
A treasure box of Pure

6. Spirit Photography

The fragile photograph cracked and tortured—
Forgotten in its box in the attic amidst
A ponderous flood of memories
The broken lines on her face, the years that have shuffled on
And on through disgust and turmoil
Spiders on the lips of its slow attrition
Knives through eyes that have long since faded
I remember this house like a half-forgotten song
A name on the tip of the tongue
A scar on the tip of the soul
I listen to this demon as it crawls across the floor
Drags itself across the boards and watches me
Lifting up a voice that sounds like witches burning
Scratching along the floorboards with a body gaunt and shattered
I burned them all in effigy
But must have forgotten about
This box covered in dust under the careful watch of dread
Ghouls awash in the tattered finery of
Hapless pain
And withered in the trance Despair
Disguised as agony
Conjure forth the monster sleeping long in stony silence
Roil the waves and rouse their denizen
From an æon of splendid sleep left mercifully undisturbed
Many arms about me, many
Pulling me into the shape and shadow of oblivion
Pulling me apart and gnawing without end
And tell me:
If the eyes of the dead are forced open—
Even for a second—
And the eyes of the dead are allowed to speak
What is the hell they betray, and
What is the nightmare unsealed?
What has this fragment of Reason
To do with the oceans of age?

Keith Abrams — Drums, Bass
Daniel Means — Guitars, Woodwinds, Keyboards, Bass
Tim Byrnes — Trumpet, Synthesizers, French horn (session)
Toby Driver — Vocals, Guitars, Clarinet, Keyboards, Cello, Bells, Double bass
Ron Varod — Guitars, Keyboards (session)
Jason Byron — Vocals, keyboards and drums

Submits, comments, corrections are welcomed at webmaster@darklyrics.com


- Privacy Policy - Disclaimer - Contact Us -