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Geometrik's "Upon A Midnight Stone"- OUT NOW!!
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Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #1,382
Peak in subgenre #762
Author
Geometrik
Rights
Copyright 2004
Uploaded
November 19, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.4 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
I don’t look for the approval
of already rested spirits
my ghosts speak nonsense
it’s enough I have to hear them
I find it difficult to believe
in orbs of gelatin
when I know they were drawn in
by artists without an exoskeleton
their words are epidermal
but sound as though the creatures know
and when I block their blows
they retreat to the darkest coves
but honestly
it doesn’t bother me
my mind is scientific
and easily smitten with specifics
contradiction is my favorite
and with it I spoil inner children
in hopes old personalities will save them
but infants only cry
when locked inside a Victorian hall
while adolescents dry
from air creeping along peeling walls
the ceiling’s tall
but still its hard to dodge the weightless balls
and I’m not wearing make up
to cover the bruises after every brawl
so fuck yall
let the curse resonate
I won’t hesitate to decapitate
the tail end of a conversation at heaven’s gate
and in case someone decides to mention fate
I’ll remind them who controls this game
my kings commit deicide
so checkmate
I sit diligently on graves
hold seances and wait
cast shadows for spells at a time
in hopes new personalities faint
my face has hardened into a mask
while their grins are acetate
I’d stop them right-left dead in their tracks
if only they were fake
my mistake
was underestimating death
when they held the wake
I tried to rest my eyes
but woke up in another state
from midnight to daybreak
the voices never cease
now my only concern is making sure
my demons rest in peace
I don’t plant myself in stone
with an expectation to grow
plus its midnight
and my ancestors are buried beneath the snow
and even though its cold
only frozen breath affects my vision
in the crystals hangs a dim reflection
I keep the holidays open wide
to let the hollowed eyes peek in
I begin with a hallowed beacon
and flash spotlights without speaking
I am not surprised
to see the weakest cringe
but the bravest act like cowards
to the fire in my iris that personifies a deacon
heathen vagabonds
stir the earths dust
so I take notes and revise an ancient corpus
I write till the light gets snuffed
by a fore finger and thumb
scream into the darkness
till my veins beat like tribal drums
I catch a heaving chest off beat
but I forgot to breathe
it must be the past gasping behind me
trinkets of yesterday
are strewn about my house
they don’t belong to me
but memories won’t let me throw them out
im thrown faded headstones
with a note that says “figure it out”
id rather not open a can of maggots
with a mouthful of reason and doubt
so I talk casually
and pretend to be sincere
I embellish stories some
cus they don’t remember being here
I scrape the glass until the last
of my thoughts are deceased
now my only concern is making sure
these heathens rest in peace
I don’t plant myself in stone
with an expectation to grow
plus its midnight
and my ancestors are buried beneath the snow
and even though its cold
only frozen breath affects my vision
in the crystals hangs a dim reflection
I don’t carve myself from stone
and expect to grow
plus its high noon
and I’m reaping what my ancestors sowed
and even though its cold
only frozen breath affects my vision
in the crystals hangs a dim reflection
I don’t plant myself in stone
with an expectation to grow
plus its midnight
and my ancestors are buried beneath the snow
and even though its cold
only frozen breath affects my vision
in the crystals hangs a dim reflection
I’m just an apparition
