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Terror in the glade! The forest fouls to a cryptic bog. Lonely limbs brush and tangle. Fingers latch, grips lock and arrange into a fervid beast that emerges from virile muck. A muscled mass in fiber-optic raiment. It runs haphazardly, trampling the lush serenity. At peace with want— Paris Green. Fronds billow with gusts spinning spores of scouring-rush. At peace with time— Paris Green. Greedy parasites collude a garish betrayal. Gold Knife set with gems of malachite. Puncture the liver with blades sharp with sin. Chattel fall, bleed naivety. Opportunists eat bones whole.
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2. |
Drag Hesitations
03:12
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Wild Blood arranges into rabbling geometry. Immiscible droplets of consciousness that corrode this rare verdant child of Sol. Red velvet breakers that converge to multiply. The last waltz of carnivores— dull fangs parrying hunger. Dancing to the dirge of the soft mirrored moon— starlit machetes. Wild Blood bubbles within closed position, heat of hands held between chests. Steam tragically trapped by gravity. Wild Blood, stranded to dry beneath their sun.
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3. |
Plié of The Lycanthrope
02:25
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Time— the somber skiff escorts Blood to their inglorious end. Swiftly, though gently as to barely be felt, until all have coagulated into lone relics. A choral sea now a staccato crust. The warm blush of copper cools to flat acid verdigris. Breaking tense surface, Gold Knife emerges poised in conquest. Alive, unlike the Blood that bore it's blade. The chrysalis of spite swells opaque smooth, gleaming with malevolence. Cold! No hands, no soul. Perfect and cold. Voracious Monolith, a black emerald shining. Voracious Monolith, born of thick bile. Voracious Monolith, assumes the throne. Voracious Monolith, is young yet.
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4. |
Glow Aplomb
03:51
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There is yet life beneath the husks, though it narrows, and youth is our last hope. Listen, Blood, with humility we ask that you dive down, down, until... well…well, we’re not sure what may come next, but you burn behind old temples. Sink through cold skin’s fissure. Sink through cold skin to feel the Green lights beat. There is yet life beneath the husks, though it narrows. Oh, how you tire. Recall bare soles on grass that pattered through granite halls through mildewed stacks of libraries. Go on, grab your book. It is the oldest, thickest, volume of all. Sink through cold skin’s fissure. Sink through cold skin to feel the Green lights beat. Though pages are empty, your company is rich. Myriad veins surge with companions. Lungs, inhale the ammonia sting. Exhale alien poetry.
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5. |
Coup Ensemble
03:06
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Maelstrom! Dogged digits drag at the wrist. Heavily numb flecks of electronic snow. Gathering hot coals for their pyre, embers plucked from a single burnt fist. Spark! Smokeless flame, arise! Link hands once more. We trust you have learned from your greedy creation, that monstrosity. It smells of your nurture. The giant that you must kill, shares your own eyes. Humble now. Recall how you accepted it’s gift of absinthe. How you drank and painted your portrait atop a facade. How you cut swaying palms, stamped out budding fronds. Maelstrom! Trust your fragile Blood. Trust that you remain Wild.
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6. |
Slash Centre Unison
02:42
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One stress, some cracks— oceans of weary flesh disenchant impossible pillars. Hacking the heels of The Monolith, revealing thin layers of uranium glass that summate false fortitude. Dead emerald crumbling into a glimmering cascade of agony. Hunger explodes in an electric ricochet— exponential and incorporeal. Cut waves lick wounds. Wild Blood autodissects, spinning sinew into harp strings, squeezing organs down to ink. Leaking life— shocked and disassociated, gazing at fluorescent innards, they sing, “Such splendid shades are We!” We balk and cringe at the morbid cheer, but the sound expresses into bittersweet bravery, revealing a new brightness within Paris Green, “Such splendid shades are We! Align! Alight!"
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7. |
Forever The Follow
03:46
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Dried scabs of plasma pale to pink as they shuck to the ground deciduously; red clay mass grave— worn womb for futures. Carmine is born a boiling translucent wave. Thin cherubs ride mist to maternal clouds. Rain reeks of lust. Eidolons shape shift with mistaken memories. Smooth brains hang from ancient umbilical chords with eyes only for celadon hills. Rain reeks of lust. The breeze carries a necromantic chill, simultaneously vestige and warning. New storms brew where minty dew dried. Dusk burns rich with the taste of tin. Matriarchs bleed their wild children upon a thirsty canopy. Rain reeks of lust.
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Harvey Pekar Cleveland, Ohio
Harvey Pekar is:
Elliott Frank: Guitar
Ian Douglas: Drums
Nick Kratsas: Vocals
Nick Schmitt: Bass
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