Life Just Bounces don't you get worried at all. (A weblog of music and otrogenerica)

Thursday, 22 October 2009

[30,000 Leagues] Crewd Sons (Ghost in the Machine)

<a href="">Crewd Sons (Ghost in the Machine) by 30KB</a>

"we interrupt this programme..."

[adbuster keaton] wincing at the lack of principle. cut to a track of static snapping at commercial intervals. it's difficult, individuals lost well beneath the deck and i can't tell the fire for the CGI effect. freeze the eye instead, wire fed, sleeping in the lion's bed, i'm hopeful the doubting's less total than global, i'm vocal from mountain to molehill, the old news they told you just grew from a world of Chernobyls. next stop, watch dog, heard slow, sleep dream, and learn to get scared by the ghost in the machine. nothing seizes me, the blessing of the non-committed censorer pushing me higher with the cooling of the temperature. dementia breaks to figure these aches: is it wrong to dwell on that which has been built on mistakes? living this way, on hearsay how we stunted our fate to come triumphant on an ever-plundered bit rate. this day dismay strays from the movement of the rhythmless, drowns us all out with the proof of their grandiloquence, grimacing at costs of a flag they didn't hoist. seemingly incipience is lost without its voice. it's all so very off-the-levy breezy wayward heading. wear the brightest swooshes, still we can't see where we're treading; black spot lighting up my future, there's no way of telling if rebellion is instinctive or a lifestyle that they're selling.

[diss1] (...heeeey!) if i wake up again while i'm alive i want to organise a party like it's 2005. those were platinum days - i'm still paying off the interest of trying everything once but folk dance and incest. flavours i did ingest, distill and regurgitate, the have-a-go villain over rhythms that'll circulate, lyrics that'll perforate if need be. got y'screaming out "Dissonance!" like a detuned TV. and if i die before i wake, i wanna go back in time and be the first one to use that. but more likely back to square one in dark corners where miscreants gather to smoke reefer and chew fat. where's the truth at? not like anyone here will know. i last saw that shit like 6 years ago. really though, don't you make faces at this lyricist. i'll take you to the places where the eye meets the pyramid. rebellion into money, cheap at the price, blew the cash and the speakers on the thirty merchandise. now it's broken-down blown cones, holes in the ozone, extraterrestrials at the party better phone home.

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