Edward Scissortongue - The Muffle Coffin | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Edward Scissortongue
• The Muffle Coffin

There is this stench in the air so foul
Lungs brittle air thin stripped down
Grime drips from the sinus
Smoke clouds rise from the towers of this fair town
From where I stand out to the smog’s edge
Heads roll south to a soundtrack that god read
In thousands
Roadblocks rounding the town off cut from the mountains we once‘ crept
Bricks keep stacking
Caught in these blitzkrieg patterns
Sands of the cityscape fabric
Land of the tic-a-tape tactics
Scorn of these split screen atoms
Blood in the reservoirs
Blips in the sonograms
Asphalt stained with a tripwire face plant
Death in the particles silent
Stretching your wires higher
Fuel for your holograms
Lines of the cattle grid
Catching the dreggery
Eating the medicine
Time glass infinite
As the speckles split lines from the precipice widen
Storm drains syphon the sentences
And the silence is everything
But the sirens arrive and it’s deafening
As the rifles align light sources to fireflies caught in the mire we’re messing with
Blue skies derelict
Tied to a shoestring edifice
Ever since war of the world wide beckoning
Caught in the cobwebs touring these front-line tenements
Pause button punch time terrorist
Trawling the bedsides
Pouring the death light forms in your next life
Death by cause and effect like walking a stretch wire perilous
It’s all over as soon as the plagues breach
Make haste for the mountains you can’t reach
Faint traces of days spent chasing the train lines luminous
Parting the great seas
Snap back to the grave heap
And make tracks to the place where the caves greet respite
Hacked from the shrapnel and debris
Death from above yeah
Death from the drain steam – Death from the ground up
Death from the sulphurous fumes to the wells dug deep in the magma
Deep in the poisonous toxins bleed from the frostbitten cells
Such ethereous sludge in the spells
Scum breeds in the dust mites
Worms in your gut pipes feed on the wind in your sails
Stuck deep in the gunge you inhale
Deep in the muffle coffin
Sands of the cityscape
City streets stay cancerous
On this land mass magnetic
Man stands static glued to the grid pattern formulas
Yo its more than a war-torn thought straight pouring the forlorn laws and co-ordinates orderly
All sorts under the floorboards caught in the onslaught
Touring these constructs awfully