1. |
Numbody
04:46
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Numbody
he’s got a blog, he’s in the web, he’s on a thread
he got a thousand likes and it’s gone to his head
while the spider hangs and won’t forget, look out
you scour the foulest crowds from the ice floes off the old town’s lake of crusted crime
while I’m in a boat frozen in a famous photo, there’s an icicle of time in your heart
we’re numbodies, numbodies
part somebody, part nobody, numbody
them in the clothes, they really know the high and lows
the bubbles of their oaths keep growing into globes
skeletons rattle while we vote, knock knock
we’re numbodies, numbodies
part somebody, part nobody, numbody
Rubbing hands like desperate flies ‘till micropayments crystallize
We’re just data points to despise, who could sympathize?
we’re numbodies, numbodies
part somebody, part nobody
throw another penny in the cup, throw another penny in the cup,
throw another penny in the cup, throw another penny in the cup
throw another penny in the cup
for numbody
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2. |
Leading to the Ledge
05:31
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Leading to the Ledge
Our love's a combination lock set in an ancient safe
We work the picks and cylinders until our fingers chafe
Kneeling there together sweating underneath our masks
We both got so tired of questions we never even asked
Partners in crime, our treasure is unhoardable
What’s yours, what’s mine? The portions are unsortable
We bit the dust and tried to split the take to escape
All our dynamite wouldn’t put the wine back in the grape
Our secret names, they blew away in dead confetti mail
And all our dreams in bottles from the belly of the whale
They spilled across the flood but could not make a bridge
No, they just rolled out a thin red carpet leading to the ledge
Love is a word with a hole punched in the center
Silence may but it lets the pleasure enter
Still upstairs in the bedroom dresser in the back of the bottom drawer
There is a crumpled paper ball that won’t unfold any more
Our secret names, they blew away in dead confetti mail
And all our dreams in bottles from the belly of the whale
They spilled across the flood but could not make a bridge
No, they just rolled out a thin red carpet leading to the ledge
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3. |
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Symphony for Bird and Gun
All our stories, nothing to say
Saving our time only to waste
In the primate family
We half-create ourselves with culture’s surrogate mother
Sing with me: four, three, two, one
This symphony for bird and gun
Sing with me, could this be the countdown to end time?
I would lead you but I see no way out
I might follow, but I don’t trust you anyhow
Load the rifle, send the call
The narrative machine might still mean something or other after all
Sing with me: four, three, two, one
This symphony for bird and gun
In the end it’s out of our hands
We evolved without a plan
Full of questions, we never know why
We are born or we die
Sing with me: four, three, two, one
This symphony for bird and gun
Sing with me, could this be the countdown to end time?
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Anton Sword Brooklyn, New York
NYC-based songwriter Anton Sword leads an indie synth/ dance/ new wave project with a shifting band lineup. Sword has toured the Eastern USA twice and Europe 10 times, playing for a small but loyal following. One of his ambient compositions runs in a loop on permanent display in NYC's American Museum of Natural History, scoring the ‘Astro Bulletin’ in the lobby of the Rose Space Center. ... more
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