1. |
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Winter
I’ve gone whole days on edge in an eight by ten foot holding pen;
spinning on my last leg, spitting on everything.
In this white room there is no dirt under my nails
and the air, it clings to the walls.
Canvas consumes, I’m pacing, wearing the carpet thin.
I begin, never be done.
No fight, no fun.
Deadbolt on the damn door!
Bulldog on the front porch bored but
no one cares about my powerhouse now.
No one cares about my powerhouse.
Bars along the windows.
Electric to the touch, I’m sure!
No one cares about my powerhouse now.
No one cares about my powerhouse.
I’ve gone out of my way to show how little of a damn I give.
I kill my time, I wait it out,
bite my tongue, give me something else to think about.
In this white room I suspect I speak a speck too soon.
“Nevermind.” Make amends, pull my mouth shut.
Insider views every person as a pit to split in two.
Analyze, alienate, apologize.
I burned a bridge in effigy and let all the smaller walkways smolder.
Ash and gasoline stench fills the air.
I built a bunker I no longer need but
I cannot get out—not without you breaking in.
Break in, break the door off the fucking hinge.
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2. |
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Molotov Mind
Adrenaline is pumping through my veins
Don't get out soon I'll go insane
Trapped in this mental cage of rage
Guess I'll just have to act my age.
My gun is cocked and loaded and I'm ready to fire
I got a pocket full of bullets and a worn out attire
This dead end life got me lookin' for thrills
Armed with motivation and the looks to kill.
Dark eyes
Dark sunglasses
Little white lies
With a black heart to match it
Those poor little brains
infected and deranged.
I'll be completely detached by the strike of a match
Gotta gallon of gasoline and I'm lockin' the latch.
Life or death is usually hit or miss,
But your fate is sealed with firey kiss.
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3. |
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4. |
Dust
03:55
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Well I come off as anti-social.
It's just that small talk is a waste of our time.
I'm a fighter not a lover,
but the grass is always dead on my side.
Now in case you're feeling well,
I hope this makes you sick like me;
Molar dust mixed with blood in my mouth
from grinding my teeth down in anticipation
waiting for you.
Darling I've got nothing more to say to you.
I'll leave the talking to my favorite songs.
Oh I know, I'll write a record that says it all
about as wretched as another night alone is long.
My first mistake was wondering how long you'd take,
but by the time I got that answer it was too late.
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5. |
Tired
03:16
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Tired
About face and fire, then stab myself in the back. Let down all who depend on me including myself in these relentless attacks, back to back. 'Cause I'm tired. In bed but still staring at the ceiling. This debt hangs on my head it's bloody red, it's bloody red, because my pen's still seething venom and feeling undone.
About face and fire. Invisible stains taint the blankest page. Let down all who depend on me including myself 'cause I've got so much to say... So much to say. But I'm tired. With no idea how to start. And every second that I sit I seem to scribble down some shit that will not pass for art. It's like I'm falling apart.
About face and fire! Tearing notebooks limb from limb. Let down all who depend on me including myself, I'm stretched so fucking thin. It never ends and I'm tired. My eyes no longer shine. But when Death came to my door I said "I can't take anymore," he said "you read my mind," so I said "nevermind, I'll be fine."
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6. |
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Self-Help
Will the pills fix me? Am I so broken?
Is there a fix for the fixation or
do I just keep choking them down
Drownin' in a piss-gold ocean,
pitch-black sunglasses and my eyes wide open?
How much worse is the wear? Can I make it better?
Am I better off dead or should I hold it together?
I got a child-proof bottle full of
little black facemask time-release capsules.
Return me to the wormland
Return me to the earth.
Return me to the wormland baby, I’m helping myself to the lion’s share.
Return me to the earth, I’m helping myself to the electric chair.
I'd rather be a reject from your factory.
Manufacture me! You can't...
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7. |
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Issues
I see your face again. Fingertips to body. A smell I can't forget. Last glimpse at sanity before I shut the door.
Don't let me down 'cause this is my last shot. I don't wanna give it up so I'm giving it all I got and if it kills me make sure I'm dead 'cause I don't want that memory in my head.
Mom says we got issues, she doesn't know the half. I just keep on breathing so deep it drives me mad. Memory collapses. These words keep building up. I finally scream.
And if I make it to some pearly gates.
I'll make sure to tell you who makes your fate.
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8. |
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Everything Is On Purpose
They say that it all happens for a reason.
They say every birth is clockwork in the hands of true design.
And every death is just the cycle of the seasons.
While we have to hammer away to create the only silver lining
I knock them down until there’s no more left. The days fall off the calendar.
The first to get to number two and two to three in pursuit of my future.
I run into strangers once when I could've passed them by but...I get it right the second time.
One time I looked into the eyes of a girl who could have changed my life
And I forgot my fucking lines.
Socially gone. Insulated, overdrawn, my social graces string me along.
I barely make it. Every time.
Make a move! Kill the frills, distill the truth.
It shines through. Wasting time is self-abuse.
“Everything’s on purpose.”
They try to say “everything’s on purpose.”
They try to say “yeah, there’s a hand behind this,
and yeah it’s on your side but, well,
sometimes it don’t seem like it.”
They try to say “Yeah you know everything’s on purpose.”
They try to say “everything’s on purpose.”
They try to say “yeah there’s a hand behind this, and well,
if it made you feel worthless, yeah, you probably deserved it.”
Where will we be? Where will we be when the earth stops spinning?
If we’re lucky, en route to our next big mistake.
Where will you be? Where will you be when your world stops spinning?
Out on your own, out on your own.
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Chain Link Stains Morganton, North Carolina
Back in the studio recording follow-up/parallel album ROCK BOTTOM.
CLOUD 9 is pay if you wanna.
Chain Link Stains recommends:
God Hates Figs
by The O'Reilly Factors
Hardcore softcore folk punk polka funk
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Great band, cool people. From SC.
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Specializing in bright, sunny "bedroom rock español," this Brooklyn singer-songwriter puts a unique spin on lo-fi music.
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Spetters / RA!D
by Spetters & RA!D
A terrific split cassette from two promising young indie bands, this is one part melody, one part fury.
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The debut from Transy Warhol is fierce and raucous garage punk from a distinctly queer perspective.
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