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lyrics

This town's an echo, a memory that's hollow
The empty air is unfamiliar
And they tell me northward would be like moving forward
There's not a thing that tells me they are wrong

Spectres waiting, its eyes are heating
Oh don't you understand?
Though you'll grow in numbers, your middle class comforts
Will leave you feeling lonely once again.

Anarchist by nature, you can't afford to think much clearer
Money's running out need something free
Did no one tell you? Earth was made in that filthy vacuum
And left beside neglected bathroom sinks.

Sat dead still on the dead pavement
I'm helpless in the spigot rain
Write stories on the interstate
With the rubber ink beneath my feet

And you were so much brighter then!
The clock just stopped inside of you.
Infected by social disease,
Declare myself forever quarantined.

credits

from There Exists An Abstraction Ladder, released November 2, 2009

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Burywood Austin

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