KEN MODE LYRICS

1. Words Not To Say To The Queen

Fattening the wind, and sleek self-fulfilled punishment takes hold. Tagged for the day, as accomplishments become unbearable tasks. What kind of torture have you lain out for me, oh deepest of desires? I am beckoning at your door, following the augmented mist in dire concentration. Create me an enemy who lies beyond the mirror. An external motive who suits such spite, building strength rather than this internalized decay. Put me on the edge of my toes, reflex being more than apparent, and consume this threat of character. Putting word count on hold. How reassuring that the panic comes from within; fluttering, choking, racing through time, with fluctuations dimming perceptions. A fitting approach for a coward. Emphasis always seems to be lost on cause, and I've lost the energy to take initiative this time. Sometimes it's nothing more than a clean shirt and a familiar pair of shoes. It always seems like a blind search. It's frustrating seeing some cope so well, while I stumble and slip. You can call it "soul" searching, if it suits you. And here I'm perched; stagnant shades of blue and beige, speakers, lost souls; white noise. Living on borrowed time.

2. Tent Caterpillar

It's a constant humanity overhaul. Clear cut, and cut to fit. Wild cries of purity deafened and drowned out by the bellows of domestication: control. Steady flowing lights pouring through the night sky, running down the drifters of this "empty darkness". Urbanization and industrial manipulation, bleeding the sphere of its life creating pride, bleeding it of life. Imagine redemption....Covering its surroundings like nets; a blanket of life. Consuming what we take for granted....Yeah if only that were true. But the cocoons haven't changed a thing, nor will this arthropod. We'd all like to believe that it takes only one solution to solve the problem. But the truth is dedication and work. I guess naturalism has become passe.

3. Greeting Bedlam

It never started with flow, a conscience, or inspiration. Only minds poised on the goal of infiltration. The point of excursion forgotten not far from the beginning, but the witch-hunt proceeds. Time and time again, searched out and eliminated with no foresight on consequence, "the now" encompasses all perceptions and focus is set on the fake leaves. Guard cells of plastic and nylon. A total lack of foundation. Always the critic aren't you? Each team as guilty as the next; while the point is constantly being missed. I must admit, I enjoy the fabrication, you'd think we're all reinforced by inorganic supports from time to time. The plastic ones. Merit less in a forum dependent on stature. All swollen with pride. Fading with the next vision (with age), and a vested interest that's pre-approved. Their rightful place; no marks on the walls; no influence; nothing lost nothing gained. But they've paved the way for the next generation of fake leaves.

4. Brainstem Pitch Fork

The story about one man, the lost man. Swaying from ideologies and niche. Enjoying her company, yet wanting more. These are the things that handicaps are made of. I saw his embryo in the moon and it has come, just a year too late. The cycles are over like a sleek blade in the sharps. I've no need for simplicity or banal ubiquity. Others may need an interpreter, I prefer to face the game alone. Full of confusion, but it's self defined truth. Without realization there is nothing, just pull the wool back over your eyes. Ignorance is bliss. So is innocence. Life forces us to lose one. We have to force ourselves to lose the other. Brainstem pitch fork. Sequence spreads, now malignant. Deeply embedded branded neurotransmission. Eyes tell the tale, light years beyond. Fearing to be prey, it's our final day.

5. Matlock

It's a psychological lash-back this time blaming sex. It's not your fault, but inevitably you will pay for the mental obstacle course of adolescence. Subject to subject, you will be used and discarded. Empathy is for the weak. You'll wait and let it destroy you, never realizing your insignificant roll in this most eloquent scope of narcissistic grandeur. Warrior of the broken hearted, taking redemption past its boundaries, entering the realm of the obscene. You spent that last breath on something never said. That situation left for dead. Breaking their will isn't hard. Neither is leaving them dead inside. Feel lucky, it isn't everyday someone is born a god. I feel lucky, because I found I am my own god. You belong to me my dear.

6. When The Car Crashes

Cleb footed monarchy, latch your teeth to the rines. Forcibly plastooned, big dog makes thin ice. Rines for grape gravy, a sealed fate. Washing the weight of the ruins proves lumbered. I held you to it. Those words you spoke. Sliding, weak, enhanced in beauty. Feed me spiders, deserting misdemeanour. Lost old rules, children please.

7. Bite The Wax Tadpole

It's the same idea being recycled, strange how it always returns to square one. Sitting there, so innocently. You can almost reach out, but hold back. Kicking yourself in the aftermath. Clenched tight, with wandering eyes. A poet's soul, while lacking central theme and concentration lay shattered on the floor. But I remain. Footsteps deep inside, while attractive eyes dart about once every so often. Holding the moment when text becomes reality and all else is relative. Grinding, twisting echoes, like pins to the senses sparking telepathic conversations leading a new feedback forward. And I remain. A familiar face set to a different tone. With clearness that speaks a beautiful story demanding to be read. But my lack of words holds me back. The situation breeds the opposition. We remain. Readiness hits the fan as ideas spark confusion, and assertiveness only serves as aggravation. The clock sets the stage. The piano plays on. Separate, we move on.

8. Supposed Sexual Frustration

This is a case of lack of reactivity. Misinterpretation of actions, something is missing in the sequence and so difficult to focus on the cause. Viewing successful behaviour and dismissing it as brutish, immature, petty. But successful. Suppressed frustration. It's one long run of the blaming game. Based on insecurity? Lack of identity? Need for poetic masterpiece? Need for release. Cautious to a fault, while actions go unnoticed due to different perspectives of the game. A lack of knowledge of the rules, or rebellion against them. This rebellion is faced alone; in dark tranquillity. Separation of mind from body. Culture from mind. Digging deeper but coming up short. Falling to convenience and familiarity. It's bearable, a relatively painless repetition. I like to think that I don't care. It's harder than it seems. Resist temptation. The cycle begins again. Where did we go wrong? Where did "we" go?

9. Likeliness Is Against You

Completely devoid of colour, she peers down upon us. Winds rise and fall; with human voices as leaves....chattering and falling, piling like corpses. Searching for answers to questions you can't even define. Observation proves to be both a gift and a curse. Filled with a sense of confusion, an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach. This void has no satisfaction, and it reminds me of this fact every night. They make me sick. And the pain of it refuses to cease. Nothing is ever done. Picking life apart before it can be lived. Each situation dissected and dismissed. Left cold and redundant, trapped within this self-propelled cycle; motivated by fear. And likeliness is against you.

10. This One's For The Sheep (Demo)

11. Life Exchange Plan (Demo)

12. Looks Like A Failure (Demo)

There are times when that stimulus just isn't there. This is one of them. This information just isn't getting through this troubled smokescreen. Trivialize what I have accomplished to rationalize your shortcomings. Disregard dedication and desire and explain it with shallow rhetoric. You call self-actualization your explanation. Take a look at yourself. Using dogma to suppress the overwhelming realization of the inevitable consequences of your actions. Try to take me down a notch. Make me petty. Create the "illusion" that you have me beaten; that I am weak. What face will you put on in a few months? When this one is tired and bled? Too many experiments I wish I never took part in. Continually creating monsters that must be quarantined. I'll turn my back this time. Looks like a failure from the start. I'm just too tired to deal with it anymore. Totally consumed by this overwhelming exhaustion. Looks like a failure.

13. Hibernation Has Never Been A Better Option (Demo)

KEN MODE LYRICS