Testo Stone Cold Sober - Mathas feat. Empty
Testo della canzone Stone Cold Sober (Mathas feat. Empty), tratta dall'album Armwrestling Atlas
I've been holdin' off the ache now for years watching their collars pop
gossip blabber gods,
forever flapping their box.
I'm studying their movements with a vitamin D vibrance,
imagining how they'd look if they were lying lifeless,
but every skerrick of my being hates hate and loathes violence
and its an insult to insist when life is time priceless.
Back in 03 my planet poked a bit of fun,
turned the tragic handle,
when half these fucking camels couldn't even hold a candle to him.
Gave me a dead leg.
Learnt to let it sink in.
Magnetism blinking.
Etchasketch on hyper in my head,
trying to dry-wretch a mention from the earth of why he ended up dead.
Pack of human parasites still clinging to the surface,
nurtured little virus on a cell inside the vein humming a resonance I've only found inside an 808.
Crushing on my planet's hum,
hand-drumming on it,
think I might've learnt to understand it some,
or something.
Nobody's opus, a buddy moment de-muffled its tongue.
Said something... I swear it said something.
Crushing on my planet's hum,
cold-lamping on it,
think I might've learnt to understand it some,
and I was stone cold sober, technicolor cloak,
at one with adding to it til my species time to go.
That's my pearly gates mate,
strings plucking the plasma,
illustrating the universe,
dwarfs whatever you're worth.
Little and weakly made,
either the prick or the lame claim pick of the fetal,
planet muzzled in that self-worth bubble.
When a nucleus is nutrient, DNA's a maze,
dubious and indescript slowly come of age,
in that indefinite certain,
clapping through the curtain close,
10 years to the marker now I first stared at its code.
I saw the hills as mesh and the river a wire-frame,
its respiratory system huffing waves to wake and break.
That memory is interlinked with smoke, a bit of heartache,
me and Norah Jones wailing top deck of the boat,
with a soaked packet of Marlboro red top pocket of coat
willingly looking in limited intervals into the riff of the keynote.
I was 19, red gum sapping out the opens,
lucid, hallucinating, understanding motion.
Crushing on my planet's hum,
hand-drumming on it,
think I might've learnt to understand it some,
or something.
Nobody's opus, a buddy moment de-muffled its tongue.
Said something... I swear it said something.
Crushing on my planet's hum,
cold-lamping on it,
think I might've learnt to understand it some,
and I was stone cold sober, technicolor cloak,
pulsing off the orb hum, encompassing its glow,
at one with adding to it til my species time to go.
And I'm alright with that.
Credits
Writer(s): Brian James Kruger
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