Tangled wires make trampolines
where feathered chumps can jump so high
for robots built from lumps of change
We’re watching from the amphitheatre
Stroking copper beards
Hand feeding the under dogs of clay
They see them melt into the sun and bet on who has won, applaud the rabid & the fearful champions
We’ll mold them back to form again
these feral savage simpletons
Faulty by their tragic birth of sin
(Hey! I’m not full)
With all these ones and zeros
I cannot see the lines
Crossed between the T’s I feared i’ve,
dotted all the eyes
Watchers and their windows
Have blamed the old man blind
Still they sit and fear those
God damn ones and zeros down the line
And behold the storm came to strike
Right at the heart of the gaping maw
The oracle, a tool, was innocent, but she knew everything, all along.
The eyelids of the watchers would shut out the light for everyone.
The dogs grew hungry, for the bottomless pit of answers,
Sustenance .
For the hounds that forgot how to hunt at all
and sat complacent, playing with rubber balls
Waiting for the hand of robots to quench their faith and fill their souls.
They reach out still
with a snout raw, and dysfunctional
Seeking for the scent
of something that doesn’t exist
anymore.
On their new EP, the British quartet channel their experimental rock chops into ambitious suites that flow effortlessly. Bandcamp Album of the Day May 6, 2019