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lyrics

I played a game, but just for the trophy,
Though not to say that gold was spray paint
That peeled away, became unappealing in time.
The figures at the top are glimmering, glittering, glistening, listening.

I checked the clock, but just for the numbers
That I think I could easily divide.
But the chemicals confuse blocky digitals
Providing only fractions, dates, and time.

I molded my mouth to smile wider,
Though not to say it changed without some pain.
Steel brackets and frames fastened together,
Forming metal mesh to keep them safe.
Though I am scared they're shifting back in place.

I carved with lead across every camera:
"It doesn't look like we are going back."
But when memory's placing past with the pleasant,
In the glass are just the words I scratched.

Decisions aren't decisions unless they make you cringe
And fragment you further like a natural dividend.
A cause's connotation is decided
Once the conflict has subsided
And you find yourself stop trying.

credits

from The Recordings Of​.​.​., released August 29, 2012

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Christian Lyon Chicago, Illinois

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