1. |
Path To The Coast
06:47
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The path to the coast is blocked.
not by death nor deep water.
The dictations made the knave;
they made him back.
Will you pay by cash or card?
Will you listen to reason?
He stood still, he wore the sign
high: turn back around.
The path to the coast is blocked.
You've jumped sub-par to prison.
The latter should be nirvana,
costless, proud
to guide you.
Will you pay by cash or card?
Will you listen to reason?
He stood still, he wore the sign
high: turn back around
The dictations made the knave
a sub-par prison warden
with head plunged in deep water,
senses impaired.
The path to the coast is blocked
by fear-mongering bigots.
The ultimate agenda:
to keep you, not
to guide you.
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2. |
T-Rex
04:14
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These fear advisories: gasoline,
reserve it for your neighbour.
War-cry true blue,
drowns out more from being heard.
Living free here's chipped away.
Exchange compassion for security
all for boycott.
Save us.
These fear advisories: damaging
beware imaginary guns.
A pterodactyl;
T-rex; terrorism.
Living free here's chipped away.
Exchange compassion for security
all for boycott.
We're fucked.
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3. |
Other Million
03:47
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Landfill over the top.
Back-burned away 'til it's gone,
prised aside, now fishfood.
Portside, all nets up.
Next stop the butcher then the little boy's gut and
from the way you went in, come back up.
Buried head down too far.
Flushed out waste departure.
spirals away for reunion.
Reunion in veteran form with the
composite it was before. Now our
mortar forevermore.
Portside, all nets up.
Next stop the butcher then the little boy's gut and
from the way you went in, come back up.
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4. |
Problem Dog
03:50
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A hundred to one circled around you would look like a
target from a bird's-eye view under
the midnight light where everything was fine until in a
fit the culprit clenched his fist. He
swung and he hit, peaking a his trip, tight in the
grip of the shot up narcotic.
Felled to the earth, his foot kept you in the dirt and those shells of
people stood by and dared not disturb.
What is left?
Reminders in the
blooded sores; the
consequence; the
neutral talk of the
upper hand
writing records and
ready to grasp the
smooth handle of
the gavel.
Fuck it's loud.
No narcs were called to kill the problem dog or just put him
down for what his life is really worth.
Let him run free to drugs and debauchery whilst meanwhile
we ensure justice is remedied. A
re-percussive burn. He got what he deserved so that he'd
learn that the dog accountable for the hurt
gets the leash, the cage, and the remainder of his days trialed by
fate whilst bearing the "I fucked up" weight.
What is left?
Reminders in the
blooded sores; the
consequence; the
neutral talk of the
upper hand
writing records and
ready to grasp the
smooth handle of
the gavel.
Fuck it's loud.
Feel its effect.
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5. |
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Born too late, screaming and in the wrong place.
Bored but healthy. Drum those fingers 'til they break.
Is that what I have to do?
Am I pushing this wall
to test which way it will fall?
Or am I holding it upright?
When it crushes us all
will you rejoice in the achieved goal?
To bask in the rubble.
How do you live? Tread the trail most lucrative.
Drown in this, slowly resurface bloated.
Is that what you have to do?
Am I pushing this wall
to test which way it will fall?
Or am I holding it upright?
When it crushes us all
will you rejoice in the achieved goal?
To bask in the rubble.
Chafing against other drifters 'til I find my space.
This pit where we submit
to these blunted toxicants
stops my sinking.
How can you just be
willing to dull yourself
for the ease of it?
Don't let your future
relent to putrid
Five days, on/off, weekends pissed:
why you live.
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6. |
Macallan Est. 1824
04:25
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Woke up to the feeling of
knives plunged into my head and
poison in my stomach besides a
ruffled gap in the bed where you
fucked off in the morning to
get dressed as I was sleeping. But
I kept one eye open when you rose.
Faked sleep to dodge "thank you and goodbye."
Still I couldn't bring myself to speak for a
lack of connection to everything that
makes you think I'm good, stable
and with a full heart to present.
But at least Macallan's lament in the morning, mourning's a
great excuse to play dead. I'm a burning body, I'm
still with knives in my head and you twist them
out.
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7. |
Zealot
05:42
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Swollen with venom from doctrines
for those who didn't read them
or imbibed the poetry a certain way
into principles of hate.
The calloused fist and tongue: the trophies
from a deemed enemy
who never fought back right from the start.
who woefully lived
through your spat mouthful.
Arcane vision.
Self-righteous mission.
First fix the problem.
Hold this fucking mirror.
Stare a while, stand as if
to rehearse your revile. You're
no divine instrument
you lost brainwashed puppet.
This resolve I call mine
gushes at the cracks. I've no
stiff upper lip for you,
no shred of deference.
The most tangible taste's
not bleak tragedy it's
disgust enough to make me
throw up until I'm inside-out.
Why can't you just see plain?
Your inane faith campaign's
in-vain, insufferable
deplorable, deficient.
No change for the zealot.
No reform.
Made hollow and starved yet
somehow full.
No change for the zealot.
No reform.
Just prayers for curses.
You won't hear me out
ever
when I tell you
my point of view.
Who made you fear so?
Who stole your choices
from way back when you were young?
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8. |
Rooftops-The Equator
04:56
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Never thought you'd be
hanging ten in light, carefree
before such a drop so steep
to fall and nose-dive
into the concrete earth.
But keep your pin-drop figure head first.
Building tops
Send you off.
The edge of everything.
The equinox.
Hands over eyes block the sun. Watch those lives
move just like fallen rain with the lights as the floodgates.
When you hit the concrete. Stop the flow, halt their feet,
turn their eyes, turn their stomachs, set the example
as a result.
With the weight aimed forward to fall,
it's too late to console.
You left life on the ledge,
the ledge that you left off.
"Daddy, watch him fall"
glued eyes to the sky with
the words of a little girl.
Had you not fallen so fast,
you might have just gotten one last chance
to glance but a final look back.
Falling head first half-nude,
halfway mid-air changed your mind to
"not sure if I even wanna die."
Building tops
Send you off.
The edge of everything.
The equinox.
With the weight aimed forward to fall,
it's too late to console.
You left life on the ledge,
the ledge that you left off.
"Daddy, watch him fall"
glued eyes to the sky with
the words of a little girl.
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9. |
Hate Speech
05:23
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Killers surrounded by
cameras. Microphone in hand.
Trigger. Your words just like
bullets aimed at more like you.
Bombs fall heavy on your
people, heavy from your mouth.
Silence and shrapnel scar the
province. The guilty guiltless hide away
in rocket proof walls.
Behind the flag;
it's a shield
to protect
you from them: the public.
Wake up to the
sound of reveille
amongst the din of
crashing buildings.
That's for a life lived underfed
and lived with hands above the head.
Not straying too far from back home
to find the nearby regions blown
to dust.
What do you see when you go to sleep?
The trembling whore down on here knees?
The empty shells? The holes in the streets?
The amputee weeping for sanctuary lost?
Medals pinned across where the
heart is covers up the hole.
Crosshairs always red on
civilians who had their tongues torn out for
talking, reprimanding your folly.
Talking much too loud outside
in rocket proof walls.
Behind the flag;
it's a shield
to protect
you from them: the public.
Wake up to the
sound of reveille
amongst the din of
crashing buildings.
Perched above the ground to overlook the crowd;
their hands were reaching out but riot cops beat and bashed them back down
over and over 'til blood started to show.
"In the name of God" you said, so it can't be your fault.
Wake up to the
sound of reveille
amongst the din of
crashing buildings.
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10. |
You Folded
07:56
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Black dog's eyes in the
darkness sparkling; the
only sentry over you at
this frigid hour. The
outskirts of town breathe
mist that would fondle your skin. What
a perfect place to
dump this dead weight, this
husk of a vessel that you've dragged
by hand in that tarp bag. Your
cross everyday. You
folded to rage. How
strange of love to draw us to our prey.
Now do your hands bleed from the
ho and the heave? Loved
ones wrapped up sure are heavy for
what they are worth in
kindness and perks. Did it
all come off to you as a curse? Was
it not enough, or all just too much to
keep those huffed eyes of yours shut?
Result: total distrust. In
your face I see no
guilt, just relief. This
bestial self remedy; the
lid that trapped the steam
unveiled unleashed what boiled beneath.
And still you place the blame
upon the victim.
Now your world risks the trade
for your new secret.
Those gauging words said when you
charged head to head could
only be resolved in the riverbed. It's
time to breathe out and
turn back around, follow
backward footsteps in soft ground and
trudge back to see reality
unchanged yet vicariously
brand-new, unclean.
And now that you're back, how
do you react when your
last night's whereabouts come under attack?
Keep plain, don't crack,
stay the trembling arm that hides the axe.
And still you place the blame
upon that sunken carcass.
Now your world risks the trade
for your new secret.
The sun's in ascent
now you've breached the barrier.
Is there a limit
living on the run as a harrier?
The sun's in ascent
now you've breached the barrier.
Carve a bloody trauma
in that black dog's eyes.
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11. |
Cataphract
10:45
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There's something in the way you act:
it's a fucking cataphract.
I can't sever the surface,
dig at the seams, reach underneath.
It's where I try to be; it's where I'd die to be. Far from
tortured fantasies,
give me memories.
What I want you to see is
me jump the gap and then
fail the leap with
upward stretched hands. How can
I ever leave the idea of us? When your
bare apathy grinds my
broken half-heart all the more
to a pulp.
There's something in the way I am:
passive only for effect so you can't
witness the colour
in my choked bloom retching for you.
Oh how it lacks today, waned and relapsed to grey. I want
more than fantasies,
give me memories.
Tamed fake austerity's like
holding my breath but has
value to me and it's
calling my death to make
haste for the claim but be
slow when it comes. If it's
how it should be then it's
how I want this to be done.
By the skin of my hands and the
bones down my spine, if your
love can't be had I'll set this
whole world on fire. Where's that
nether skin plain I've not
met yet miss tough? Where's your
calm, vivid face smiling
sorry as I self-destruct?
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RHINO Hobart, Australia
Forming in 2012 and hailing from Hobart Tasmania, RHINO haven't slowed in catapulting their powerful, unique sound delivered
with raw passion onto the Australian music scene.
In January 2015 RHINO unveiled thein highly anticipated debut LP An Eclectic Account.
Now after 2 years of honing their music, RHINO are charging into 2015 with a boiling vengeance. You'll hear it when it comes.
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