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letra de clay pigeons - deca

[intro – sample]
the creative power working through the mind of men has produced the modern world
we have learned how to release vast sources of energy
and we’ve learned how to make wonderful machines that can travel around the world in a few days
all this has brought humanity under the action of immensely strong material forces
we do not dominate these forces
they dominate us
lifе on earth is getting more and more complicatеd every generation
there’s no room for the inner life

[verse 1 – deca]
back to work, separating grassroots from astroturf
as half-truths they try to pass off as facts emerge
keep me tethered to the ground, bring me back to earth
when i blast off and take my place in the galactic church

i’m trying to grasp light and dark’s vacillations
in a white room with black curtains at the station
creed makes the world spin like dervishes and daytons
and leads men astray into the serpent’s machinations

with strictures and cave wall fl!cks to hypnotize
i eat my daily tripe with bare hands, it’s undignified
the mantra on the cloven tongue of mammon’s like nails
on a chalk board inside the stomach of a white whale
eyes popping out the sockets
watching profits line pockets
and the price of bought-and-sold souls skyrocket
walk a road wrought with skulls not with gold
fraught with signs, roadblocks and obstacles that defy logic

[chorus – deca]
life’s a package deal
you take the beautiful days with dark nights
and dance with maya in the starlight
it’s alright
we wax and we wane
there’s wildflowers growing from the cracks in my brain

dry your eyes
revitalise
alive and well
practising my aim by a grave of fireflies
that fell like simon magus from the sky
and hit the ground
(what do you think is falling down?)

[verse 2 – deca]
right as rainfall, sent to pacify the violent flames
hydroplaned on torrential tear drops, a crying shame
find your lane
find the book of life, sign your name
lose your way, hit creative brick walls
times have changed, is it
art or artifice, sleight of hand parlor tricks
-rs-nic or medicine, h-ll-bound or heaven-sent
sound the sirens we’re here, on earth stranded
where the seeds of my present pathos were first planted
if words are weapons i’ll address and press every issue
and spit bullets that’ll rip through your connective tissue
the precinct guard gave us sin, fire and brimstone
and said it’s either devil’s nectar or holy water to wet your whistle

but love alone can turn thistles into daffodils
so no dogma for me, thanks, i had my fill
had my fill of powder, black tar, acid pills
catholic guilt and running from my problems like it’s track and field

dry your eyes
revitalise
alive and well
practising my aim by a grave of fireflies
that fell like simon magus from the sky
and hit the ground
(what do you think is falling down?)

- deca

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