1. |
Hungry Ghost pt.2
02:15
|
|||
When I die, I'm trading these bones
for the heart of each girl I have known,
and each heart will be fed to the ghost
of the hopes we would sadly let go,
when for fear I would sleep so as not to crawl
through the heart-ache, the woes, the alcohol,
and dream but a dream so small:
that I might be nothing at all.
|
||||
2. |
Briony / Bryony
02:49
|
|||
Unnecessarily angry and bitter words - words which took no responsibility for the dissolution of the relationship in which I was a part of. Instead, I pointed the finger in the most inappropriate manner.
I feel embarrassed and ashamed for such blatantly sexist language. Although I knew better, I deliberately tried to demean and degrade a person who, months earlier, I had felt a great fondness for. I was hurt and I behaved in a cowardly manner.
The past is past, and I cannot undo what has been done, but I am sorry for any upset I caused. I should have been stronger, more considerate, and less of an asshole. I was wrong.
|
||||
3. |
Much Ado About Fucking
02:14
|
|||
It isn't hard when you come off easy,
desperate and so God-damned needy,
when I could be just any body
for all you could care.
But you're the heir to every bad idea
in every song, down to the dregs of this beer.
It's laissez-faire with a hint of despair
and two heads for the noose.
So do what you do
with that kick-about-heart,
because we both know we're being used.
As you fall from your dress into the arms of regret,
you act all coy, when every word presents a real threat.
Feeling self-conscious and barely erect,
but I lack the self-respect
to let this rest.
Besides, it's only sex.
So keep doing as you do,
because I might be confused,
but at least I know I'm being used.
Easy come. Easy gone.
Fuck a girl then write a song.
If it feels like something's wrong,
well, who wronged whom?
Because we have nothing and nothing to lose,
but that's something we can nurse, besides these wounds.
Maybe it's true, we're all a little bruised.
But what would I know?
|
||||
4. |
||||
I'll pour one more and then I'm through,
or I'll be heaving at the floor
before it's quarter-to-two.
But what's one more
if I can stomach four?
This sorry show is getting so old,
being so alone with these old shoes
that I could never fill -- it's true.
Barely able to move in an empty room
for all of these reminders of you.
And I wonder how you've been,
even though I'll never see you again.
I leave my bedroom door open,
sat on the barren wooden floor
looking for something to do,
and feel so unsure
of what I'd do before.
Count the cracks up on the ceiling,
believing that there could be something more
if I'd squeeze through the plasterboard -- I must be bored.
But there are worse things on which I depend
than the thought-dreams up inside my head.
Still, I wonder how you've been,
about your new friends,
if they make you laugh like I did,
if you're happy that you finally fit in,
and if you ever think of me,
just for a second.
(I know it's sad, but it's true.)
|
||||
5. |
Flowering Judas
01:44
|
|||
There's a slight on the day
to the sound of your name,
but they don't have a clue.
As you buckle and break
and try hard not betray
that it never was you.
So you smile, show your teeth
with the greatest of ease,
though it brings no relief
from the weight of the truth:
that the fruits of all you ever do
are rotten through and through.
Now your failures become
your successes in turn,
'cause you've nothing to lose
when you withstand the confusion
pressing down on your lungs --
well, what else can you do?
And you fear getting lost
in the unending thought
that you've already lost
a little part of what's you,
when it all falls apart from overuse
and is stuck back in part with glue.
So, when your heart turns blue,
all raw and undercooked --
hemmed-in by brittle bones
and caulked in body fluids;
when your guilt blooms
from the bud of a bruise:
everyone can see through you
and that knowing look
of being for whatever you can use.
See, all that was good
has been chewed-up and ruined
by the sinews of virtue
you hold everyone else to.
|
||||
6. |
Wishful Thinking
02:28
|
|||
I don't mind, no,
talking to myself sometimes -- it's fine,
but half the time,
it's enough to make a stronger man cry.
And friends, they'll say
"Well, hey! It doesn't have to be this way."
I'm sure they're right,
but in my life it's been easier
to walk away than stay
and take the blame
for whatever mistakes were made.
Because I can always drink until I drown,
fall hard to the ground.
Sure, it's not much of a life,
but if it works for me, it works.
So, call me insecure (well, sure!),
or maybe you think I'm self-assured.
Another cocky prick that has to crawl
beneath the weight of all his shit.
And, hey! You're probably right.
We can all act like a dick sometimes.
Still, I admit this in the hope
that one day I might get things right.
I mean, why lie?
And to myself this time?
Well, at what price?
You see, there's so little of me left now
to claim as my own,
I'm thinking that this body
must be a home away from home.
|
hjeartzz UK
Bedroom superstars from a pop-geek universe, mixing schoolboy earnestness with bratty, teenage rock 'n' roll.
Booking: hjearts@gmail.com
Streaming and Download help
hjeartzz recommends:
If you like hjeartzz, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp