Hungry Ghost

by hjeartzz

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about

All songs written and recorded by T Morgan.

Additional vocals on 'Briony / Bryony' and 'Friends that Should and Shouldn't Be': Shaun Francis.
Additional vocals on 'Flowering Judas': L Cooper.

Nicola Tesla's 'Thought Camera' drawn by T Hyman.

credits

released October 18, 2014

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hjeartzz UK

Bedroom superstars from a pop-geek universe, mixing schoolboy earnestness with bratty, teenage rock 'n' roll.



Booking: hjearts@gmail.com

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Track Name: Hungry Ghost pt.2
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.
Track Name: Briony / Bryony
My hopes sink like a stone
into the truth I had known lay beneath the unknown,
as I watch you float on
and way out beyond what you’ve clearly outgrown.

I stalk the streets that had bled
every dream from the life I had previously led,
as you unfurl on beds,
where threads come easily undone by the easily misled;

but that love’s so cheap and easy, Briony.

So, crawl around, and let them lead you to the water,
where you can drink and follow orders like a good whore.

Now the love I have missed
has been washed down the drain with semen and piss,
as the stench on your lips
betrays the vile intentions that bloom from your kiss;

it works wonders for your dignity, Bryony.

So let’s crown your ambition’s certain failure
with grapes of thorn that slowly sour, when no one’s at your door.
As you crawl around and let them lead you to the water,
where you can drink and follow orders like a good whore.

So fuck, fuck away all that bile and self-pity,
until your hollow shell’s a worthless sell at the ripe age of 19.
I used to envy those who would one day become me,
but I know these words will follow you in a language they can’t read.

So let burn beneath the eyes of a salt pillar
that wretched heart waxing bitter, locked in your dresser drawer,
as you crawl around, and have them lead you to the water,
where you can drink and follow orders like a good whore.
Track Name: Much Ado About Fucking
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?
Track Name: Friends that Should and Shouldn't Be
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.)
Track Name: Flowering Judas
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.
Track Name: Wishful Thinking
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.