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Dark Heart News (feat. Rob Sonic) Lyrics
• a.r. • so many dark arts to choose, you can focus ʻtil your phobias evolve
in 40 hues, whether you levitate or bend spoons, tune in to the prudence of
the dark heart news.
• rob sonic • breathingʼs a tug of war wet when I rushed aboard, flush 29 bus
gum stuck clutch the door, slumped in the back burned bush by the son of
george, sweat, tear, and feed cause I donʼt bleed when I cut no more.
• a.r. • i took a system of gods from each of the brolic tribes, so my bibleʼs
like a pot of cons clipped and collaged, pavlovʼs bad dogs parry mass bells,
i donʼt speak the language but my last laughʼs hell.
• rob sonic • spiral get vertigoʼd signals that flash and beep, postʼs in my
head from myself to get back to me, pouch full of dynamite blast cap anatomy,
bag full of smelling salts mad as the magazine, attack medic stretcher
called cracked crazy header fall, a threat a break a mistake with a pulse,
picking every last fucking piece of pain off the walls.
• a.r. • ok the rotary phoner grow to be notably mobile in social gopher tea
formals or any scene where brie is normal, he will locate every exit in seconds
to flee the wormhole when emergency diversions ring the celly or the
doorbell.
• rob sonic • burning it at both ends friends lets commiserate, turn it into something to the
sounds that the triggers make, born at the baddest sign and at this time iʼm still awake,
training all my zeroʼs to perform like theyʼre figure 8ʼs.
whether you levitate or bend spoons...
• a.r. • 4 corners of the globe, all invent fire on the very same day in the very same cold,
each sent a man with a torch to the borderline to boast, watch them collide and explode.
• rob sonic • when I peel the blinds back up jumps the iron cough, monkey wrench in my
hand, razors cut the eyelids off, home made tats for memories, i ignore the private calls,
and ever since the 80ʼs I think somethings in my tylenols.
• a.r. • dig it, what plague make an idling brigade so eager to walk planks they will climb
a tree and wait, where irony is weighed in over piety and faith so any ghostly rumination
stood unkindly disobeyed, and i will live to be a thousand with the patience of a saint, to
see the hoi-polloi becoming restless in their tanks, canʼt hold howls in corrals with a key, so
will the worms please shriek on the count of 3? 3!
• rob sonic • if I had a dollar for every time I couldnʼt sleep, i could buy a million locks and
finally read a book in peace, and no more would my president come off as a crooked thief,
who turned my heart so dark that it will bark when he looks for me.
• a.r. • sideways eye on a sinister boundary, panel of contemporaries killing me loudly, 99
models of fear on the wall, timorous, and done running kin to the car on the lawn cinderblocks.
3 legged dogs that chew up the wrong food, riffraff howling at moons with raw wolves, land
sharks know the take money money blues, dark heart news...
in 40 hues, whether you levitate or bend spoons, tune in to the prudence of
the dark heart news.
gum stuck clutch the door, slumped in the back burned bush by the son of
george, sweat, tear, and feed cause I donʼt bleed when I cut no more.
like a pot of cons clipped and collaged, pavlovʼs bad dogs parry mass bells,
i donʼt speak the language but my last laughʼs hell.
head from myself to get back to me, pouch full of dynamite blast cap anatomy,
bag full of smelling salts mad as the magazine, attack medic stretcher
called cracked crazy header fall, a threat a break a mistake with a pulse,
picking every last fucking piece of pain off the walls.
formals or any scene where brie is normal, he will locate every exit in seconds
to flee the wormhole when emergency diversions ring the celly or the
doorbell.
sounds that the triggers make, born at the baddest sign and at this time iʼm still awake,
training all my zeroʼs to perform like theyʼre figure 8ʼs.
whether you levitate or bend spoons...
each sent a man with a torch to the borderline to boast, watch them collide and explode.
hand, razors cut the eyelids off, home made tats for memories, i ignore the private calls,
and ever since the 80ʼs I think somethings in my tylenols.
a tree and wait, where irony is weighed in over piety and faith so any ghostly rumination
stood unkindly disobeyed, and i will live to be a thousand with the patience of a saint, to
see the hoi-polloi becoming restless in their tanks, canʼt hold howls in corrals with a key, so
will the worms please shriek on the count of 3? 3!
finally read a book in peace, and no more would my president come off as a crooked thief,
who turned my heart so dark that it will bark when he looks for me.
models of fear on the wall, timorous, and done running kin to the car on the lawn cinderblocks.
3 legged dogs that chew up the wrong food, riffraff howling at moons with raw wolves, land
sharks know the take money money blues, dark heart news...
