I have this recurring nightmare:
Flailing pigeon, her broken feet
Frozen solid to the freezing pavement.
I turn away as if I do not see.
I have this childhood memory
Of my old man screaming from the driver's seat
To turn away from an unfolding horror,
But he could not undo what I had seen.
We never spoke of it again.
Two more hapless citizens of
The new post-traumatic stress worldwide disorder.
A stockholm syndrome fifth estate,
Desperate to batten down the mounting horrors
And shuffle on in a global lotus gait.
Content to marinate in the plasma glow of the
Home entertainment prisons we
Commune before like dime-store shrines.
Are these but votive lives?
It's a strangled, twisted truss
That shores-up each of us.
Anything to dull the pain
Of a splintered lotus gait.
As for me a filigree of psychic police tape
Tends to cordon-off the darker scenes.
But the wandering mind stumbles through it
And relives them all eventually.
Pries open wide your eyes and shines a painful light
On the guilt, the fear, the shame.
The courage never came
From the plasma glow of the
Home entertainment prisons we
Cling to like dime-store shrines.
Are these but votive lives?
Conservative at heart.
A conformist from the start.
A stockholm syndrome fifth estate.
A staggering lotus gait.
It's a strangled, twisted truss
That shores-up each of us.
Anything to dull the pain
Of a self-inflicted, crippling lotus gait.
Flailing pigeon, her broken feet
Frozen solid to the freezing pavement.
I turn away as if I do not see.
I have this childhood memory
Of my old man screaming from the driver's seat
To turn away from an unfolding horror,
But he could not undo what I had seen.
We never spoke of it again.
Two more hapless citizens of
The new post-traumatic stress worldwide disorder.
A stockholm syndrome fifth estate,
Desperate to batten down the mounting horrors
And shuffle on in a global lotus gait.
Content to marinate in the plasma glow of the
Home entertainment prisons we
Commune before like dime-store shrines.
Are these but votive lives?
It's a strangled, twisted truss
That shores-up each of us.
Anything to dull the pain
Of a splintered lotus gait.
As for me a filigree of psychic police tape
Tends to cordon-off the darker scenes.
But the wandering mind stumbles through it
And relives them all eventually.
Pries open wide your eyes and shines a painful light
On the guilt, the fear, the shame.
The courage never came
From the plasma glow of the
Home entertainment prisons we
Cling to like dime-store shrines.
Are these but votive lives?
Conservative at heart.
A conformist from the start.
A stockholm syndrome fifth estate.
A staggering lotus gait.
It's a strangled, twisted truss
That shores-up each of us.
Anything to dull the pain
Of a self-inflicted, crippling lotus gait.
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Todd Kowalski: This one is sort of similar to “Note to Self.” It’s about the things that might be haunting us from our past, if we’re trying to avoid them with TV or drugs or music or whatever our own personal lotus gait is. Lotus gait are the little shoes they put on people so their feet won’t grow. So, it’s like our own personal shackles that keep us from growing as people or individuals.
The song is based around memories that haunt you. Chris and his family saw a big car accident when he was a kid and they’d never talked about it again until a year ago. Chris asked his dad if it was actually true and if he’d really seen it and his dad couldn’t believe that he remembered it. So it’s about the dark corners of your mind that you’re trying to hide and really, there’s no way to hide those dark corners.
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