1. |
Lepidoptera
06:28
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The forest dark and deep
As you fall asleep
Neither west or east
Wizards of dust take flight
Scaled wings fly towards light
Chasing the false moon
Textures predict disaster
Colors relay beauty
Eyes of no living being
Looking deep in the soul
I'll be what you want me to be
Just as long as that isn't me
Exclave to the enclave
Is what I am to be
I lost myself in seas of lust
And rage, and fire, and ice
Thoughts of becoming cold
Wishing that we'd never grow old
I know I had been here before
The forest of tranquility
Thoughts that vanished from my mind
Never felt so real
Watching suns explode in the sky
Heavy tears land on fire dry
Red eyed goddess of my cries
Prisoner of eternal life
Textures predict disaster
Colors relay beauty
Eyes of no living being
Looking deep in the soul
I'll be what you want me to be
Just as long as that isn't me
Exclave to the enclave
Is what I am to be
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2. |
Adhara & Ray
06:29
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Grasping tight upon
Nothing but his sorrow and emptiness
Beholding a way out
Seems there's no escaping chance in there
The mirror reflects his face
With desperation, bust, and fear
Life has no sense to him
Can someone rescue him out of there?
This
Is
The
Story of uncertainty
Adhara and Ray are searching for their way out
Unaware of each other's existance
Now destiny has chosen to cross their paths
But were they able to make it?
Will they survive this pity less and cruel world?
No way out!
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3. |
Desires
04:35
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Hate
Feeding up my thirst
I cannot control this
I have to break away
Hey!
What's your plan today?
How can I confront this dying trace you left?
Lying?
Crying
Dying?
Are we
To keep
Our Desires?
No!
I won't!
Wasted my precious time, I won't take it anymore!
No!
No more!
Were you expecting me to wait for you all along?
The cosmos aligned to put us through
But you were not there
You weren't there!
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4. |
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Cat's foot iron claw
Neuro-surgeons scream for more
At paranoia's poison door
Twenty first century schizoid man
Blood rack barbed wire
Politicians' funeral pyre
Innocents raped with napalm fire
Twenty first century schizoid man
Death seed blind man's greed
Poets' starving children bleed
Nothing he's got he really needs
Twenty first century schizoid man
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MOTHS San Juan, Puerto Rico
Fusing charming familiarity with captivating freshness, MOTHS demonstrates an exceptional ability and willingness to saturate shades of their musical forebearers with plenty of wide-ranging and idiosyncratic personality.
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