Black Cassette

by Wreck and Reference

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released February 25, 2011




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Wreck and Reference Los Angeles, California


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Track Name: All the Ships Have Been Abandoned
From my masted opaque deep the days go by.
Seeing my beds empty half,
I turned to fall from dark to darkness.
Whats it like to not have hands?
All the ships have been abandoned.
Track Name: Surrendering
I prescribed myself a prone prolonged surrender.
And proscribed my born role of friend and pretender.
Abdicated agencys affirming splendor.
And took to my bed a mind with which to render,
a world in which I still felt tender.
Confer upon this frail frame,
a warrant for my given name,
an agent I can justly blame,
and a brain complacent and tame.

And the prognosis is a slow descent
of steadily increasing increments
of liquor to the stomach of the sick.
Track Name: In Chains, Awakening
Awakening, the fissures of my face separate.
Forcing focus in below the weight of dreams and in their space.
A frozen, fallow world awaits, beyond my hollow bed.
To wrap my body up in violent shakes
and cast my skull in dread.
I mean to bathe to cleanse myself of sleeps subtle grace.
But the chains, they hold me here in place.
So I spend one more day in cotton grave, another day erased.
One more day fully encased, another memory effaced.
And I will not, turn the key. Unlock these chains, set free.
Track Name: Evening Redness
I am not sure of a world outside this wine.
But if there is one then I am a bastard of it.
Feel the embers warm my bones, in the wasteland that is west.

The mountain man is a scary beacon,
decide what kind of martyrs we should grow.
From the cedar table stands disgust
of a chopped up sewer man,
impale them all and live like kings.
Track Name: Desire, Ether
I know that when Ill lose myself to ether
from the riches of imaginary land,
heaven wont be in a place where my blood will pour,
filling into stoic rays of will.
You and I are vibrations on a newsreel,
inexorable seas, modernity.
I am not free, nor are we,
becoming aught but history.
Track Name: A Lament
Breaking up in tiny rooms
suckling on the teat of space.
In lucid fields Ive come to pass
in the bottle I do see his face.
Mother, have we come to terms
when our insides become unlaced.
Knowing that itll come to this
the absolute nothing black of space.
Bloody trips in all the world
walled up here like theres a race.
Do walls mean we have mottled hearts?
Our will continues on the rays.
Planets always moving out
spreading at a steady pace.
Spinoza, sorry, when fission stands
there wont be god, just blacker space.