Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Abrasive Turns of Phrases , by - Eye of the Enemy. Release date: 10.10.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Abrasive Turns of Phrases |
| The wait, the gait |
| Of men divorced of meaning |
| Betrays their state |
| As pigeons stopped from preening |
| A plaintive plea |
| Is useless sophistry |
| I never wanted to be questioned why |
| I’m here, now |
| Grey, and unmoved |
| Twitching, unceasing |
| The tension taut between |
| Pain, unsoothed |
| And loss, twice removed |
| Normalized the fucking state of life |
| Where the fog alludes |
| To the internment of mind |
| The interminable stay in a section of swaying thoughts |
| And retorts |
| I, I can’t escape what’s prophesied |
| But I refuse to treat the wisdom as received |
| Just because another life has felt reprieve |
| Narcissistic terms, apologist conditions |
| Strenuous in turn; |
| constant atonal renditions |
| Of unconscious whims, sung by damaged neural strings |
| I can’t help what I can’t see |
| But I don’t presume what I could be |
| I’d rather be alone, than leave a space for spacelessness |
| I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness |
| I’d rather be alone, than be a space for spacelessness |
| I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness |
| And stress |
| A constant source of weakness |
| Your hand, interned, immune to touch and life and burns |
| You are not their progeny |
| Even if you want to be |
| I’d rather be alone, than leave a space for spacelessness |
| I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness |
| I’d rather be alone, than be a space for spacelessness |
| I’d rather die at home, than leave your face a sordid |
| Mess |
| I never wanted to be questioned why |
| I’m here |
| Now |
| Pushing the envelope |
| Punish the interloper |
| Pressure our nascent joy to stray |
| If I could write the beauty of your eyes |
| (You are the pebbles that my self runs over) |
| And in fresh numbers, number all your graces |
| (You texture me — you move the way I move) |
| The age to come would say «This poet surely lies |
| (You bend my surface — you reshape my groove,) |
| Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.» |
| (break the perfection of the rhythmed sliding surface of my heart) |
| Faces |
| Faces |
| Faces |
| Faces, unclean, they gleam |
| With saline acceptance |
| Phases, abrasive turns of phrases, like «life is a veil of tears.» |