Hello everyone, happy week of solstice! Today we'd like to share some new lyrics. This is a song off our upcoming album The Eyes of Innocents entitled... well, it has no title. It's an Enigma of sorts. And as an Enigma, I invite all to to investigate the googols of ideas that we hope this lyric will invoke in the listener. Please, email us with your interpretations!
Quasar
Come now, travel to New Indigo!
Point your compass sharply east of Jericho.
There we'll climb the broken pyramid.
Thirty-three is the Majority.
I know what you're hiding!
Who can you trust to confide in?
So, why not just let it go?
Save the world from history,
It's in our hands.
To set this world free!
Do you see the Eagle fly?
They painted out the night
and plucked him from the sky.
So, why not just let it go?
And save this world from hertz,
just let it go!
I know the time will come
When all will see the light
That shines from every soul
And separates the darkness from the night.
Once upon a farce
I felt I knew it all
But now I feel I've been betrayed
I'm just the sacrificial cow.
Come home soon said the Man on the Moon.
We've a place for you in the Paris Commune,
The seventh son plays a curtain tune for you.
The time to wink is the time to see.
The Turf Club patrons all agree, Why
is their only swan song overdue?
A Curates egg, by some mistake,
Could give as much as they could take.
The land will quake and change its point of view.
The Seventh Son of the seventh Sun
played ducks and drakes 'till the summer's done.
He's on the run and off to something new!
The summer's gone.
Madness reigns on.
Moving fingers write, "The donkeys are leading us all.
Led by the Holy eight ball".
Mockery against the wall.
I think therefore I think I am.
I am pink therefore I am spam.
I drink because I can.
Please release me, let me go free. Just
show me the way to the door.
I want to retire from this war.
To be left alone!
No more Alternative three
No more presidential decree
Free just to be and plant seed
But...
There's a chill in the air,
Our winter is near
We were so close to the truth
So close to our labor's sweet fruit,
But now the idea is moot,
the voice of the innocents mute.
Here comes the fire, let it burn higher!
The rising tides rage in their beds,
The best laid plans of mice and men...
Curse this machine, killer of dreams
It serves you and I just as well.
Our freedom sold now by cartel.
Sifting through the wreckage, I can hear me saying things I never said.
Has everything that happened just existed here, or was it in my head?
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