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1. |
Neibolt
05:31
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All the times that I've been shaken since I last saw you.
And somehow, my spine is not.
I cross the threshold.
When I see the signs, I'll do us the favor.
The earth shakes.
So they won't question the backdrop of every nightmare.
You know where it comes from.
You know where to look.
It's never moved.
It's never even tried to change form.
Sitting, waiting, confident, looming over the voices rang silent by its splintered hands.
Stripped paint.
Broken foundations.
We have that in common.
And so too, the audacity.
I shouldn't have thought that I could run away from all that has happened here.
I carry. I carry it with me.
As a token of my gratitude, in the efforts of my worth, I choose to breathe in its ashes and walk among the dirt.
Before I do what I came here to.
I'm wet with anticipation.
I give the floor to the casket and let it speak, for itself.
Hoping the fire can match my throat, a furnace, hoarse from the years that I've spent cursing it.
But it's easy to think you're free of it when the tables are charred.
Nothing tastes quite as good as the salt in the wound.
I shouldn't have thought that I could run away from all that has happened here.
I carry. I carry it with me.
As a token of my gratitude, in the efforts of my worth, I choose to breathe in its ashes and walk among the dirt.
Look me in the eye.
I know you're always lingering, lurking, creaking inside.
Right behind every fucking door in my head.
All roads lead to here.
This poisoned wellspring.
And every thread that runs from you seeps into my life no longer.
I knew someday I'd have the strength to leave you in this place.
I leave you in the dirt.
And hope the visions stay with it.
I'm never coming back.
I'm never coming back to you.
I'm never coming back to this place.
Do you hear me?
I think that I still hear it creaking.
The ashes of my path.
Charred in the wreckage beneath my feet.
It's difficult to carry the remnants, when you leave no trace.
Leave your mark, just this once.
Retaliate.
Raise your voice, to the damage done.
So others won't have to question.
That you can distinguish the fire.
Just this once.
You tell yourself.
You tell yourself.
...As the fire spreads.
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2. |
Morning Star
05:10
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We’ve held our weight in shame.
A paper position of worth.
And we set into motion.
The Morning Star.
That finally draws its teeth.
Before the swing is thrown.
We revolve.
And collide in lucid dreaming.
(Constant lucid dreaming).
So it stands to reason.
That we’d make our way, down, down eventually.
Guilt.
Wreaks havoc on us all.
And until the pendulum swings my way.
I’ll watch it destroy the last shred of nerve you have left.
Glass eyes.
A spiderweb in function.
Reflecting jaws of the Stars’ rotation.
The web it subtly forms.
After the swing is thrown.
We revolve.
And collide in lucid dreaming.
(Constant lucid dreaming).
So it stands to reason.
That we’d make our way, down, down...
To the battleground.
Grounds for desertion or total disaster.
I’ve had enough of the waiting.
Forward march to our waltz among the minefield.
One by one I can hear the tremors all around.
The cratering.
Closing in.
Circle as the shockwaves bring us back to the start.
Since you know something I don’t.
You should know that I can go it alone.
And bear the marks on my chest.
Strong enough to stand now.
In your web.
Above the swing.
Above the strike.
Exposed. (Explode).
We revolve, we deny.
So it stands to reason.
That we’d make our way down, down.
To pay the toll.
Where we empty our pockets.
…I can go alone.
With nothing left to give.
It’s always attrition and yet.
You reach for me.
And you reach for me.
Even if I did.
Would your eyes turn?
Or would they roll to the back of your head again and again and again and again?
As soon as the teeth connect.
You reach and I start to climb.
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3. |
Slipping
05:02
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A penitentiary off-white creeps into view.
Toe tapping, alarm clocks, my eyes glued.
To the back of my head.
I’m in circles again.
Slipping out of the way.
Back in circles again.
I must have made a wrong turn.
Lucky for me I don’t mind where that takes me.
Nothing lasts anyway.
Wires crossed.
Stuck in a daze.
I recognize the old haunts that welcome me with the same old tenderness.
That give me all I needed.
All I wanted.
As if I never left them, because they know I never could.
And we take steps.
Making eyes at a collection that I know I could devour.
Nothing's gonna stop me.
I am befit to take, to seize, to pay, with whatever I can find.
To get my fill.
To get my way.
To feed.
To mend the ache.
Nothing lasts, if I don’t let it.
You get used to the patterns.
But a lot gets lost in translation.
Like what I’ve done or who I’ve replaced.
For that, I know won’t be granted any Grace.
And I sink a little deeper.
Same old song and dance.
Sun goes down again.
And the rat race begins.
My conscience on the mend, I gotta find my alchemist.
To barter with what little I have left.
To barter with what I have.
Wires crossed.
Stuck in a daze.
I recognize the old haunts that welcome me with the same old tenderness.
That give me all I needed. All I've wanted.
As if I never left them because they know that I never will.
Surrounding the edges of town, I grit my teeth and pound at my head.
Make it stop, let it end, but I can’t go back again.
Avoid a few more trap doors.
Till I can reel another in.
And it’s not so bad, when it tastes so good.
Weave a web or two.
And be sure not to catch your reflection.
Till the cycle ends.
When the blood runs cold.
And you catch your breath.
Leave a web or two.
Leave a note.
Just in case.
But in your slumber.
You’ve got a lapse in judgment.
Another name runs across your lips.
And they’ll know where to find you.
If you’re wearing the same thing you had on at the last location that you were spotted.
A penitentiary off-white creeps into view.
Toe tapping, alarm clocks, my eyes glued.
To the back of my head.
I’m in circles again.
Slipping out of the way.
Yeah...Slither out of the way. Slither.
Shed some dead weight.
You only need one mouth to feed.
Pull your skin back.
There’s someone in there.
Take another drink.
Find the alchemist.
And it’s not so bad, when it tastes so good.
Weave a web or two.
And be sure not to catch your reflection.
One hand in. One foot out.
Lace up. Curtains down.
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4. |
Desert Hours
04:59
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Incoming.
Transmission.
From the far reaches of my mind.
There it sits.
Concrete.
Locked into position and pushing all things out its way.
What is a measly obligation but a chore to the force that’s boring a hole.
And that faces me, staring into these dead eyes, this dead cell.
That would otherwise be rotting away.
Get a grip. Come alive. Come awake.
There is a beacon in the distance. (Screaming at me).
Calling out my name. (Tugging at my neck).
Paving the way. (Paving the way).
For all the things that may come to me.
I suddenly rise. What is the time?
And it dulls my nerves but it’s clouding my senses.
It opens up my eyes to all of the voids I could be filling.
Makes me weak. Makes me ache.
So much that anything I can imagine is functional.
And any light I can draw is sublime.
There is a beacon in the distance.
Calling out my name.
(Rushing my blood, taking control).
Paving the way. (Paving the way).
For all the things that may come to me.
In the dead of night.
Now it possesses my heart.
What's the harm in a call to motion?
What does it matter the form that the focus comes?
(The form that the focus comes).
I crest. Open. Electrified. And shaking.
It’s a terrible sign. It must be.
What has this done to me?
It makes me feel alive when nothing, lately, seems to be working.
Don’t fight it.
What is the harm in losing yourself in something?
Just a little. Just a little. Just a little. More.
I pull from anywhere I need to.
To feel alive again.
More.
In the dead of night.
I wait for the call.
To infect me again.
These parallels are power lines now.
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5. |
Confetti
07:09
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It’s only a couple of minutes away.
No matter which way it lands.
I know it gets harder and harder to follow the format and fight with the reasons.
The wear and tear, the scythe or the rope.
But word to the wise.
Don’t suffer more than you need to.
It won’t ever be enough.
They all fall.
Exactly as they should.
It’s a wonderful life.
It’s a wonderful life.
Repeating again and again.
And wherever it goes, your body won’t believe.
But that can’t stop it from reaching out.
From beneath.
A bedrock is forming.
One greater than the bones they’ve been forced to bear.
And you will bear witness to their waste.
A word of warning.
In my time, I’ve learned a couple of secrets.
Tricks of the trade.
That falling through time is all.
Ebbs and flows.
Ebbs and flows.
There is no without.
And it’s no great loss.
It’s only just...
It’s only just.
A prison.
If you let it be.
A mirage.
If you make it so.
You have more control of what pieces you leave behind than you do of where they go.
So if you must make believe.
Then let it be known.
You can be more than a mirage.
If you make it so.
Go as you must.
And nothing will matter any less.
And wherever it goes, your body won’t believe.
But that can’t stop it from reaching out.
From beneath.
A bedrock is forming.
One greater than the bones they’ve been forced to bear.
And you will bear witness to their grace.
Word to the wise.
When you exit the frame.
They hold their breath.
What little they know.
That’s what carries you through.
Find a place for the soul.
The sighs and the weeping.
Such primitive magic.
That’s what has you bound to the gradient.
From here to the fray.
The gone and the grey.
The red and opaque.
A word of warning.
A whisper is a whirlwind.
Your silence, a chasm.
A fissure on the heart.
It’s a wonderful life.
So give it a sigh.
In my time, I’ve learned a couple of secrets.
That being scattered around is all.
Ebbs and flows.
There is no ‘without’.
And it’s no great loss.
It’s only just...
It’s only...
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Synovial Algonquin, Illinois
Synovial is a 5-piece progressive metalcore band from the Northwest suburbs of Chicago. Utilizing a blend of experimental elements in addition to a wide range of influences in and out of the metal spectrum, they've developed their own approach to the genre. ... more
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