I Am The End

by Coma Eternal

/
  • Digital Album
    Streaming + Download

    Purchasable with gift card

     

    You own this

1.
2.
3.
4.

credits

released August 26, 2003

Original release via The Nuance Formula

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Under City Records Michigan City, Indiana

Harsh tunes from the depths; Under City Records is an independent record label based in Northwest Indiana. info@undercityrecords.com

contact / help

Contact Under City Records

Streaming and
Download help

Track Name: Our Connection Is Lost
This is failed poetry.
Words rising like smoke from fire, rising into the air to be dissolved and forgotten.
Broken thoughts from silent lips, all these days we've been starving for the answers.
Broken thoughts from silent lips, your eyes are as hollow as what lies behind.
Scraping our teeth against the wall, grinding bone to dust, and raking our fingernails across our chests to tear out the heart that never served us well.
You know nothing beyond what you're forced to and cringe at the thought of living for something.
We're dreaming of words that last forever.
Seeing fire in the eyes of creation and letting it burn in ourselves.
I take no blame for you.
Interpret word for word.
Examine every breath, more full of meaning than you will ever know, until they rise across every cell of your body to meet your throat.
Out of your mouth and gone with the wind.
These satellites are failing, our lines detaching.
We share nothing now but embedded ghosts of the past.
Lips scathed with lies, emotions abandoned with memories.
Our ghost ships passing under disengaged satellites, our connection has been lost.
Still those eyes turn up blue every single time.
Scratched and faded words fall on deaf ears.
Be my hope for humanity.
These are secrets that should have been whispered in your ear by candlelight or screamed in your face at just the right moment.
I wish this could have meant so much more.
Track Name: Here Sleeps Make Believe
Windows down, smog in, smoke stacks, saw dust.
Industry exhaust, airborne progress acrid and tangible filling my lungs.
Skyscrapers stand impartial.
Daunting speed bumps apathetic as alarm clocks.
Giants on a dirty horizon bathed in negative color.
Half asleep I swallow spit fermenting thick like gastric oatmeal.
Clouds drain.
Flowers pissing pollen into the atmosphere.
I am unimpressed.
I am ungrateful.
I am a leech, a parasite.
I am a vampire.
I am the heart vacuum.
Annexing the honest bones from your body.
I want to touch everything that isn't mine while neglecting anything that is, tinting the light at the end of the tunnel.
Gravity crushed malleable connections flat as the last nails are hammered into the dreamer's coffin.
Here lies all things sugar coated.
Here lies hope and dreams and all things worthless in a bed of fool's gold.
Here sleeps make believe, here sleeps humor, here sleeps irresponsibility.
Burning bridges, content with no love lost.
Rigid cold and concrete.
Track Name: Failure Is Divine Satire
Nothing changes and it never will.
Sun up sun down everyday stay the same.
Repetition, metaphorical erosion of the spirit.
Rusting promises like skin liable to chap.
Fate is the nightlight that burns our eyes out as we walk tightropes and dance in circles to the tune of our backsbreaking under weight up living up to potential.
Choke on the smell.
On and on, around and around.
Never missing a beat.
Soldering forward,away from what you truly aspire to be, or to do, or to see, for fear of pushing.
Sinking or sailing, flying or falling, cutting the waves.
Breaching the hull.
Soaring without effort.
Going down in flames.
No ports, no parachutes.
Failure is divine satire so maybe we'll be laughing at the ones who died in neutral.
So maybe we'll be laughing at the ones who died in park.
Who is to say? Every time you sell yourself short, an angel gets its wings.
So maybe I'll be a monumental joke.
Moving on, staying in place, with the things we want growing old in the back seat.
Track Name: Counterparts (To Accept and to Pass Away)
Your words are scalpels tracing over the skin of a corpse.
Tearing into skin that will never bleed for you, no matter how deep the cut.
Riding tidal waves run off stagnant like a film of waste.
Pools of garbage standing still.
We rot in unison, single file as a whole.
Petty differences do not register as barriers.
Like road kill bloating in the sun.
Playing mother in the form of an incunator.
So beautifully vile.
Cloudy cotton ball vision gradually gives way to clarity.
We all fade out between the lines.
On even numbers we fall apart.
No exceptions, no apologies.
A universal period to end everyone's story.
Empathy, shoulders to lean on.
A life vest to make treading water possible.
Each and every one of us in the same mess, sinking together in the same quick sand.
Wasting away, side by side.
Salvation is irrelevant if we are all ghosts.