1. |
Kingdom Came
07:10
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Out of the blue, into the black of the holy land. Haunting your habits has you passing the basket. Flowers and dirt will help you get through as you find your own peace as you are traveling by. It was a tough act to follow with sun in my eyes. Coming of age. Removing the pride. Nothing is real. Nothing is restless. Nothing was real at the time. Sit back, at the small town burn. It was a waste of a line. Worship the common mouth. The black wings lighting a candle that was left at the shrine. After the ballad the journey won't matter as long as you pass by the birds. I hear the fire, it hums so faint. A tower of lanterns that burn. They all look the same. Nothing was real. Nothing is restless. Nothing was real at the time. Sit back and death will not follow. The dark cloud gathers and hums so faint. They try to keep warm, but hide from the flames. The birds hang high but won't speak. They come of age, there was a long road behind me. The birds hang high, but won't speak free. Remember... he would say it was a waste of a line. Telling stories about Death, God and the Universe. Your feet won't sway, and so it goes. The inner light won't shine through the teeth of the holy. They all hum tonight. We all hum. Remember he would scream Death, God?
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2. |
Dust Can't Kill Me
08:17
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Haunting your habits of pride and crime. Wasting this loaded world. Watch it decline. Gather more. Focus. Bore. Worship the bright light. Death is no stranger. Lay me down now. Fires, that hum so faint. Everything sounds the same. Coming of age. Burn.
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3. |
Why, Oh Why?
04:21
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4. |
Lonesome Traveler
06:44
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Parched progress and nothing else matters but full wasted passion and hiding all your dollar bills. Does the story lie? Mother earth will swallow you. The spirits of the rivers and the wind cross the other side. I am a spy searching for a father land. Under covers born again. Sun in my eyes and I am born again. Slowly spinning past the flow of war turf. Some of them are monsters. Passion won't seek passion through the whale's teeth. Nature will sleep. Bloomers of the late outshine what is broken. The passion is wrong. Free market steals what is left from freedom of the common mouth that is running out. Each power that is planted is a story that is loaded. Each beggar that can barely punch the clock is broke. Partial passion for the land. Its beggars who won't beg, and spirits who won't cheat. I hate to say another word but progress will not go to sleep. Mother nature is queen. Just try to find your peace. Dragging the dream.
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5. |
Poor Me
02:02
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mountain man Worcester, Massachusetts
Contact: mountainmanhc@gmail.com
Instagram: @mntn_mn
Facebook: MountainMan
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