End States ::: Lyrics

Circling Boy

Round up to ten and subtract the intent. If names equal numbers the balance is spent. The records unchecked. Well-worn excuse. You’ll burn the proof. Ink running quick and clear. Ants on the alter and hands on the table. Signal, response. Target to lock. Everyone’s a flight risk these days.

Manual Function

This picture was painted by numbers. This promise was drawn from lies and mistakes. I’m thinning out my outlook while you’re turning action to inaction in disguise. Can you speak your mind, does it come out like a story or forced through a sieve? Your scars hold more than history. Fight like you mean it, like you mean to end it all. The world keeps turning and handshakes and shaking are going full-circle.

Song for Wilhelmina Vautrin

From Chungshan to the Yangtze history lies broken now less than a witness to bamboo, bayonets and 300,000 murdered in the street and as wartime directives meet textbook revisions the only lesson taken is don’t ever resist. “If I had only one life I would have given it all to China.” Silence fills chapters. Take hold of the violence, hold onto the memory of flags and sunsets and every woman raped. The windows are sealed.

Her Article

This single swallow chokes. A moment turned into a way of life. Pull the tongue from your teeth, find the words you couldn’t speak. Secrets ripped from the source. It wasn’t your fault. In a closet, fit to size. The minutes go by one frame at a time. Found hung, yet still breathing. Slowly reaching for the take. She died with veins still shining. Found with a black eye. Beaten into her own view of submission. A single frame left inside. A moment that fell behind. Held down for the last time. The table’s holding your place tonight.


We don’t breed resistance. Rushing fires and lighting skies. Vice-tight and voiceless, written off the margin lines. Fixed ideas fit broken minds. The noise stays neutral as time passes by. A two-fisted grip on rightful position. Wellwisher, left to rot in second thoughts. Voices ring. Wounds knit themselves clean. Finding truths. Burning lies. Creation is worth more than you and I. We are alive.

Click and Repeat

Through heightened state terror and wired surveillance we keep our eyes open. Our lens in sharp focus for FISA court warrants and closed door tribunals. One nation under a gun nearing collapse. One nation born to suck the rind. Watch the marquee bottom line, their rapid response and scripted replies. I can’t even believe the shit that you say. Their indignant party line of bankrupt moral values blanket statements covering the eyes swallow it whole just suck the fucking rind.

Hauling Sharp

We kill to confine. This bruise colored life’s just a sacrifice. Ten days, nine nights of martial law pulling it’s last straw. They’re lying face down as the Fighting News bleeds. One foot forward like typing out with no return. Arrows point to Kwangju but no exists exist and Yun Sang Won is just a still life hanging inside Provincial Hall. It’s an internal conflict with no outside assistance as U.S. ships stand witness offshore. We’ll sing these songs because they’re all we know. Woken to noise, we have yet to sleep.

19 Year Barrier

Half asleep with wires running through me. I’m waiting for the drip to keep its course. This headache grows out from inside. This slow hum keeps time. I’m bled dry on one side. Staring into the east river makes me numb. I want to feel its tide pull.

Placement Services

Motion sickness returns. Programmed responses direct movements unlearned. A routine stop. Method actor suspended in thought. Self-timed and tranquilized. Placement service for a stationary clock. We keep living through the same day. Waking up to fall back asleep. Empty vessel under watch and key. Sleeper cell. Bottom wage transparency. A balancing act on the inbound divide. All lines down. The latchstring lifts from the inside. We’re out of reach. On our own. A life outside. Speak through slots, we’ll code the response.

Tight Not Touching

This land holds your head in its hands. A second breath drawn cutting the whole from the half. Captive born in a market cornerstone. Spreadsheets pulled tight across the face fitted to form. The course fixed for a cold war holding pattern. Lockdown to contain. Pressure holds under weight. Braced to bend. Seized to lend. Filters locked in place. Signals pass beneath the gate. Arrested movements collapse in end states. Drained at the source through faultlines and blunt force. Cut from the half. The bottom falls last.