AS THE ROOTS UNDO | DOCUMENT 13: PYRAMIDS IN CLOTH SELF-TITLED DEMO 2001 Our Need to Bleed Flesh was to sever, a palette to harness the pain. With stainless steel, we took back control of our fate. His skin so fair, a newly stretched canvas. (here was born a filthy blood red mark)Redemption dies hard when you've ripped out the roots at the seams. Pins and needles bled our black blood hearts. Hold the knife closer, just nine more steps toward the gate...You've already swallowed the key. Have you ever heard a scream this for real? Have you ever shattered silence... Perpetuate the unpredicted, dying for these scars we wear. Scars are tokens of the present. Refusing to accept our share of shit. Scars are forever, a testimony to our needs, undaunted by our shallow lives, our need to bleed. Flesh was severed, a testimony to our needs, undaunted by our fragile lives, our need to bleed. Undaunted by our fragile lives. Our flesh was severed to the bone. Eleven Owls Have Eyes Surface, through the circuits, breaker breaker. Someone's calling but there's no one on the line. Positive, negative, negative, Breaker breaker. These wires are live, these wires are merging with the circuits, Breaker, breaker. Broken fuses spark, lighting, illuminating their blacked out eyes. Fading out...Father son and holy ghost...you can't find us in the dark. You can't save us when wires are cut. Houses haunted hurt the most. Vulnerability is created and defined by the night. Fall is getting closer. Ruled by the moon. Now that we're hiding in the darkness holding hands, now as we pray, as we are prey. Lead the way. Don't leave me bound here in desire, lead the way forever is too long to wait. Time keeps on pulling the seconds away, preaching abandonment, intentions remain to embrace the sweet impossible. Time succumbs to the rhythm of a slowly fading pulse. Lights from flashlights flash on breakers, loose connections connected tight. Symmetry described by the minds intent. Eleven birds of prey take flight. Asymmetrical equations, borne to lack diurnal sight. Brown eyes begging her consent. White old woman of the night: Right behind the lightening staring past the rain. Running down the red clay. Time succumbs to the rhythm of a slowly fading pulse... A Disclaimer to the Self The demons swallowed treasures, replaced hymns with evil deeds scribed in chicken scratch compositions in the black halls beneath this filthy city. Laced with shit, this love affair. all black hearts, and tragic heights. Keep on listening to our sanguine symphony. We'll keep conducting the color of midnight. When the muse whispers her forked tongue lulls me to sleep. You must be mistaken my darling. This is not the prelude to a kiss, this is obsession, void of aesthetics, lacking compassion, a disclaimer to the self, you sought your god in the tempest of self severed strings hammered out in the key of X. This is the new cutting edge. Sixth sense limitations dragging me down. Your transcendence of nothing has fueled the flames of our choir. This is my therapy, singing the praises of razor wire. Embrace the sweet sound of self destruction. Wield words like knives and razor wire. A kiss goodbye is a kiss of death. Conducting our ballad with seven broken strings. A sound so sanguine until our ears bleed. Orchestrating until we bleed.