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by Past Haunts

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(free) 03:34
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03:55

credits

released September 29, 2014

All music by Past Haunts.
Recorded at DDM Studios by Devon Martindale.
Mixed and mastered at Timber Studios by Adam Cichocki.
Artwork and design courtesy of Masa Martinovic.

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Past Haunts Cape Town, South Africa

Loud, passionate music.

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Track Name: Conscious Round
She dealt in lies well improvised and hypnotized me.
In the courtyard, the first light strikes a bayonet.
I sit alone and smoke in cuffs before an armed coquette.
She is striking, her hair adorned with bouncing bets.
Her eyes, they leap from my hood to where her pale fingers rest.
What’s the matter? This isn't foreign territory.
Don’t slouch your shoulders; roll up those bloodied sleeves and squeeze.
Take me out. What’s another speechless soul that dared to offer you their help? Please, take me out. Waste another ceaseless soul that dared to clear your head of doubts.
I empathised, wiped your eyes, and recognised you.
At the altar, the daily, doleful sacrament.
I mopped your brow and bled the wine. Tore at my flesh ‘til I was spent.
Though my legs gave, beset by bonds and déjà vu,
on every side your selfish pride, I crawled and cringed right back to you.
A little higher, if my heart was never yours to keep.
Let loose the hammer; I’m so tired of losing sleep.
Now squeeze.
Take me out. What’s another speechless soul that dared to offer you their help?
Please, take me out. Waste another ceaseless soul that dared to clear your head of doubts.
It's finally calm upon the restless sea, where the waves will lap and bury me.
Track Name: Apparition (Hunting Ground)
You're coming up from the floorboards.
I can feel you rising as the room turns cold.
Out of sight, out of mind (or so I thought).
But problems left are problems grown.
Tonight I'll dig up these old bones.
They've been down here for far too long.
Out of sight, out of mind (or so I thought).
Neglect the seeds, but still they grow.
Too many buried memories will be the death of me.
A hunting ground for insecurities.
Too many buried memories will be the death of me.
This garden blooms in misery.
I smell the iron in the air tonight.
You're coming up from the floorboards.
I can feel you rising as the room turns cold.
Out of sight, out of mind (or so I thought).
But problems left are problems grown.
Tonight I'll dig up these old bones.
They've been down here for far too long.
Out of sight, out of mind (or so I thought).
Neglect the seeds, but still they grow.
Track Name: Once Bitten
There was a slowness inside,
a result of the trauma I battled to hide.
Once bitten, a hundred times hesitant.
The venom took hold and fear became resident.
No medicine. No cures.
No affection. Just lures.
Believe me, I tried to draw it from the wound.
You'll shed another skin and I will learn from the pain.
Wiser this time around, I won't get bit again.
It was a matter of pride,
a struggle against all the turmoil inside.
Once bitten, a hundred times hesitant.
Obsession took hold, disdain became evident.
No medicine. No cures.
No affection. Just lures.
Believe me, I tried to draw it from the wound.
You'll shed another skin and I will learn from the pain.
Wiser this time around, I won't get bit again.
Track Name: Paper Knife
While searching for the truth in verse, it seems I lost my way.
When passion turned into a chore, the meaning fell away.
My tongue was sharpened to a point, the lines I worked so fine.
But now I dip into a well, which seems to come up dry.
Keep searching. Burn the candle through the night.
This pursuit will survive.
Keep dreaming. Answers in the morning light.
Alive and burning bright.
Now butchered on the writer's block, this blood flows thick like ink.
I'm torn apart to feed the crowds I summon when I over think.
I have no terms to win their favour; I'm at a loss for words.
But still committed to endeavour, I mumble and I slur.
Keep searching. Burn the candle through the night.
This pursuit will survive.
Keep dreaming. Answers in the morning light.
Alive and burning bright.
Unable to engage, it feels like I'm losing touch.
I'm shouting at the top of my lungs, but I don't seem to be saying much.
There's a blinking light, and it's waiting for me.
Now at the end of the tunnel, I find the truth in irony.