Альбом Between The Buried And Me

Prospect #1
A twisted crash... vibrations forming my personal currency.
A lifeline... a sweatbox, the linear mind as one.
Who would have thought?
This distant face...
Distant life... never before seen.
Deep sleep in deep sea. Nerves torn from their ends.

It has been three nights and still the puzzle is cut by a shaky hand.
Carved out of improper materials... imperfect directions.
A crushing sound soon awakes. Where am I?
The taste of sand wipes away the grime of my past life...
The life I fled from... the grip I loosened.
It has all caused an even pressure. The kind they show us on our screens.
I've become what I've force fed my entire life... a drifter's dream... a loner's mind.
Wanting what they have... their perfect smiles and heartless lusts.

On night four they come back.
Awaking a new life. Over and over... like I've been there before.
Living and breathing, but still choking.
A mirror stares back. I contort like the wheels in my head...
Still nothing ever happens. Please wake up.

Prospect #2
I open my eyes to the smell of morning skin.
The soft touch of your hair.
Your breathe I breathe in.

The reality chases and catches up on actual alertness.
Im awake... a daydream... alone. Silence.
This is the last few years rolled into one instance.
I need something new.

I jerk back in and out of a daydream self.
A backwards day... water surrounds.
A cool breeze wrapping its smell around my skin.
The mid day siren awakes what was a false idea of sleep.
Daydream society. Walking past what we used to see.

Beginning again.
(The runners come to a halt. The air seems half full)
Walking into a certain state of suffocation.
Confusion surrounds... day after day.
The questions I face... the dealings I deal.
Do I complete me? Do I complete humanity?
This day will determine it all.

Prospects #1 and #2
Mirror stares back again. I contort like the wheels in my head...
Still nothing ever happens. Please wake up.
Please wake me up.

Prospect #2
Moving forward.
Memories left behind. A new life, a new journey. I've built anew.
For mankind... for my kind.
The vessel stares back at me. From every angle, the menacing smile latches on.
Talking walls speak and spell my life story.
My past life.
The vessel sleeps beside me... the comfort breath.
Morning skin of machines, of humanity's beginnings.
Am I God? I've been called worse... drift in and out.
The vessel brings me sleep.
Hyper Sleep.

Prospect #1
Mind bending strategy game. Running though obstacles on a land never ventured.
Every night. Every wake. Alone but not for long.
The signals worked. Did I want this? I must go back and explain my reasonings. Worse things have happened: Worse things will happen.
The old atlas is found. No matter what I do it's been done... it's been worse.
This is not reassuring.
Imperfect. Improper. Extinct.
They have found me.
A new journey.

Prospect #2
I approach unfamiliar ground. Left standing with the air swirling silently.
A creepy siren, the siren of loneliness.
Twisting, falling, and screaming.
Please break out.

The crumbling starts. Inch by inch the ground takes over.
The wretched clench of my insides.
Unspeakable anguish... this fucking contortion.
Awake, mime standing.

Air swirling around me... silent.
Siren of loneliness. This is real isn't it? Can't tell these days, the longest fucking days.
Why the anger I wonder?
(The mission must stay focused. I work day in and day out.)

To create. To recreate.
Have I become a god? I have been called much worse.
Secretly that title makes me feel comfortable.
In my place. Its been a while. This god-like complex does bring me a smile.
To create. To recreate.

Down to the last seed I stand with a dark stare. Still silent, still frighteningly silent.
I must leave myself.

That's what all of this has gotten me... infinite life? Conquering of death.
The seed is planted.
Time to move on. What have I become?...

I'll make my own life seem new.
Face all of my mistakes and grow.
Must grow.

Prospect #1
Many days and fewer nights... so I'm told.
I've lost my time years ago... so I'm told.
The explaining. The whispered words.
This will be the hardest part... so I'm told.
I wish my mind would work... unfold.
The explaining. The whispered words.

The front door opened to the look of death. Will this make sense? Will this be comforting at all?
The questions dive in day and night. Nothing we can do. Nothing I can do.
Twists and turns must be answered.
I hit land... so it seems
The dirt chokes up my legs... strong air then shoots down my throat.
Sensory overload in an instant of sense.
Charting through old water that I pushed away to drown.
Into another.
To find and be found.
This is what I've set out to do. Where is this door?

Prospect #2
The constant movement of my eyes. I can feel, but I can't open the lids. The back of my skin is scarred, torn and broken.
A reflection of what I've seen. (What have I become?)
They let these people recreate. Maybe I should have ended it all. Too late?
Moving forward is a must.

Dig deep.
Commence sleep inside sleep.
Silence.

(An out of focus picture brings up a familiar scenario: Three people fill the room. There seems to be a fourth, but very small. We are speaking about some sort of mission. My mouth won't stop moving... talking way too much. Even through the blur I can feel their stares. This one sided discussion seems to be about what I am preventing. Is this a sign? Too late... I've said it before. The people then disappear. I look about and the western sky seems to be red... alone. I can smell burning flesh... scorched life. I turn around and the face of death stares so grim that the lids finally open...)

I come to.

I'm close... Very close. But something isn't right.
A horrifying realization is swept over me.

Home. The empty space of home.
All I've known is gone. All I've loved is lost.
Silence.