1. |
Suspended Cognition
09:44
|
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|
Sub-zero isolation-
Exiled to the final frontier-
Eternal meditation
Within a deadly atmosphere.
But I am home,
And the comets are my fireflies.
The cosmos keep me,
And I confide:
My hope; my fears-
Out there; in here-
My head; my heart-
I can feel them there.
Orbital suspension-
Yearning for deliverance.
This immaculate prison-
Condemned by cosmic happenstance.
But in the end,
It's just a star within a nebula.
The descent into nothingness goes on.
Alagava.
Dyana, ba akana ananta.
Abishe lubi.
Sakara.
Alagava.
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2. |
Hyperion
04:38
|
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3. |
Death to Empty Words
03:39
|
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|
I breathe fear before the coming storm-
Its thunderous wrath petrifies me,
And the chaos baffles.
In Eden so tranquil,
Yet perturbed in the final hour,
And left me so desolate-
All my kingdom to waste.
And for the sake of all:
Sacrament, for springs of wealth
To overflow and wash out;
To clear way for new roots.
And, in the midst of puzzlement, I strike out
With hopes of better days and swifter clouds,
Though so far from my sanity.
What once was lost,
And in aeons reclaimed,
Yet once more spirited away,
But not to abandon.
At long last I reach the great expanse preceding the betrayal.
I shiver and gasp at the stark tranquility,
Only now realizing the dread burden laid upon me
As it melts away.
Tossed and forgotten;
Lost to memories not even mine.
I question my perception now,
Through such great time,
As if to ostracize and judge myself.
The waters rise,
And still I cling to my own wrongs.
Deep roots and shallow skies;
Branches tethered to the sea;
Winds shutter from shoulder to shoulder;
Hands lifted high in feeble surrender.
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4. |
Mothouse
09:39
|
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|
In the moth-house, I am alone-
The world outside won't be known.
As bright as it may seem, it's all dark inside.
As white as these wings may be,
These walls are the only known.
In the moth-house, I am alone.
No?
Butterfly, with your glass wings,
Don't cry;
You're meant to go far.
Is it in your head?
Your eyes? Your smile?
Or your fragile heart?
Come with me, butterfly with glass wings,
And shake the silence in your head.
(You will fly, and in time you will find you have learned to fly.)
The sound of breaking-
Is it my mind, or your freedom?
Is it my fragile bones, or your fragile heart?
Crushed wings powder dust
(Crushed wings powder dust upon my fingertips-
Inside I have become what I do fear the most.)
Upon my fingertips.
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White Stag Knoxville, Tennessee
White Stag is an avant-garde project that incorporates progressive metal, jazz, polytonality, and vaporwave elements.
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