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lyrics

Hard to breathe/swallow/choke.
Cough and limp, stumble, fall.
Dream of fading light and sleep in bitter cold.
Carry on.
Hope to sleep one minute more.
Dread to live one hour more.
This hunger, this headache (comes from) seclusion of the self.
These voices in rubble scream “this place was here. to dust.”
As prey, we bait and bleed our own.
Call out.
Please respond.
*
a vision of endless smoke lifting over a bleak horizon. a thought looses substance as all wounds and everything inside breaks to meet the harsh air. skyscrapers reduced to towering metal breams distorted in a ghastly display, reaching out from mile-high piles of broken concrete as foundation. a single child cries in the distance, never closer. then silence. the silence is enough to break the mind. in the combined hell of all sense, sanity becomes proportional to the given situation… and every given situation is worse then the last. in a post-apocalyptic world screaming has no artistic merit. so we sing.
*
We sing.
We do, we think, we say, we act.
And hope the best is ours.
Outside our scope for reason lies salvation.

credits

from The More I Inhale​.​.​.​the more I wish I was an Astronaut., released October 10, 2004

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We, The Accused Ottawa, Ontario

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