1. |
Voyeur (Radio Edit)
04:17
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while waiting for the light to turn,
confidence oozes out his ears,
like a bloodhound with a sartorial aesthetic.
his senses, more refined now in the shadow of night,
pick up a scent of floral fragrance from a block away.
without a hand to guide him, he stalks his prey,
using tactics from the frontlines to feed on lust.
and though he fetishizes violence, he justifies it
with the soldier's logic of a merciless fantasy.
she takes the long way home tonight,
to clear her head of intrusive thoughts
and the visions of the grids laid out on horizons before her eyes.
but when a footstep breaks her trance, she reels around, alert.
just as the teller had warned of flesh predations.
and then his tactless, cold approach interrupts her silence,
under the stuttering lights and sharpened stars.
but when his victim faintly displays her abject terror,
unfettered rage begins to course through his veins.
his dapper elegance and embattled masculinity
can’t subdue the flaws that paralyze and confine him.
because he exploits insecurity and loathes rejection,
now retraining his disdain on the doe-eyed damsel,
an apparition cast across the avenue stays his hand—
misogyny won’t spare him from the merciless fantasy.
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2. |
Woman, Bird, Star
03:23
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salacious,
she is a cruel sculptress.
like Rodin and his Rose,
we’ll ameliorate and in time, decompose.
she carves the moon into my chest,
sprawled again amongst the unrest.
she paints her face in a Miró/mirror,
our fingers catching in the soft glow.
she bites my tongue until it bleeds.
I bide the time until it recedes.
she stains the canvas with my woe,
our fingers crimson in the marble snow.
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3. |
Voyeur (Acoustic)
04:32
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|
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|
while waiting for the light to turn,
confidence oozes out his ears,
like a bloodhound with a sartorial aesthetic.
his senses, more refined now in the shadow of night,
pick up a scent of floral fragrance from a block away.
without a hand to guide him, he stalks his prey,
using tactics from the frontlines to feed on lust.
and though he fetishizes violence, he justifies it
with the soldier's logic of a merciless fantasy.
she takes the long way home tonight,
to clear her head of intrusive thoughts
and the visions of the grids laid out on horizons before her eyes.
but when a footstep breaks her trance, she reels around, alert.
just as the teller had warned of flesh predations.
and then his tactless, cold approach interrupts her silence,
under the stuttering lights and sharpened stars.
but when his victim faintly displays her abject terror,
unfettered rage begins to course through his veins.
his dapper elegance and embattled masculinity
can’t subdue the flaws that paralyze and confine him.
because he exploits insecurity and loathes rejection,
now retraining his disdain on the doe-eyed damsel,
an apparition cast across the avenue stays his hand—
misogyny won’t spare him from the merciless fantasy.
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4. |
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5. |
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|
while waiting for the light to turn,
confidence oozes out his ears,
like a bloodhound with a sartorial aesthetic.
his senses, more refined now in the shadow of night,
pick up a scent of floral fragrance from a block away.
without a hand to guide him, he stalks his prey,
using tactics from the frontlines to feed on lust.
and though he fetishizes violence, he justifies it
with the soldier's logic of a merciless fantasy.
she takes the long way home tonight,
to clear her head of intrusive thoughts
and the visions of the grids laid out on horizons before her eyes.
but when a footstep breaks her trance, she reels around, alert.
just as the teller had warned of flesh predations.
and then his tactless, cold approach interrupts her silence,
under the stuttering lights and sharpened stars.
but when his victim faintly displays her abject terror,
unfettered rage begins to course through his veins.
his dapper elegance and embattled masculinity
can’t subdue the flaws that paralyze and confine him.
because he exploits insecurity and loathes rejection,
now retraining his disdain on the doe-eyed damsel,
an apparition cast across the avenue stays his hand—
misogyny won’t spare him from the merciless fantasy.
|
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6. |
Voyeur (spöket Remix)
05:20
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|
||
|
while waiting for the light to turn,
confidence oozes out his ears,
like a bloodhound with a sartorial aesthetic.
his senses, more refined now in the shadow of night,
pick up a scent of floral fragrance from a block away.
without a hand to guide him, he stalks his prey,
using tactics from the frontlines to feed on lust.
and though he fetishizes violence, he justifies it
with the soldier's logic of a merciless fantasy.
she takes the long way home tonight,
to clear her head of intrusive thoughts
and the visions of the grids laid out on horizons before her eyes.
but when a footstep breaks her trance, she reels around, alert.
just as the teller had warned of flesh predations.
and then his tactless, cold approach interrupts her silence,
under the stuttering lights and sharpened stars.
but when his victim faintly displays her abject terror,
unfettered rage begins to course through his veins.
his dapper elegance and embattled masculinity
can’t subdue the flaws that paralyze and confine him.
because he exploits insecurity and loathes rejection,
now retraining his disdain on the doe-eyed damsel,
an apparition cast across the avenue stays his hand—
misogyny won’t spare him from the merciless fantasy.
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Spite House Brooklyn, New York
⳦ ⳧
o͞ |Ⲵ.᷿᷿᷿L𝖞▞▙ⲡ の ♳
𝕿▘ ཁྐྵ ▛▚ ཎ༪ ▚ ༗྿⁍⁞ Ͱ҉̅҉̅҉̅҉̅҉̅Ͱ҈̟҈̟҈̟҈̟҈̟҈̟҈̟҈̟҈̟҈
ه҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈̿҈
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