Sea Of Glass lyrics:

Be the Beast

Every body is against me laughing behind my back, I pretend I don’t hear Opportunists at my door step Racists all around me There’s terror in my heart I would kill for peace I’m not even close to happy But not for lack of constant trying The formula they sell me Corporatists they pucker lips ‘Round Machiavelli’s bull horn and Screaming in my hungry ears You can kill for peace you should kill for peace This is no defeatist moment I have hope, that death will fix it He could level the cane fields Malthus sings a lullaby To ease us into democide and rid the word of parasites I will kill for peace You will kill for peace We will kill for peace Something‘s in the air this morning Questionable decision making Who fights fire with fire? Who pays taxes, votes for hacks and Canonizes whackos the Devil in your group think But We will fund the We will feed the We will be the beast

Iron Scarecrow

There’s wire running through our veins Our eyes replaced with cameras We watch the world with pixels Arranged in fantasy

And oh what a picture what a colorful picture We are the hungry, we swallow it whole Slaves to the lender, for his paper tender

The hopeless global zeitgeist brings sweet foretaste of doom Sarcastic leaders holding hands We laud their whitewashed tombs

Is there no deliverance From the gods of convenience Bring in the prince of the power of the air He tickles our eardrums, he promises honey

Imposter father fixes strings Hog ties our hands and feet His brothers lick their fingers Take pay for tinkering

Who will chop the fingers from the hand of the butcher We are not builders, we are destroyers And we want a failure, a father to shame

The Politician

It is for the children It is for your safety

Just take these and watch Tv It is for your psyche It is for the children

It is for democracy We must legislate equality It is for freedom Freedom from religion

It is for your safety We must save you from the terrorists The terrorist deep inside you The terrorist in your heart

We will burry you In your back yard


The plastic man told us in his swollen harmonics The approval of war in foreign land is patriotic Oh, how we(’re) proud (pray) ourselves An empty man speaks and everybody listens Says we can spend our way out of this clinical depression Oh and 18 trillion So let’s just keep on bending I’m sleepy in my nightgown I’m comfy in my bunker My welfare’s never up and I’m cranky when you wake me with numbers

There is no peace in Washington, there is death

The people are crazy, they clamor for action Government is satisfied with it’s own expansion O how we cry for ourselves When there’s business in bailing us out The people are crazy, the people are weary The ship is going down the crew is in a slumber despite the thunder There is no peace...


Listen. The hallway is creaking. I hear them barely breathing, Waiting for the rest of the dead to arrive. I know there’s no way out, but I can’t just sit here and let them eat me. I’ll run away and build an army to keep them all at bay, As they pour through that wide golden gate. A zombie apocalypse is upon us. Pucker up for your trumpets. You knew where this was headed all along When you sided with that fat wicked throng. And I can hardly see the purpose of these overwhelming odds. There’s too many. And I can barely hear the Angels’ trumpets calling on me. My doubt rings like a Broken cymbals may. With an everlasting sustain. Through all the drunken haze that still small voice refrains, Make your home in Jesus, make your home in Jesus. Burn Babylon, destroy the strip mall church,. For Heaven on the earth. And I won’t hesitate when the mighty trumpets have opened my ears. There’s no more waiting.


Skipping stones they kiss the water A mirror rippled bends the light The outward rolling golden circles Set aglow my grateful eye Dragonflies hum A robin gives his testimony

But you count it all as an elaborate chance And you dance your broken down tribal dance Conjure up a media to fix up your trance It’s time to wake up, the sun is in the sky Bleaching weary bones

Comfort In A Lie

As we grow older into antiquity With ageless silvers and wisdoms regality as time becomes a mere observation we’ll nestle together on a pillow of clouds

But how can I trust you selling secrets behind my back Selling secrets to the enemy For comfort in a lie

When you fear the treasures are not real I’ll retell the visions of Ezekiel And we’ll curl up together under our Comforter’s Heavenly blanket, blanket of stars

Vacuum Aspirations

Have you seen post-modern Ba’al His tongue is a conveyor belt In his throat an open flame His belly tight as cellophane

On the disassembly line A harvest of the sordid kind To render out your progeny to render out your garbage

It’s ok, they’re only blood stains It’s ok, we choose our own mistakes

Open up for sexual freedom The belly of the beast is waiting for tender caged offspring The inmate of your body

A lawless bed, a callous reason The devil waits in a neo-eden Free from curse of children On the blood of children

It’ ok…

Propagate the perfect future A weeding out of all the failures Potential threats to progress Burn the bastards, breed the flawless

A barbaric paradise awaits survival of the neo-race survival of the fittest survival of the neo-racist

Golden Gate

I know who I’m dealing with If the fruit is bad the tree is sick Fire is gonna burn up all my branches

I’m so filthy, I can’t shower If I scrub my skin, I’ll lose the power exposing all the weakness in my heart

Well even demons believe and shudder And all my requests have gone unanswered I won’t be always falling on def ears

If I cannot live in my own glory My death can live on in a tragic story Cause I am the king of my life in the grave

Oh, the weight that led me to the bridge that day Oh, I clung to the burden I dropped in the bay

Though it seems so much harder on earth Living in Hell is so much worse If this is where the mind goes crazy

Save me from myself oh Lord The darkness in my bones is bored And coming out with vengeance and a sword

Oh, I know it was nearly time to go home Oh, I left you with so much work to be done Oh, I choked when the word lumped in my throat Oh, the lies that led me to the bridge in the autumn twilight

Inhibitor Inhibitor

As you float in outer space Your feet feel comfort locked in pace And as the clocks go drip drip There’s pleasure in the endlessness From frozen gems on sawtooth peaks Rivulets fill swollen creeks Where Grizzly bears and honey bees Dance in complex harmony

And we don’t have a clue The monster in the belly tells the beast what to do

They call you the silent type With lofty treasures on your mind Lead us to your hiding place blind our eyes and burn our faces

You cannot quiet your mind This broken inhibitor, this limiter of the sublime You removed your governor and you’re stupefied

Thank the lord, for you are blessed With brain that filters consciousness Buoys a bobbing mind that swims Through ocean currents’ turbulence When you peak through keyhole eyes You’re overwhelmed and crystalized The salty light will shatter you Dilate and be vaporized

I went to far this time I broke my inhibitor this limiter of the sublime I removed my governor now I’m stupefied

The Idiot

Remember when you drove From deep within the south To the california coast All the way back home A schizophrenic mind So eager to be kind But foolish to believe That there would be understanding That there would be belief Phoenix was on fire The glowing of the sunset Was promising the end A blessing for the dead The earth was scorched with passion And drinking heat refractions The Idiot’s coming home Through boiling swamps and desert roads With freedom from the grave Healing for the lame Disassembling fantasy With the beauty of reality

They say “the earth is rich and beautiful The heavens void unlivable Come back rejoin our cult It’s just a clearing of the throat” Cause now you are the rebel To the hippies and the devil A megaphone downtown A prophet and a clown Incurring wrath of rulers Revealing unjust measures And they can hear you shout Words they’ll never care about The pack knows only doubting These wolves in sheep clothing Are teaching in the valley Where the children run headlong to the grave

Why Do I Do?

I curse my situation I wear it on my face Like a bitter teen My father’s disgrace I aim to ride the wind A harlequin’s friend We hold hands at the cliff’s edge in His backyard Your lips taste like venom when we kiss in His garden I push it far from my mind Why do I do what I hate it’s not you The devil can be no scapegoat

Why do I see that the problem is me If I don’t have the power to change Why do I do what I hate it’s not you The devil can be no man’s scapegoat

I’ve got hope in God who knows just who I am The painter of painters, The Author of color In His mind is my mind The first topographer, the compass, the water The wine that gives life The lamb and the shepherd, from my mess I’m delivered Into the light, into the light

Why do I do what I hate? I can choose The devil can be no man’s scapegoat You make me see the problem is me now give me the power to change

Tidal Effect

You caught me up in your gravity Now I am your satellite Cleansed by your light and richest fire Every year I’m pulled in a little tighter And though I’m under All this tidal pressure To learn the freedom of this tether This is only the orbit of the earth I know you will keep me in your church

Warbler (self titled):

•••1••• Do you want a fight? You take your fist and shake it at the sky. My heart disease is philosophy. Like the love discovered in the 1960s. Now it’s viral, how it tickles my ears. But who will save us from your remedies? Do you want a fight? You burst your eardrums to get some peace and quiet. So put on your chic angora slavery. Fog machines, laser beams, and tribal dance parties. Graven bodies forged by plastic surgery. But who can conquer the grave? Do you want a fight? You put your eyes out to win against the light, etc. •••2••• Oh, to die is gain, etc. Don’t let me be carried away by the lusts of the flesh. Stolen fruit may taste so sweet, but the penalty is death. Don’t me be taken away when the enemy surrounds. All my work has come to naught, I was drunk and lost when found. Quick to mercy, slow to wrath, put me in your cloak where the fire burns so clean, I cannot smell the smoke. Oh, to die is gain. But to live is Christ!, etc. •••3••• Laughter is more precious than gold. Lies are bought when joy is sold. My lungs are tired of believing the air, one of these days, they’re gonna fold. Love is more precious than blood that runs through your veins and into the mud. I watched him die soaking in a bathtub: I guess he was tired of cleaning up. Follow men fall like dominoes pushing each other over in single file rows. Great numbers make no community, and there’s loneliness in the middle of the city. We sit inside our homes away from home keeping our dreams safe in fantastical roles. Looking around me for a single sober soul, my head’s ringing; my Father’s on the megaphone. Saying “Stop killing yourself and do the very best. Some things make your heart itch, and you don’t yet know what. But it won’t be you who cleans up this mess, write the Law upon your eyelids, let the Spirit do the rest.” Laughter is more precious than every ounce of gold. Our joy is bought, but never sold. My lungs expand with the warm breath of God; I wanna breathe so deep that they explode. Love is more precious than every pint of blood which runs down these bodies and into the mud. I watched him dead, soaking in a bathtub—the fool who believed himself more precious than love, but his blood ran down the drain and into the mud. •••4••• Let us repay evil with evil. Take advantage of all the stupid people. Let us claim our Christian ideals while making martyrs of Ishmael. Let us play “I know Jesus.” But trash His wombs and burn His fetus. But when He comes down as fire, we’ll seek the refuge of the grave. Which side are you on? I know the grass is greener on the fence. Let us use words like “hope” and “change” in history’s mere re-arrangement. Let us muddy our waters and appear deep when all our service is for manna. Which side are you on?, etc. I know the grass is greener on the fence with an ichthus tattooed on the liar’s lips. •••5••• If you are not wise… you treat your elders like legions of demons… then you are not Job… if your friends and family they persecute you, when you study their lives waiting to find fault… and you are not Noah if you’re not the only righteous man on earth… if you built an ark for no one but yourself… then you are not Christ… if you strain at gnats and swallow a camel… then you are not Nehemiah, stop running ‘round pulling out our beards, you noisy gong and clanging cymbal. If you are not kind, if you are not patient, then you are not Job. •••7••• Picked you up from the local airport; took you up above the city. We drank beer and talked of God; both agreed that the church was lazy. We didn’t fight at all that night, we must be changing. Strange thing this sickness does, demands patience, requires love. Unless of course, you’re content with blood when your enemy is against a wall. You could watch us all fall down, we must be crazy… without you, with only ourself, without light. We would tear limbs from our body; we would let the cancer grow. We drink His blood and talk of love, but never pray forgiveness follows. You could let us all fall down, we must be crazy. Without you, etc. Let’s get out of here when we tear apart His house… when our lips are poison… when our tongues are wagging. Let’s get out of here!! •••8••• The view is dim behind the veil. We failed our calling to the field. Our shouldered scythes are steel and brighter, whiter than the wheat that groans and longs to fill the harvest barns, when the sons are revealed,  when the Groom has come to those that yield—the fruit that’s fueled by the blood He spilled. Behind the veil, pale children line the aisle—smelling rank and filing single to fill the pews with broken people, splintered temples—we’re bound and crippled. We wink our eyes and shuffle our feet; we’ll take the milk, but hold the meat; we’re all first chair in the scoffer’s seat. You became the veil, lifted up and top down torn. Curses-crowned and robed with bruises; You were mute before your accusers. You kept the promise our Father gave us. We give You praise, our Groom, our Christ! We’re  dead to sin because You died, because You rose, we know we too will rise. •••9••• A drift of dirt in a clean-pressed shirt sits on a throne of clay. He says what’s just from his court of dust, and the strawmen all obey. But I pray our children will not exchange the heart of eternity for an image of man—the vacuous now, the glamorous today!, etc. Paint the plague a different shade. Black is such a bore. Mask old death in pink baby’s breath if red’s been used before. Empty wine bags and fashion magazines have separated us from our pedigree. Valium and little dogs—dictions of the dirt—old-fashioned lines to cover up our passing, the vacuous now, etc. •••10••• This entertainment age clutters my brain, drives me insane. So many worlds to get lost in: a million states of mind. We all disperse seeking comfort first until the day of reckoning. This entertainment age softens my mind, keeps me in line. I wonder what the world was like before the technicolor flood, I wonder what the world was like before our nightlights killed the stars. Where you gonna run!? Where you gonna hide?! … when you die, etc. •••11••• When I watch you sleeping, when I watch you eat, you’re strange to me, strange and beautiful. I forget to buy my cigarettes looking past the liquor store—you’re strange to me, strange and beautiful. When you’re unaware, when you’re in a dream, I watch you and cry, cry with gratitude. Your slumber is my vice, you peaceful voyeur’s treat. You’re strange to me, babe. Strangely wonderful. •••12••• This government has become so grand with its tipping scales and its shifting sand. Politics persuade the people to pick a puppet of two little men. Murder Muslims, cut out babies—what’s your preference of bloodshed? Either party will put your little lights out, some small profit’s beginning and end. Worry for tomorrow now. You know not what you’ll eat or drink. You occupy your mind with things like movie stars and get-rich schemes. Trade your money for tangible gold. Trade your puppet’s funny message of hope. Build your house on the Rock of Immanuel; set your clocks for the end of all time. Worry not. Tomorrow’s here. You know now what you’ll eat and drink. Occupy your mind with grace for sacrifice and length of days. Washington is Hollywood … Plug your ears to Washington … Close your eyes to Hollywood—nightmares are what once were dreams.