S​?​T

by SLUR

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RECORDED MIXED AND MASTERED BY THE ALMIGHTY MICHAEL BANKS

ART BY EVAN

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released August 7, 2014

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SLUR Birmingham, Alabama

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Track Name: J O Y P U K E!
I'm caught in a bind, disgusted with my own kind.
I seek thrill from watching them suffer.
I'll wind up like them, with my head in a gutter.
The sons of bastards, I couldn't die any faster.
My mind is a slum, my hearts the mayor, put a gun to my temple, I'll be my own traitor.
A worthy treason to burn myself down.
Track Name: S H O C K T H E R A P Y.
A heartless contempt, wedged deep in my chest.

I'm sick, I'm fine, I'll give it time.
I'm sick, I'm fine, destruction in my mind.
I'm sick, I'm fine, I'll give it some time.
Just give it some time.
Track Name: B R I T T L E B I N D S.
Losing sense of sanity, a break or pause of apathy, no worry or concern for my own well being.
I wanna break lose, I wanna melt away, away into mistakes.
Tired of complaining, tired of the judgement.
I'm sick from the core.
I don't want this, not anymore.
Breaking from bad habits and my selfish acts, set apart from all the bullshit and the false fucking facts.

A slurred fucking life is the one I choose, watch me melt away into my decayed youth.
Track Name: R U M B L E! (L I N K W R A Y)
Solly, will you go to prom with me?
Track Name: L A B O T O M Y.
A weak sense of construct, day after day.
Half assed feelings, born and raised.
No sense of closure, or means to an end,
struck by the hand that sets the trends.

We're stuck in a game that's never been fair.
No care for the world, I've never been there.
I retrace my steps and find myself in the same place.
I lack clarity.
Just feel like a waste of space.
Bound by no fucking chain.

I've got a chip on my shoulder, cause I hate the fucking world.
I've got a hollow mind. Nothing good to hide inside.
Track Name: T H E A U C T I O N.
My back to the wall as I face the hate.
Skewed sense of judgement, what a waste.
Blurred judgement states, a fucking disgrace.
The Pursuit of Happiness is just a myth.
These bigots wont cease to spit their shit.
Insensitivity gone too far.

Stripped of individuality for experimental use.
Choking on the threads that make up the noose.
I gauge my temper and bite my tongue,
but the noose has tightened, we're already hung.