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RIFLES AT RECESS LYRICS
"The Art of Flying Without Sky" (2001 Demo)
1. Custom Made Backstabber
2. I Died 20 Times In 1986
3. No Evil Angels
4. Here's to Broken Boys
1. Custom Made Backstabber
Paralyzing prophecies sleep in the throats of the saints who spun the sun while time stood still. The dreaded tears of spiritual lepars reduced the angels to rust who in turn gouged thier eyes blind with sharpened halo's. The sky rains down smoke on thier heads and they fled to hide thier shame in shadows of wings.Thieves on thrones had no trouble wishing slumber under plastic crowns and mocked deadly desire in sleepless dreams.Blank pages bibles lined the bookshelves in trophy rooms of third class gods who had no history.They were messiah's in noones eyes , not even blinded angelic ones.They begged to hang on homemade crosses and spit at onlookers who bit thier tongues behind smiling lips. Satisfaction the size of cathedrals blanketed thier wounds from view.Not a word was said , because we all knew that both the mime and the martyr helped us buy the nails.
2. I Died 20 Times In 1986
Where were the angels when my sunshine was shattered ? How did it feel to touch my skin ? Eight years and innocent . Your hands buried my tongue in the deepest grave . Flowers were fading on God's brightest day. Where were the angels when screams died wishing that my throat was the size of forgiveness ? I was such a cute kid but now I hope that you've spent your days practicing death . I shut my eyes and you melt away . Let's restart this fucking war.
3. No Evil Angels
Please don't pull this dagger from my back , I want the whole world to have a place to hang thier hat and watch the shadows wilt . I want the whole world to dig up roots from the earth like veins from the belly of revelation . I want to fly these abused skies and take the grand tour of Armageddon looking thru a dead saints eyes . Strip the king of his crown and melt it down to mold me shackles where I'll remain chained and held in contempt by the failure of what a ruler dreamt when his eyes closed and reopened dead and poems of apocolypse were carved into his head . I wake up dazed from summers heat and find the carvers knife laying at my feet. I am the author of tomorrow. I am the inkwell's plea for featherpens. I am 100 needles sewing the sun undone and selling fire one flame at a time. Close your eyes and dream and tell forever I'm coming to steal his 9 to 5.
4. Here's to Broken Boys
I whispered your name last night into dark freezing pillows and sighed when nothing was returned but breezes that blew me right to sleep.My arms are getting so tired of hugging memories and falling pieces to floors,and there I am on hands and knees picking up smiles and your make-up is not a mask anymore.I love you today just like the days before and I love to hear your voice in dreams inside of me I slip beneath the sky again to catch a glimpse of you preparing for me more memories.Was it always this peaceful when you cried ? I would love to think that our worlds together had no hands of time but we're running thin on the time we spend watching eachother try.i wanted this to last so long like ancient tombs that put to sleep all the boys that had hopes like mine. I just wanted you to know this day that I whispered your name a million times into a pillow that just sat there and didn't move.
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