1. |
Cognitive Dissonance
04:55
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“Cognitive Dissonance”
Pulp Culture, Alex Brown
The weight of volition, surmounting,
Hangs in balance with perfect contrition,
Recompensing tare,
All systems left impaired.
In between these worlds of lies
Is the crown of thoughts comprised.
[CHORUS]
Proselytes, being played.
Oh, my gods, which ones to blame?
Faulty, or fitting, dereliction pervades.
The truth will reveal itself just the same
Resolve to ruling fiction
Though it won't call you by name,
So they keep sending us in circles.
All basic reductive emotions
Retract into inductions they motion.
Never is a drill,
So hold your pieces still.
Fox, his own claimed thirst, refutes
Reaching for that futile fruit
[CHORUS]
[BRIDGE A&B]
[CHORUS]
[OUTRO]
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2. |
The Wait [basement demo]
04:30
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“The Wait”
Pulp Culture, Alex Brown
Instant regret, what name to use?
‘Reasons enough to live in the shadows that creep across the room.
Empty desire only lingers
In visceral pleasures
Hide the parallels of art and life.
Moving pictures after nightfall
Are past incarnations,
Vivid stories of my deaths.
Memories matter less,
This weariness is happiness.
I can feel that time moves without me
Just enough to see through reality.
I’m a great deal less complex
Than distant days, which I possessed.
My enemy, he knows I’m here;
If he’s alive remains unclear.
Condemned to the farthest circle,
Repeating the chapters you know.
Oh…
Then I’ll leave me,
Hanging at the moment of truth.
I wake up without exception,
Hearing shots in endless nightmares,
Rubbed out by fire in endless false awakenings,
Casting the spell that keeps us waiting.
In the same place he comes for me
My life is dreams negating,
Casting the spell that keeps us waiting…
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3. |
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“Embers of Remembered Dismemberment”
Pulp Culture, Alex Brown
[VS 1:]
1985, shift to drive.
Suicidal business man intakes
15 Vicodin, dope sets in.
Crashing flames surround my skin.
[CHORUS]
Hold the line please;
Disconnect me.
Straying from dreamed
Latitudes.
Blame it on you,
But tell you the truth.
All life’s misconstrued
By the space we conceive,
Holding onto these trite memories
Incites paramnesia.
Behind the lines of spectral divides
Are folded, divergent
Aberrations.
You’ve seen it too…
[VS 2:]
I’m made not to keep track of sleep
In between the hours that hold my pain.
In this prison camp we’re enslaved.
‘Turning soil to dig my grave.
[OUTRO]
All the children sing, “Show us love.”
Still grows older and fades away
Echoes ringing in worlds above;
Harsh reactions, deeper graves.
Ooh…
Sounds all change in different spots.
Makes cold bullets and turns ‘em hot.
Skulls of presidents that I shot.
Think it’s about time I stopped.
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Pulp Culture Waterford Township, Michigan
Pulp Culture is multifarious, four-piece, progressive rock band from southeast Michigan. The band consistently delivers an energetic live performance and incorporates a wide array of influences into ideas and art, transcending the creative process and connecting people. ... more
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