BREAK BREAD BURN FLOWERS TO TEMPT THE TIME
SCABBED SKIN SCRAPED ACROSS THE PAVEMENT
BARE BONE NO HOME TO REST HIS HEAD
DAY FADED AND HE FUCKING HATES IT
MOTHER FUCKER
WASTE DAYS
STAY NUMB TO PASS ON BY
CALLUSED BRAIN REFLECTS IN TATTERED EYES
NO LOVE FOR A WALKING DEAD MAN
A PATH OF VIOLENCE FOR HIS PAINTED RED HANDS
YOU DON'T KNOW ME
SINKING
HE'S FUCKING SINKING AGAIN
AN ADDICT TO SIN
WITH HIS HANDS IN THE DEEP END
BLEEDING
DAZED AND CONFUSED
SELF TIED TO A NOOSE
WHILE IT CUTS OFF HIS BREATHING
BURN
BURN TO THE FUCKING GROUND
SPIT UP THE CANCEROUS LUNG
HIDE FROM THE FUCKING SUN
From the first deadened cowbell to the last dissonant guitar interval, Dutch quartet Geo's new record is shaped for impact. Bandcamp Album of the Day Apr 25, 2024