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We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Yeah​.​.​.

by MAST

/
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1.
land of broken knaves fashioned smirking in the guises of the brave lain to rest in twelve foot graves to keep the sins twice as far from the soil wielding crosses, wielding crosses, adorned with checkmarks from our losses and it’s true, our dreams are splayed into accounts of sand fabric flags waving tribute songs to our favored land make no mistake, the heights we’ve seen overshadow new gangrene dreams
2.
Washout 06:34
When the taking is done, there will be nothing to survive on/ for. Dreams of breathing will be choked off. This is a washout. Watch helplessly as tides climb earth. Currents overpower shells break open. Subside, leaving pearls on gold shores. The water like a monster pulls hostages down to Davey Jones locker. Anchors without vessels on the ocean floor. Bursts of oxygen cascade up toward the surface like weightless angels. Shimmering explosions expel the dream . No trace will be left of them. All blood shall be squeezed from stone. This is the extermination of working class America.
3.
Pumpshark 04:18
Circle prey from the depths. Pointed fin slices the surface. Row upon row of jagged daggers. Thirst greedy enough to swallow the seven seas. Let the black gold flood riches to the few. Let the black gold flood riches to the sharks wearing suits.
4.
Embrace 03:32
Televise hell. It shall haunt every household, pervading safety from the screen. Pugilists, bloodshed, casualties, ruin: this is pure entertainment. Arms against each other (as ratings) soar. Turn locks on doors, board up the windows, and increase the volume. Apocalypse, live. Faces, indurate, fetter with worry. Hypochondriac nation ... medicate numb. Pitch books to condign furnaces; worship media for it warns and protects. A comfort, tight like manacles.
5.
Forged from a hive of social vagaries. 10:00 tele prompt. Tragedy could find…you. Scythes rip through dreams, leaving a sleepless sweating disease. Each channel becomes a conduit of blanketed white paired with sporadic images of turmoil. Borne from the edicts of cultural architect. "Power is not a means; it's an end."
6.
Big Country 03:21
Big Country
7.
I am the father, forsaking you. Life, this war has left its mar . Oh, vicious world how you scorn me. All I created has been destroyed. Paternally pathetic. My heartbeat is an escalate of suffering. More of the same with every setting sun. Reaching out to the helpless . Deception. Thieves wring hard and closely around my airway. Maybe I'm not meant for you vicious world. Maybe I'm dreaming wrapped tight in serpents. What made me deserving of this curse? Retraction. I am the curse. Passing it along to my beloved. Screaming out lungs at the blue above me. The pressure is crushing me and I feel everything. Life, its such a long painful death. This lake of fire is all mine. The oars have burned to the handles. Consume me. Erase me. Consume me. Erase me. Never even whisper my name. Never keep a place inside your heart for me. Please delete all memories of this, this curse, this lifetime, this regret, this father forsaking you.
8.
Gasps of oxygen. Let out shrieks when ties detach. Now float away. Seeds rupture their pods. Shoots pierce the calm surface. Ripples surround each castaway. Repetition so constant like life cycles. A fires energy is infinite. So much more than any two eyes can envision. Everything is born to decay. Socialized in high hopes of co existence. Strict training mechanisms. Feed on threats. Bay for the moon.Soothe the bloodlust. Feed on war. How long can you denounce instincts? Glowing eyes of a fierce hunter when night falls in your soul. Take lives to keep life. It's so dear to all. The strength beneath the trees is in the over expansion of roots. Twisting deep and tangling. Maximize consumption beyond all necessary means. Tranquility underlined with battle.Branches blowing in a slight breeze. No boundaries left unbroken. Replaced daily....A life's work...tiny chapters...written in a timely fashion......a blackout...credits roll....Left alone. With the promise of winter cold and compressed under each step. Reincarnation is dirt. Existence is merely a measurement

credits

released November 29, 2011

Mast - Yeah...

Brian Williams - Guitars
Matt Desmarais - Bass, Vocals
Jake Neves - Vocals
Ryan Murphy - Drums

Backing Vocals - Jenny Lynn Hall

All music written by Mast

Recorded and mixed at Machines With Magnets, Pawtucket, RI by Keith Souza and Seth Manchester.

Mastered at Machines With Magnets

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tags

about

MAST Providence

working class.

loud.

okay.

magic unicorns.

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