Name: Oceanic Clockwork by Short Wave Advisory
Duration: 2 min 22 s
Description: Human machinery observing an indifferent ocean

Dimensionless ratio of energies; approximated by 1/137

Fine Structure Constant

The World's first communication satellite 1962, recommissioned as a lounge with a view

Telstar Lounge

WATCH THE MUSIC VIDEO HERE! youtu.be/kqIL4MOYtVU

(I set it to silent,)
(So I miss the call)
I set it to silent,
So I miss the call
Violence through blindness
The risk of the fall
I know the value 
Of faulty control
Forget the price; 
The midnight toll
For getting something 
Worth my time
Swapping my limes
For clementines

Clarity cost him an eye
Cavity clear of disguise
Battery, vermin, surprise
Moonlight now wringing his spine

Images under the bench
Dark is beginning to stench
Fill it with drops from my brain
Gums decomposing the pain
Fill it with drops once again

(Waves getting loud)
(Lungs puffing out)
(Hands pressing down)
(Shove me around)
(Punching his mouth)
(Teeth on the ground)
Waves getting loud
Lungs puffing out
Hands pressing down
Shove me around
Punching his mouth
Teeth on the ground

Do you know how much my fucking teeth cost?

(I caught the bastard)
(More hooked than the cutter)
(It’s sharper than mustard)
(Swallow up custard)

I caught the bastard
More hooked than the cutter
It’s sharper than mustard
Swallow up custard
Evening’s just started
A thousand clicks shutter
The words that I mutter
Squirrel squeaks: “nutter”

(Punching his mouth)
(Teeth on the ground)
(Waves getting loud)
(Lungs puffing out)
(Hands pressing down)
(Shove me around)
(Punching his mouth)
(Teeth on the ground)
Waves getting loud
Lungs puffing out
Hands pressing down
Shove me around
Punching his mouth
Teeth on the ground

Do you know how much my fucking teeth cost?

(Stomach burning break)
(Towards me turn towards me)
(Hold your cuff with my hand)

The puff of discovery
(We waste the day,)
The hiss of the cut
(you shape me like clay)
Worms in my hand
(Taste the same)
Pelt in my gut
(you taste always the same)
Tearing a lung
(Stomach burning break)
Tear him a new one
(Towards me turn towards me)
Pick up the pieces of a lonely son
(Hold your cuff with my hand) 

The puff of discovery,
The hiss of the cut
Worms in my hand, 
Pelt in my gut
Tearing a lung, 
Tear him a new one
Pick up the pieces of a lonely son
Smear on the ground 
Reminds me of I
Burning bush breathless 
Clogs up my eye
Passion is likely more precious than sleep
Stomp on the powder beneath my feet

(Passion is likely more precious than sleep)
(Fuck!)

(Waves get-)
(Waves get-)
(Waves get-)
(Waves get-)

Waves getting loud
Lungs puffing out
Hands pressing down
Shove me around
Punching his mouth
Teeth on the ground

Fuck!

A cynic knows the price of everything 
And the value of nothing 
I am an optimist,
So I forget the cost of what-could-be
The light at the end of the tunnel is too far
But there’s dirt above 
I’ll dig straight up

Written & produced by Solen Gold
Vocals by Marques Monteiro
Artwork by Theo Larsen

Stream on all platforms → beacons.ai/solengold

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Human machinery observing an indifferent ocean 

Oceanic Clockwork

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Oceanic Clockwork

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