One of my favorite covers ever. By an Australian Musician with bamfing vocal talent that has sadly disappeared. If you find this Jake, please continue to make music. I can even produce it for you, 11 years experience in digital audio... hope you find this.

Machines (Acoustic) Crown The Empire Cover

You can take my eyes
My ramblings like wiry legs of a crow
An ancient slumber
From the lion's den
Gilted
You picked me out of blood, bone, earth, and stone
Blood, Bone, Earth, and Stone


Ermlaur Angel Eyes

Sprinkling stupidly to sorrowful sick seagulls singing sunset songs sounding sadly in their stead. sorry that I missed what you said. See I’m slowly storing my speech silently in my head, stopping steering scales to the sky while seeping stress. Staring suddenly at seven stricken strangers strung out as string hung signs saying no smoking. so stuck in the scum to stave off spitting seams.  stealing the soft searing sun from shiny streets sipping from sparkling sinks like soapy sterile standing in secret silos in casinos. So seven strangers shoutin they stunners something skip songs between sidewalks sideways swiftly saying son and swearing to me though I can’t believe I’m still sinking into this stupid shit.   

Moonlight, Sunlight

There's a red lamp in a window
From a string
Broken beam
Fall to me in summer steam
God's love and this mind.
It leaks from the mountaintops
It shimmers in the trees
I've fallen from every beat
Over every wolf's bloodstained feet
You are summer steam
You are the smell after rain
I will wait until your words paint themselves on the clouds
Beneath fireflies, lighting empty skies.

Memories

What's inside of me? What makes all of me? I cannot tell. What builds a man? The milk he drinks when he is a child? The words he hears peaking into the hallway late at night? Or the quiet, violent whispers that speak in his cradle of loneliness? Is this what builds a fiend? Or does this strengthen the man's reserve? Where does love fit in the jigsaw of sleeplessness? Does it fit perfectly? Or does it smash every peace/piece of mind that was always out of reach anyway? When I worry if a good thing is true, I know then that it must be; for worrying whispers of a desperate heart are laced with demonic sparks of spirits past, spirits locked. If you neglect them for me... Will you neglect them for me? Can I trust myself to throw away the key? I question if I am able to. I question my right to-- when memories of blackened ribs, veins full of disappearing ink, and my last supper digesting in the bathroom sink get caught in my throat like the fat we never chewed. When I see my feet wet with the tears of brothers lost, changed and at what cost but to think of it-- of it all as everything; this sphere floating, a few marbles rolling, or just a brain swimming, sloshing in fluid. Like, sick to my stream, dammed up by a mass of rotten flesh. But I'm picking away at least, doing my best. Today I see feathers sailing, it's a good sign. I felt soft skin against my frozen toes, while my eyes strained to see through the pinhole I made in a dam of decay. What I've seen is an eye of green looking into me and a bed sheet as big as the sky; where little flecks of every colour burst open, scatter, and cascade down slopes of pale moonlit bluffs where the blood runs slow and deep. I felt it carving canyons in me, out of my moors of black ribs, maybe you heard them rattle when the tar cleared for you and in the moment the highlands were lifted higher by pillars of lips; non of which even the Romans could match in beauty (with all that ancient knowledge, still unfit). In that moment you had the right to throw away any key because nothing was more sacred than the concern you kept for me. You gave to fix. To even think just one droplet of thought in my name, it floods my marrow with pure sunlight-- The depths, The Cimmerian Shade, The Walls of Erebus, the desolate echoes of the hallways of eternity, the ones I would so often hear, I say: fuck 'em. Why would I give up into them when I have an idea of what builds a man; or what is breaking "the man". and finding that what is beneath is a treasure cove of words and notes I thought I'd never know. Picked from blood, bone, earth, and stone there is an ascent from the cold to the big bed sheet in the sky and sleep finally. Thinking often of you and the things I could do. 'Cause no motherfucker can take me down, never have, never will especially not the hellions behind my eyes. Not ever with you on my chest, your breathing filling me almost beyond what I can hold. No, never, with hopes of drifting forever, inside you and out of the cold. 
There's a red lamp in a window
From a string
Broken beam
Fall to me in summer steam
God's love and this mind.
It leaks from the mountaintops
It shimmers in the trees
I've fallen from every beat
Over every wolf's bloodstained feet
You are summer steam
You are the smell after rain
I will wait until your words paint themselves on the clouds
Beneath fireflies, lighting empty skies.

Memories Angel Eyes

I make music produce guitar play vocals and we listen to it.
check yes by Sith lord

Ishmael

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