Name: Like Vines Growing Towards the Infinite by Immelmann
Duration: 14 min 50 s
Description: I still don't like that title. I thought it would grow on me by now.

Demo/Track 1 of my (see above for genre?) project. DEAD serious. Really, I promise.

Avant-garde Doombient Blackened Symphtronic Nu-death-hop-core Demo 1

Rooftop slates of better days
Protect our trampled stolen dreams
And your soul may be laid bare
To teach you that nothing is there

Nothing’s quite as lonely
As being that ignored
By the people whose opinion
Are all I could afford
I might not be perfect
But I hold some sort of charm
Since despite my efforts
I never come to harm
Never make friends on purpose
Looking for a laugh
I always sit here dreaming
Of the chances that have passed
But with all the riddles
Of casting social nets
I find myself sequestered
In the company of no regrets

Rooftop slates of better days
Protect our trampled stolen dreams
And your soul may be laid bare
To teach you that nothing is there

Facsimiles of delight
A record needle scratch
The overcast vagabonds
Hold on to the past
Platitudes are useless
As the Hubris that they bring
But disregard their influence
And find yourself outside the ring
Of real connections
With the people around you
Like suicide flies
In your day old stew
They drop you like a habit
You hold on to the ship
Not knowing that it is going down
A one way trip

Rooftop slates of better days
Protect our trampled stolen dreams
And your soul may be laid bare
To teach you that nothing is there

So raise a drink of terror
And drown in stories told
By accidental peers
That start to take their hold
Flying on the windows
Of reflective foggy nights
The low rent psychotics
Bathing in the dimming lights
Of shallow interactions
With the gods who cast away
The ones who truly need the help
On a holy day
But in the end it’s empty
Like a beggar in a church
The thoughtless hold the key
To what a persons worth	

 Rooftop slates of better days
Protect our trampled stolen dreams
And your soul may be laid bare
To teach you that nothing is there

Like Vines Growing Towards the Infinite

Immelmann

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Aleksandar Jelisavčić

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