i'm laid out like a crosswalk 
that leads you from me to there; 
the blow that billows through your bones, 
the fingers through your hair. 

i'm laid out like a crosswalk 
that leads you from me to there; 
to soak in sun and spit, 
always ashamed, always aware. 

you'll soon be salvaged, i'm sure.

A Crosswalk

you frozen flicker in the haze, you silhouette; 
everybody's angry, it's all coming to a head. 
no strings will come and coil you safe, no nerves that nullify; 
just thin arrows piercing awkward and awry. 

and the wind that lifts you up is just a smoker's cough, 
the wind that grips you close and pulls you away. 
no rushing back; they don't need to know just where you've been. 
you were here before, but now it's displaced. 

and everything you see will sink away again, 
and everyone you care for, you'll never meet. 
and everything you render can be bought from someone else; 
a bow bemoaned, along this broken street. 

in dead leaves strewn across your yard, all scared and wet, 
everybody's anxious just to see what you'll do next. 
and there's nothing you can save, to carry through the white, 
'til you let go as distance decays before your eyes. 

and the wind that lifts you up is just a smoker's cough, 
the wind that grips you close and throws you away. 
stab through the symphony, scratch out the lives that you won't lead; 
oh, it isn't real at all, it's simply displaced. 

and everything you've seen will sink away again, 
and everyone you've cared for, you'll never meet. 
and everything you've rendered can be bought from someone else; 
a bow bemoaned, along this broken street. 

what i fear you might discover, 
what i fear you'll somehow learn. 
when you piece it all together, 
then so much will have to burn. 

and the spectres of your past lives 
will someday swallow me whole, 
and i'll fall through your composure, 
smashed to pulp by your perfect home. 

and you will rest for such a long time, 
and you will rest for such a short, short life. 
(you frozen flicker in the haze, you silhouette.)

Smokers Cough

oh i can picture the moment you fall apart, you fall apart; 
i can picture the silence of your arms. 
oh i can picture you messed up on linen sheets, on linen sheets; 
i can picture your senses going dark. 

and all the sympathy that you could show, some comfort in a blank room; 
scrawled in quick incisions, slivers shooting up and through you. 
and every absolution you'd bestow, deserving and undraped; 
melting in attendance while i stay wrapped in heat shrink tape. 

while sharp breathing is facepaint, 
a quiet quiver of jealous things, 
and while sharp metals feel softer 
to trace patterns on the shuddering. 

and i can picture the moment you levitate, you levitate; 
i can picture the shock on your face. 
and through a tear in the ceiling, you float away, you float away, 
until the moment your echo starts to shake. 

and everything impatient, in a terrifying sheen; 
one left flailing desperate at the shards of dried-up dreams. 
and everything corrupted, too destroyed to disappear; 
wrapped in gauze, embedded deep and kept so still. 

while sharp breathing is facepaint, 
a quiet quiver of jealous things, 
and while sharp metals feel softer 
to trace patterns on the shuddering. 

if a voice would come and beckon, if there were only some way out; 
pinch poison through the exit, small hands can open anything. 
if a voice would come and beckon, if there were only some way out; 
pink pulsing through your exits, small hands can open anything. 

you're a bright loud spirit that feels like it can speak, 
you are bleeding nectar wherever i can't be. 
you're a bright loud spirit that wants so bad to speak; 
you are carved out of skin, so special in the heat. 

so come on and kill me; yeah, pull me through yourself. 
so come on and kill me, just pull me through yourself. 

(never be held in another. 
never feel a heart beating in time.)

Small Hands Can Open Anything

alone in a dizzy house, 
the spark on your shoulders arising. 
all specks in a coughing smoke; 
burnt birds and advertising. 

i'd swear your little life grew legs, 
and sat down at the foot of my bed. 
your face covered in ink, 
covered in black dyes. 

so wipe your eyes with the knives in your hands, 
with the knives in your plans. 
i can listen, but can't understand; 
it's not mine to demand 
from the life in your hands, 
from the wasted nights thrown in your plans. 
i can hear you, but i cannot understand. 

people want you to stumble in the dark, 
people want you to get home safe. 
people want you to hurry through the dark, 
people want you hiding in the alleyway. 

alone in a messy house, 
the storm outside moves higher. 
a jagged turn to ash, 
the ads and the birds you buy her. 

i'm sure the sea's your visitor; 
this life is oh so insular. 
it bathes you in weird inks, 
a face full of long sighs. 

so wipe your eyes with the knives in your hands, 
with the knives in your plans. 
i can listen, but can't understand; 
it's not mine to demand 
from the life in your hands, 
from the wasted nights thrown in your plans. 
i can hear you, but i cannot understand. 

people want you to stumble in the dark, 
people want you to get home safe. 
people want you to hurry through the dark, 
people want you hiding in the alleyway. 

and they have offered you so much; be careful. 
(it's not on you, i am lying to myself. 
it's all on you, i am lying to myself.)

The Knives

crumbled nest 
of electric shock; 
birds fly dead 
in an empty flock. 
something always seems to go wrong. 

broken limbs, 
soft paralysis; 
couldn't walk, 
and could not resist. 
one more month is wasted in mist. 

i'm awake, but it feels pointless. 
i'm awake as sculptures speak in secret code 
of all that slips away before you've grabbed a hold; 
i wish that you were home. 

foggy air 
cut by crashing planes; 
pale hands, 
filled with paler veins 
no one could pretend to embrace. 

lay your head 
in a torn up room; 
sleeping heart 
will be leaving soon, 
from the barest parts of the moon. 

i'm awake, but you are elsewhere. 
i'm awake as someone shields you from the cold. 
and all that's died out is all that i've ever known; 
i wish that you were home. 

why won't you come home?

Paler Veins

hey, sorry that you have no options, but neither did we. 
streaks of mud down your legs, they glare so invitingly. 
the ground is so warm, you haunt yourself. 

the silver sickness, catch you when you're away, 
and it's blossoming, blossoming. 
a bandage on the breaking of a new day, 
and it's blossoming, blossoming. 
the ground is so warm, you haunt yourself. 

(somehow there's always a weight you cannot quite shake, 
somehow there's always a weight.) 

all these tunnels will swell, 
take in everything else 
to be slowly lost to time. 

when there's no one to tell, 
then there's nothing to sell, 
taken silent in the night. 

hey, tangled in your braidings, this sunken defeat; 
lines of static converge in a suffocating wreath. 
the earth is so soft, you'll never tell. 

as lazy choirs paint your chest blue and grey, 
yeah, it's blossoming, blossoming. 
and as the forest comes to take you away, 
yeah, it's blossoming, blossoming. 
the earth is so soft, you'll never tell. 

(somehow there's always a weight you cannot quite shake, 
somehow there's always a weight.) 

all these rivers will swell 
into everything else, 
and be slowly lost to time. 

and there's nothing to see 
as you float on downstream, 
taken softly in the night. 

(and one day becomes another, 
and one day becomes another, 
and one day becomes another, 
and one day becomes another, 
and one voice becomes a mother, 
and one breath becomes a smother, 
and one word becomes a mutter, 
and one fault becomes a clutter)

Blossoming

i find myself under my skin, again; 
i'm distracted by too many thoughts on my mind. 
i think i'm drowning inside. 
a time to breathe, a time to decide. 

i hear familiar sounds coming from my room; 
look how far you've come, now, with scars and open wounds. 
history repeats itself, 
your best thoughts left on the shelf. 

come on, step through. 
you know i'm telling the truth. 
don't crack; he's there for you 
on the road to riches, the road to your perfect view. 

come on, have a look. 
watch everything fall off. 
one time's all it took. 
i'm chained to the wall... 

on the search for something new.

Dedicated To Scented Milk

in the moments you're awake, 
seeping out of sodium light; 
cloaked in technicolor, and held so tight. 

in the moments you're asleep, 
with no reason to survive 
in the violence of an ordinary life. 

when this plastic is all that sticks in your hand; 
the only words you'll understand, one of these days 
in the doorway of your smashed-up apartment, 
with walls like wet parchment. 

and it's all too much to handle, 
too much to ask of one scandal 
with numb hands, and even number doubt. 

and so little ever makes you proud; 
go on and lose yourself in the crowd, 
with no faith that you'll ever be picked out. 

as the wings grind to a halt, 
as the shell disintegrates, 
all is left unfinished; stashed away. 

nothing heals given time, 
nothing honours your remorse; 
no cycles can be broken just by force. 

this elastic is all that sticks in your hand; 
the only words you'll understand, one of these days 
in the doorway of your smashed-up apartment, 
with walls like wet parchment. 

and it's all too much to handle, 
too much to ask of one scandal 
with numb hands and even number doubt. 

and so little ever makes you proud; 
go on and lose yourself in the crowd, 
with no faith that you'll ever be picked out. 

did you once feel you had a prayer? 
pressed your face to faceless screen? 
how the glossy grow in quarantine. 

but it's fine, you're the bigger man, 
though you can't be satisfied; 
no, you never can go back and make it right.

Memory Architect

(if you wait, then it'll come to you. 
it has to do, it has to do.) 

escape, from all that's come to pass; 
agape, like writhing ghosts in glass. 
it's still lying to me, it's still laughing at me. 

sometimes, you pull me in; 
you tie me up and drag me round. 
unwind, it's in your mind; 
the threads and threats of lonely sound. 

but don't worry; i've got a plan, 
and this plan forms all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you know all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you'll take all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you'll waste all of us, 
'til you finally say the word. 

all lies into your yawning smear; 
blank eyes, the lulls that loom and leer. 
are you looking at me? are you looking at me?? 

sometimes, i can't let it go; 
the thought of you so unafraid. 
crushed blind in wasted time; 
the stings and stains of simpler days. 

but don't worry; i've got a plan, 
and this plan forms all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you know all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you'll take all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you'll waste all of us, 
'til you finally say the word. 

it's amazing, somehow you know all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you'll take all of us. 
it's amazing, somehow you'll waste all of us; 
will you ever say the word? 

(will you ever say the word?? 
i will never say the word.) 

sometimes, you pull me in; 
you tie me up and drag me round.

All of Us (Sometimes)

so once again, this won't mean anything; 
by cut, by crutch, it never does. 
erase the earth, it won't stop worrying; 
dissolving aimless into dust. 

on blinking screen, scrape off these blemishes; 
it's one big joke, one chance combust. 
no one is warm, no one's your nemesis; 
nothing can ever earn your trust. 

thresholds through what cannot happen, 
some souls that only ever live to haunt. 
thresholds through what cannot happen; 
your shy little grin, a poison-tipped dart. 

the end unfurls, your will is underweight: 
a nest of wires, a worthless breeze. 
wide eyes roll back as you evaporate, 
with blood to clot your endless dream. 

and when you crack, there's someone else they'll cast; 
a blame to take through open sea. 
what's left to long for now the moment's passed, 
what was, and what will never be. 

thresholds through what cannot happen, 
some souls that only ever live to haunt. 
thresholds through what cannot happen; 
your shy little grin, a poison-tipped dart. 

so lay it down, regret into the gleam; 
the past is just an illness with no cure, no vaccine. 
to hold a weapon no one can control, 
to hope someone's a healer as you fill up with holes. 

(without any enemies, without any memories.)

Hidden Staircases

Formed in 2015 by a group of high school friends, Painted Ivory is an indie rock band physically based out of Calgary and spiritually based out of various terrifying, fantastic unrealities.

Painted Ivory

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