Another bus tune courtesy of spare time and Launchpad. 

Newcastle Express

Bacup and Start Again

The Point of Plastic V1.mp3

Recorded on a broken guitar through an old rotary phone. Or at least it sounds like that.

Lyrics: 
When you see the dying world,
you're really looking at your own reflection.

You can run, you can hide,
but we're all headed in the same direction.

And everything you ever owned
only counts as consolation.

You say you're mind is working.
In your eyes, I only see vacation.

It doesn't help the situation.

These bodies ache and crumble
while we sleep all the live long day.

Day breaks and fades
and all you've done
is a bit of the same.

Feed the beast
that lives in you.
The hunger that ever grows.

It feeds and breeds
until all is gone.
The vultures clean the bones.

We are all just bones unclean.

We go 666,000 miles every hour
around, into the sun
just gazing at the power.

We count all the black holes
in our vision just to
pass the time.

We wonder
where we're headed.
But we never read the signs.

We are all just bones.
Oh, they clean us,
pick us clean.

What does it mean when dopamine
takes control of everything?
What are we living for?
Just surviving score to score.

Alcoholic, shopaholic,
Whatever you call it, it's all the same.
Takes more every time you hit it,
can't see a reason to quit it.

It's all for one, none for all,
a burning baptism in alcohol.
So raise your glass to the sun,
burning you along with every one.




Just Bones

Mary Did You (Tech)Know?

To what do we owe this pleasure?
Deep in my dreams, I feel the pressure
of the unknown.

In the canyon, the sun goes down so early.
Night descends, the light leaves you
to fall.

The Sun in the Canyon

Inoculate my mind
It’s not too late to find
a way through

Standing in my kitchen
Incubating and I’m fixing
to fruit

I got a spore to pick 
with you
I gotta strain to
break through

It takes time
but not as much as you think
Just give me time
And I can give you what you seek

That medicine
within my skin

Myceliate my soul
My feelings are all golden
teachers

Turkeys hens and chickens
intuition quickly quickens 
the seekers

I got a spore to pick with you
there’s a cap to what I can do

Ryan Fosmark

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