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Walk It Off

by Edmonton

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Dirty Roofs 03:58
I carved a space for myself on top of couches and under dirty roofs. Barely removed from the sting of the T.V., I’ve barely moved in the past couple weeks. I’m sort of sorted out. I’ve found the walls. I finally lost the door. I’m never getting out. Did I have anything to say? I barely said it anyway. Did I learn how to see past today? I barely said it anyway. I had some years of dreams where I thought the world stretched in the sliver of my sight. But a sliver’s what it is. It is a limited perspective, lacking in the color that forms the light. And it escalates. It rises high. I see the sun in my eyes. Did I have anything to say? I barely said it anyway. Did I confuse the blindness for the light of day? I barely said it anyway. Did I have anything to say? I barely said it anyway. Did I learn how to see past
I’m not a cigarette; I don’t burn and fall to the floor. I’m not your small regret that you forget ‘til you can’t breathe anymore. There’s that evil inside me that’s finally provoked. I’m the smoke you breathe and leave on the road. I can’t listen, I can’t agree, ‘cause there’s a fire on me. And I would burn to death if I took another breath convincingly. I put my stake into this cycled game, and I don’t know if I’m wrong. But if I stay confused in a steady haze, I’ll write a song. And I lit it up, but I didn’t know that it would last this long.
I’m not a ghost in the machine. I will not settle in the cracks. I’ve been playing games in the corner every day, trying to joke away the heavy I can’t weigh. I’m not a symbol for your hope. There is no sainthood in these weeds. No, I won’t spill the truth to you. You’re not a savior that I’ll run to. And I can’t help but think I’ll cast a stone, but travel down my father’s road. Were their eyes just watching me, or were they watching something that I couldn’t see? I always knew I’d walk alone. I’m not a ghost in the machine, but I refuse to write it out. I’ve been saying it over and over every time, but I told you that I’ve already crossed that line.
I'm Old 04:23
I stand up and I’m spent. Did I give up on all the years that I had left? Was I a focused machine or a paperback book, full of simple stories that never told you where to look? I don’t think if I had the chance I’d change it. But I wish I had the chance to rearrange it. We’re all tied down in some way to the things that we want to be. What did they say to us when we kept on asking questions? I’m not in tune with the direction. I’m not sitting on a shelf. We just thought that we could become better versions of ourselves, but we should learn to manage our expectations. I don’t know that I wanted to buy into it. But I always thought I would. We’re all tied down in some way to the things that we want to be.
There is an answer inside my head. The warm air melts the locks that the cool air’s always fed. There’s a sun-streaked heat that melts away the ice that’s been sealing me. I give the temperature too much sway, giving up when I can’t get away. And the winter’s always laced with that crystalline paralysis I face. Is it just a circumstance or a series of questions that I never forget to ask? There’s an answer inside my head. There is an answer or I’d probably be dead.
It’s never time to undo what’s been multiplying, ‘cause we weave our lazy days into tapestries of hate, and we never get bored of lying over and over. I’m not a threat. I’m just another problem. And I could have you for the year, but I will never have your ear. In front of you I’m just a lifeless column, and I doubt that it will change. This is not time for starting over. You’re just a ghost in the machine. And you’re not incidental, but this change is incremental, and you’re too young to see past that screen. I doubt that I’ve given it my best. I’m as lazy as a child, and my passion’s ever mild, and I never get the chance to fucking rest. So how can I expect you to change if I cannot walk that mile, if I do not have the guile, to trick you into taking this test? This is a test.
I’ll take it all and I’ll be on my way. I couldn’t pay for it, couldn’t leave it on the shelf. And there are strings hanging from the roof, tickling my head, making it hard to think. There’s not a way to take them down. They’d eat through the ground. It’s poison on a thread. It’s dishonest and I’m loud ‘cause they’d eat through the ground. It’s poison on a thread. I’ll take it all and I’ll be on my way. I couldn’t work for it, couldn’t stay home. I’m living in a dome that shatters in the cold, but it burns with the sun. I’ll be on my way. It’s a microscope. It burns through the floor. I will walk on the floor if it leads to the door. And I will stand if this demands. I’ll be on my way. I’ll be on my way. I cannot fall down. I’ve got a deal with the ground. And I’ll take everything. I’ll speak with my voice. I’m too tired now to undo this choice.
I couldn’t tell you if my mind made sense. There’s a filter failing every day. I’m bitter now. Have I been this way for a while, or did it happen in the dark? There’s nothing left to say. The shelves are piled to the top. The fickle furniture has started to stain and rot. There’s nothing left to say. I cleaned the kitchen again. I took the dog for a walk. But the anxiety in between makes it hard to talk. I didn’t clean the floors or furniture. I didn’t turn off the light, ‘cause when I do there’s someone there that tells me that I’m right and there’s nothing left to say. Am I going home or leaving? Did it crumble in the dust left by my subtle laziness that never seems to stop? There’s nothing left to say.
Walk it Off 05:40
I saw it, but I never thought I’d make it down that road. I kept leaving parts of me out where everyone could see and it’s always low. The walls are finally bare except the nails that cover up the holes atop the stereo. If I took them out, the eyes that are disguised would see through the window. Did I forget the scene beyond me? It’s the coldest season, so there’s not a reason to go outside my home tonight. I need to find a way to fill the spots of empty space, ‘cause the floors are finally bare, but the signs are everywhere – the squares of dust where the table used to be. I found some change to get me to the store: a bitter reward, a spark of sympathy, left by some months of negligence that never seemed to be. Did I forget what restriction means? It’s the coldest season, so there’s not a reason to go outside my home tonight. If I’m moving in the right way, you’ll never mind the mess, as long as it’s careless and the pile in the corner is not a sign that something’s wrong. It’s just a relic that I left from feeling overwrought.


released April 24, 2014

Recorded and mixed at Crescendo Sound Studios by Dave Pratka
All music by Edmonton
All lyrics by Kiiks


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Chisel Records London, Ontario

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