I'd give anything to turn back the clock, but the clock has turned its back on me. The hands of time are covering my eyes, leading me in circles through eternity.
I've been over this a thousand times before, but even this feels familiar to something more. Something real; something pure. Like birth pangs - is it worth pain to break this cycle I'm being trapped inside? I try to leave it behind, but can't remember why. Every time I turn my back, I turn my back; I turn my back to it all. Back to the walls I'm building.
Left behind.
I turn my back on me.
I'm sick. Cross-contaminate. My distraction's distracting everyone from seeing straight. Caught in a maze of memoirs blinded, so I can't escape. Don't follow me. I'm crying wolf - don't follow.
Wolf, come skin me alive. If you're going to drag me around, you might as well become me. (This sheep's made for clothing). Wolf, come skin me alive.
Cross-contamination. Sane suffocation. The wolf preys on the weak. The timeline's wrapped around my neck to suffocate my sanity.
Fusing ’90s metalcore, ’00s vaporwave, and ’20s cybergrind, the Texans' debut showcases an unprecedented unholy trinity. Bandcamp New & Notable May 17, 2023