We'll Make It Together

by AllOne



"We'll Make It Together" is a compilation of collaborative songs that I made with miscellaneous friends over the past 4 years or so that I've been recording my writing and making it into some semblance of music. Consider it a less formal Coal Aberrations volume 2, if that suites you. I created it in an attempt to offer some of these "homeless" miscellaneous songs in one convenient package and to give shine to the talented friends I made them with.

Without others I wouldn't make my music with nearly as much urgency, because the people I am blessed to meet (musicians and not, those I've collaborated with and not) inspire me to be my best, to make them proud and to give them something to hopefully get them thinking, if not an answer to their issues, then an escape from them. If not an elixir for the listener's maladies, then a musical toast to their successes.

I'm forever indebted to everyone here (in no particular order): Tony Button, Bookchin, Sam Katz, Daimyo, Mr. Phillips, Bangladeafy, Dyslexia, Sik Sense, Justin Grimes, Michael Beshures, and Saint Thrillah, Michael Korb and those who helped record/mix/master these projects. Thanks to Evan "Attaboy" Bujold for doing second album cover in a row, the picture, our friendship and the way it has developed all feel close to the theme of my life and this project. Thank you all! We chose to interact on a creative and social level because of a mutual respect for our careful attention for our craft and a respect for who we are as people, and I hold all of you in the highest regard.

The recordings and takes on these songs aren't always perfect, but they were made excitedly with passion and the means available at the time, and I'd like to think they're beautiful for that alone. The collection is eclectic and will drag you all over the place on adventures, but I find that describes all of the people I hold most dear. Listening to these songs channels memories for me of friends and connections and I hope you enjoy them while they ideally jostle something important within you.

Please support these artists! Go connect with people! We're All One family, and together, we'll make it. I love you. If I forgot you, I'm sorry...pay me a visit so as to scold me and go off to make new memories!


released November 28, 2013

The Performers/writers/arrangers: AllOne, E.B. Phillips, St. Thrillah, Van Warren, Tony Button, Sik Sense, Dyslexia, Eb7#9, Sam Katz, Bangladeafy, Justin Grimes,
The engineers and behind the scenes geniuses: Michael Korb, Kyle Wodziki, Kyle Crowell, Tony Iannone,
The Artists: Evan Bujold, Michael Setteducati
Final Mixing/Mastering: Michael Korb



Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.



An experimental hip-hop lyricist, performance poet, singer/songwriter, author, beat-boxer. AllOne molds a brain into the shape of a heart and squeezes it onto a page to write thoughtful and sentimental lyrics laced with tight knit wordplay, rhyme patterns and poetic devices. Utilizing any genre and any musical means to make a genuine and meaningful conversation with you, the appreciated listener. ... more

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Track Name: A Tale Of Three Heads (Bookchin)
Two heads are better than one,
unless jealous of umbrellas in the absence of sun,
who reigns when it rains? It's poor when it pours,
one predator comes one's clever, one's dumb.
One's pleasure is one's glum endeavor to fund
each level of lust, french kiss forked devilish plunge
to a severed split tongue. Three heads are company
third try is a charm, give death a shot in the spiteful dark,
it's scary who's bearing the right to arms?
Raising a voice, raising alarm, open doors raised in a barn,
making a choice, don't raise up your guard.
Put our heads together, don't butt and leave,
but indeed live left field dead center,
duck and weave cutlery comfortably, circle of life,
think outside the four corner's muddled themes
no puzzle piece. Include all smarts when your spool's all farmed,
and you pool all yarns. Remove all shards, smooth all scars
until the bruise is all gone. Pull all cards, please play the games
with a sleeved ace of spades in case it's changed,
embrace the players with an angel's grace,
make all rage displaced and paint your neighbor's face
with wonderment. Questions? One is left:
“do you and the other heads want to rubberneck,
respond to a sunset or the promise of a bomb threat?”
sticks and stones may break my bones
but they may also be lain like bricks and grown
to make my favorite home.
The sun is arising on a lovely horizon,
and ya'll are invited to come to the brightness,
and bring the rest of your heads, whichever ones are the nicest.
Track Name: I Couldn't Stay (Sam Katz)
Your body's warm
when you lie next me
but i am sure
that the only thing that's
keeping me from falling
is there inside

the way you turn
you never reach for me
and I'm concerned
that you don't wanna be
anything like the way
I wanna be

and I don't know what I'm waiting for
when you still don't know what you're looking for
and all these silly thoughts that come inside my mind
I turn them blind
I turn them blind
I turn them blind

Life's been lonely, eyes are closing,
blind and groping, I am hoping,
to find a homely, kindly glowing,
light to show me it'd like to hold me
but I've been only, aligned to groaning,
sighed echoing in an abyssal distance,
I can sense it, an abysmal emptiness
chiseled malicious within our amicable friendship.
I'm a miserable wreck when meticulously sifting
through the dismal dead hints
critically through every sentence.
Each paragraph I pair in half
and I have a graph I'm staring at
to seek adhesive treasure,
then I piece each patch of pleasure
in our speech and even gestures
and weave them back together,
snuggled deep in panicked efforts,
to deceive my demon's temper,
and retrieve some pleasing tender
eager relief remembered,
to achieve being a member
settled peacefully in Eden's center.
As I lie by myself and meekly shiver in this position, though I know better,
I lie to myself of our weakened differed disposition, though we'll get no better.

Well baby, I
I saw something in you
you didn't try
to be someone you knew
and I am all out of flaws
for you to choose

so run away
never look back again
don't try to say
that you are innocent
cause I am tired
my heart is spent

and I don't know why I even try
when I'm so obviously not on your mind
and if you never thought that I would walk away
I couldn't stay
I couldn't stay
I couldn't stay

She couldn't stay, I stained her with disdain,
if you strain to push too great to try to make
them fall in love they just fall away and then walk the same.
Though they awfully ache from how often pain's
endurance begs this quill turn all it's ways,
I cross in vain my fingers that I'll cross paths with her,
I crossed her once, and we withered,
because she couldn't endure,
so we parted ways,
I hope one day we'll cross our legs,
while we lay, limbs warm.
But its so far obvious, we're polar opposites and
no bother how hot she is, this pillow is still cold.
My lids closed, shut to cry, though cut and dry,
I run and hide, feeling something like
I'll erupt inside, I justify “I'll adjust if I recognize
magnetism does require antonyms”
And although attractive it's looking bad
that I'll acquire a chance again.
Although we need each opposed pole to adhere,
My eyes are still sewn closed and I fear,
opening them both because it's so clear,
Rip Van Winkle, will wake to wrinkles in the sheets she left here,
I'll just inhale her perfume that hangs in the dead air,
and solemnly hang my head there
(a spent response, my silhouette imparts
the image of a question mark that truly represents my heart. )
and I don't know why I even try
when I'm so obviously not on your mind
and if you never thought that I would walk away
I couldn't stay
I couldn't stay
I couldn't stay
Track Name: Stop Sign (Mr. Elliot Bill Phillips)
Unnatural alarming grave voices gather me,
I'm attracted to the bazaar like James Joyce's “Araby”
maybe its a phase poised to atrophy,
but currently this loyal amorous
patient boy is flattering
coy arachnids, anointed blackening widower
making weaving white lie spoiled hammocks and
concealing poison sacs within,
joyful saccharine, sweet talking turmoil Bathory
foil ravishing, I'm a lunatic tied (tide) to see (sea)
deep waves brain wash adjoin to fathoming,
Her royal Majesty's siren voice is maddening,
beckoning bard banshee sings
of relationship-wrecks to boil in baths with me,
the "world's an oyster" actually,
she loves the pearls and flexes muscles/mussels to destroy anatomy,
My reaction sees me in a shell turned(shelter) to avoid CaLAMity,
But I have faith amongst (a monk's) building like a monastery,
Despite shes an apostle sharing the products carried
in apothecaries, she awfully cons-fine-men with solitary,
confinement promising solidarity,
allurement's verily when skill appears extraordinary,
not when skillful appearances are all they carry,
so doubly no one could be as hot as Carrie. I guess its all arbitrary.
She was skeletal limbs scrawny bending,
like trees in autumn skinny, bark was clearly
worse than bite since she would "scarf" it heavy
then "go for the throat" like winter wardrobe settings,
yeah a hearts a "chest" piece I "treasure" gently,
but that's not suggesting my "ex mark spots"
for pirate booty she ought to bury.
Realizing my novice empathy,
got me deathly caught in webbing,
I endure an exiting, without attempting
to talk offensively, no matter the wreck I see,
before I get to feet to mend the scene
I remind myself EMT is “empty” technically,
there are only so many cogs and metal springs
and quandaries friends can need,
before I'm left to treat a heart-wrenched machine,
I imagine “re-pair” means we're
to off the head we heed
and bond in a better team.
Track Name: East Side (Tony Button)
If you're gonna push our Buttons, chicken scratching petty notes,
the candy-artist suckers lick tramp stamps getting gross,
while my think tank ink bank addresses pushing envelopes,
you flail, crossed, nailed caught on a regretted quote,
you're empty boasts of heavy holsters, metal toting,
pathetic genetics get exposed along with your petticoats
while you skirt by your frail tale entails updated emperor's dressing codes,
you're content with no content riding the tails of any coat...
of paint-"brush your head and shoulders off",
flaky dandRuff-Riders fashion conscious rappers clothes endorsed,
docile posing dogs, indoctrinated in ignorance holding balls
like doctors told em cough,
but the smoldered cautious candles they hold and offer
to the gods of wind, I, demonstrative of bold embossed provocative
monstrous wit blow em off,
in a hurri-cane-sugar-rush that's fierce,
I Katrina crush my fears,
I paddle past the flooded piers amongst my peers
against the grain-cream of the crop, through tears (tiers)
and the mainstream to the top of my clear-view-ambitions,
its maddening missing my madame's grasp the academy snatched from me vicious
but the bullet's bitten with the nutritious
fruits of my cherry honesty chopping tree labor provisions,
this is written considering the kids with a sage's wisdom and a baby's interest,
Who wish to make a difference, and are indifferent to our differences,
If I'm to be another crimson squished brick affixed with symmetry
in this pitifully constructed structure in homage to anonymity,
Then I demand my dignity be blissfully fixed with intrigue infinitely
I want to be a dope segment in the globes favorite mosaic, all painted with no sanction.
My cry goes on to call the krylon gods, the clans of brave
Whose passion lay in cans of paint, demand and crave the aluminum
pattern clank you can relate to an agitated rattlesnake
preceding the whispering lisp splash of spraying, pigment cloud craft create,
aero-Saul Williams, Michael Cangelo mixed dream castle
Sistene Chapel out of bricks we grant soul,
And if the teacher that we have's a Big Apple
who granted us food for thought kit snacks,
subtracting syntax how to accurately aptly encrypt answers
with gratitude rewards towards pedagogy impact?
Well I confess to showing this mad
hood-winked cobra encroaching this path
to book-worm braille trails,
the perfect spoils of fertile soil,
sifting the slugs, slime and shells out of the snail mail,
while squirming churning upturning the underground's
storm cellar sanctuary, before the thunder's growl
I penned a poem plundered out of street signs strewn amongst the town,
Lets tour, and talk a couple hours and summon how you'll love the sound.
Track Name: Work In (Mr. E.B. Phillips//St. Thrillah//Vandell Warren)
I won't talk shit, though I prefer your minds to fertilize//
I've personalized this sermonized skirmish guide
to help you see by feeling words (like braille had cured the blind)//
Bookworm-ish wordsmith, determined, spry//
certifiable porcupine with the weighty quills that I'm burdened by!
And a lurking pile of fecund thoughts and thirsty lines//
burning eyes, working 'til my circuits fry, servantile//
worried I won't purify this world enough before I die!//
Stress impossibly high, periodically I neurotically write//
Insomnia style; all through the night, exotic colliding chaos in my mind//
oddities wild, solemn excited, deposit advice in the projects I type//
and I'm trying to make every song I devise a mnemonic device!
In "All's" best hopes: when I'm bald and old//
I'll be Paul Edgecomb, as you'll find that I'll live much longer//
and a Coffee's "spark" prompts every tall tale told in your headphones proper//
I make progress but I get no farther (Penrose walker)
Bell tolls: telemarketing, hell froze: hollering, death's cold calling//
and I just won't bother with it, Bless Rosewater!
Dead broke author. Spent the whole vault on an old pipe dream exhausted//
Nearly blew a gasket, finding a fallow faucet!//
Walking on eggshells, no plan is hatching//
So I'm doggedly after that mechanical rabbit//
And my work is analogous to that of Natalie Babbit's//
(when my plan might "spring" and immortalize me as in Tuck Everlasting!)
Track Name: Head In The Mushroom Clouds (Justin Grimes)
Several digit password enveloped
open up our hearts like umbrellas,
mushroom cloud: acid rain on your plastic parade,
penumbra, madman on the moon
bad moon, crater face, sweet talk. aspartame,
cancer fangs, ascertain the answers begged,
ax to slay your lab rats in cages,
be-headed in the wrong direction
settle into morbid segments,
"are we doing A-Okay?"
"You''ll Be okay,
you'll See okay!"
No. We're doing Or-well at best.
Your well's infested with ring worms,
your will and testament video went viral
with an intestinal parasite inside you
are you worried about the big brother's
phone tapping orders,
or mother natures contagions,
contained within your tap water?

Downtrodden, somethings up
We count on our knuckles,
punch the atomic clock,
countdown to self destruct.
7-6-5-4-3-2-1 Ending

Don't criticize "evil",
shaken off, treated like vile fleas,
host's indiscriminate viral vetoes
to all individual lives equal,
lead those four horses to fresh water,
teach them to infest all your "civilized people"
best doctors must offer up their knowledge just
to combat all the microscopic slaughter rushing
out the aqueducts.
arctic floods, hotter summers,
not a winter. not a blizzard.
run the numbers, Geiger counter
Fahrenheit 451, all "rays" all days,
bomb shelters, cabin fever,
off kilter, savage seizures,
six feet trapped beneath
with night crawlers glad to eat you,
baited breath, fates' been fate,
date with death. mark it on your mayan calender!
biological arms embrace intense,
shrouded curse, panic's only thing widespread
nice cleanse, all "down to earth".

if you feel like I do you know the ending is soon
all we've got left here is avoidance.

downtrodden somethings up
we count on our knuckles
punch the atomic clock
countdown to self destruct
7-6-5-4-3-2-1 Ending
Track Name: Warm Love (Dyslexia & Sik Sense)
Exist to radiate a bathing ray of amity,
to satiate those craving haven in a calming clarity,
Casting the...
net to catch ever present effervescence affably,
admirably dabble in dialogues didactically daring to dash disparity,
that's to be the adjective I use,
when I analyze the beauty
of the path I'm stamping through.
Catalyze my muse,
in a cabin-fever-dream infused
with a tractor beam that seized the bloom of a,
Knowledge tree with roots,
the growth I'm groping grappling with clues,
of the glow, lassoing the noose poach the passion I pursue
as a means of grasping gleaning truth.
chatter chapters that I choose
to channel, challenging and chewed
thawed thoughts as I feed the food
to the family accrued
from the travels with my music!
Warm love? That's what I'm imbued with,
amiably moved by their gratified views it's
Extracted and exhumed, baffling it boosts.
Warm love, drawn up to fuel us to keep on trucking
like R. Crumb,
Vitally we're all grown up carved from stardust finally
Fiery fulcrum, if ever I'm idle,
For every word I've spoken,
you're a spoke in my life cycle,
Spiting dire doldrums,
pyre proposed composed of ring of fire, Pyro
Light bulb blush I'm a moth to it's flame,
forgo fortune and fame,
for the warmth of your blaze.
Your warm loving praise's persistence,
that's what keeps the ends of wick lit,
When the storm comes I share an ember with the frigid.
Warm love, I only ever get it cause I give it,
A hearth of mirth arisen out of familial friction,
AllOne: sew social souls sparking cinders.
The gathering of kinship round the crackling of kindling.
Kismet I write stories "To Build A Fire" like Jack London,
Intending to shed light that burns debt by giving back something.
Like warm love.
Track Name: Carsick (Bangladeafy)
Banshee blasts screams, piebald sights bawl,
Mad screen's fast stream light scalds eyeballs
Panasonic Pavlov's dog's click-trained they control you
think outside the idiot-X-box that consoles you
satellites dish out chaos in a network,
antennae commandments, tend to demand net worth,
advertisement sirens entice misers out of the woodwork,
drowning in a channel we're all told we should surf.

We 8 bit off more than our blue tooth could chew through a Macintosh,
E.T. won't phone home he texts and tweets his parents' blog,
I'm fired up hoping kindle would spark a reading habit log,
Idiocy, no literacy, sub par vocab is “snobbish balderdash that's odd”

Go green with envy over blue ray, black berry, orange box,
I find it ironic...so few are well read, yet it ought to stop!?

Televangelism, visual vandalism, better bet bedlam
isn't the best quest to wisdom,
over stimulation promotes oversimplification,
acronyms abbreviations, instant gratification.
overpopulation, commercial manipulation,
submerging a generation of carsick consumers,
in dizzy busy frantic panicked heartsick confusion.
Fast food and think slow,
downgrade and upload,
live-wires, deadbolts,

jet lagged, traffic jammed,
packed and crammed mechanic lands,
silicon-valley-girls with implants,
contraband-wagon,mass produce,
contradict with contraceptives, condoms used,
power plants, forgotten roots, fossil fuels,
haz-mat suits, tragic news,

electric current events intrigue,
Jumbotron telethon, extra screens,
stereos in stereo get to be deafening
Ingesting these: Ketamine, Pethidine, Ecstasy, to dead the sting.
Bread and cheese and wine? if you can bless me please
get on knees in line for shit like human centipede,
Debt impedes, Impatient out patients, deftly high definitely click "next" with an extra spring,
Pestering suggestive 30 sec Vignettes will sing,
the prestige debris their peddling, before you even get to blink,
Yes indeed, I spell advertisement with an extra D especially with periods set between.

O.D. on T.V. 3D, DVD's HD, A.D.D.
to sum it up is blatantly a byproduct,
"by the way nice topic!
buy products! Rise on it right out the trite commons,
I'm honest, I'd put my life on this prize offered!
Finest concept since sliced rye's progress."
find wallet, swipe card and sign on this line dotted!
Hype-notic mind washing, while watching,
dry optics, I've got it! Bionic electronics
wired tight in eye sockets, locked into
Ipods and laptops, short fuses light sparks as
prices and blood pressure skyrockets!
fried noxious vile options,might harm them, bile vomit,
Cultural climate's diagnostic? I'd call it "psycho-tech",
Ironic, we experience a period identified by bright boxes
but here we sit delirious in blind darkness... quite carsick.
Track Name: Fight For Flight (Tony Button)
I guess it's best to attempt to address something since,
I need to assuage enraged assumptions quick,
If I don't subscribe to your prescribe head-space-shuttle-trip,
That doesn't give illegitimacy to my plot's plotted points that I've come up with.
I confess I'm more impressed when assessing checks on my bucket list
and I have less sense of seductive hints and subtle scents
of every dime a dozen pitched any penny-Lincoln-logged
in the immensely well-off's pungent wishes.
I push off from the port of my porch, step into the sun and squint.
My dimples typically tend to imitate the follow this.
I manage to magnify magnificence,
and pocket every possible positive,
I fondle fondness when my optimist's opulence
obvious proper posture is glimpsed,
My mantra is “never stop or drop the chin,
like an ostriches, keep it up like a dogged
attempt at a barbell lift, not to acknowledge solemness
and wallow in awful monstrous hollowness”.
Thus I went ballistic when I read statistics written:
“six percent of questioned American's polled told that living is placid and dull”
I roamed the poles, north and south, and globe had yawned and formed a mouth,
actually repulsed, it angrily rebutted “six percent of U.S. , yes the acronym are null”.
All this negativity is getting sickening...”well where's the healthcare?”
For my personal welfare I tell their hellish stares,
“I'm moving on, cause you've truly got to put your foot down to get elsewhere”
I belittled this syllabus' sinister silliness, ridiculed this curriculum
disinterested, dissatisfied, maddened by my saddened life I evicted it,
It's a stratified system which I decided to give a whiff, it answered with
a restricting sobering stench of a prison's whims.
I stole the sickle bent silver spoon from the privileged
simpletons. Dipped it in, sunk it steeply in the cement and then
shoveled with a desperate grin that the desolate get, drenched in sweat
cynically, openly, rhythmically, soulfully, in the dirt catalyzed I dove for weeks,
agonized I wrote on sheets, ebonized with poems I preached,
dug with microphones then speedily fled,
ran for my life so I could run my life with no need to offend,
but ultimately in my hopes and dreams' defense,
I don't need a penitentiary, I only need the pen,
I excavated intense through six feet in the dirty depths.
That's a grave made for each percent of men who've yet
to recognize that life is just for them.
I wrote this hole for me intended hopefully to feel wholly blessed.
I Houdini retreat from this white collared straight-jacket with no regrets,
But so my egret wings can spread, I can dream with my hands hemmed
behind my back but I need to get release from bed to do more with these sheets I wet
to describe what breeds inside my head. April first I lost an idol, grandfather and friend
and I promise honest, on his honor, I'll never be idle again.
I promise: Honest, on his honor. I will never be idle again.
Track Name: Nightmares and Dreamscapes (Daimyo)
I'm on an over-night-mare flight on a guilt trip
Hate at first hindsight, regrets the bed's filled with.
Maybe night terrors are the past you regret and
Dreams desires for the future
making waking life the present. (x1)

I stretch my legs as I'm drawn and quartered,
when taking a long sleep walk off a pier that's shorter,
You know what they say about any port in the storm's force,
I lead my nightmares to the scorching awful waters
in order to all learn to drink more from
everything but hell's kitchen sink...you're getting warmer
Cauterize my wounds with the boiling point that's offered
Burnt alive crucified on bridges or would
you rather drown in troubled tear ridden rivers roaring,
I'll climb the fire latter to the former,
My filthy psyche might be guilty driving me to the source of
madness but I'm no tourist, trapped with the horrors
that kill-time-outs in every corner of my mind now that saunters
often feels as though its haunted,
Night Terrorists thrive, therapists approach with caution..
It seems "dreamer" is a sordid demeanor that sure can
leave you lost and unfulfilled until you've filled a coffin,
it's a steep price to afford for
talking about a cheap life with paupers,
waking up on the wrong side of the cardboard or
the flip side of the quarter soaring down the morbid

I'm on an over-night-mare flight on a guilt trip
Hate at first hindsight, regrets the bed's filled with.
Maybe night terrors are the past you regret and
Dreams desires for the future
making waking life the present. (x2)

Ain't that pleasant? Assess it for a second,
Digest the messages I've penned then projected in your headset.
Recollections are costly expensive when you regret them,
and they fester in your head when you're nestled in your bedspread.
While you're hibernating, your mind is racing
aligning great things you're anticipating
while you're asleep cradled and lay
you're free and able to stray from
concentrating on the labors of day so...

I stretch my legs as I chase my pipe dreams
I've a dream catcher that I admit shyly
“I hope it adds mitts excitedly
lending a hand if things get frightening.”
Fittingly when we die indeed we get a wake I mean,
Why not the same treatment when things get alarming and unsightly?
I count blind sheep with the wool over my eyes pleading
to herd a nice deep night's sleep.
My lids tightly squeezed despite these
shutting out the light, it reaps
so many sights seen
I travel the world in forty winks sprightly,
Courtesy of my dream theater's quite clean
cerebral cinema projector's high beams.
These abstract distractions in my mind seem
to find pieces of my goal-poster-child-hood-life-scenes
and design schemes to address all enveloping
hallucination considerations arriving,
that I've harbored to float homages and boats
in my prophesea-world-view-finder's-fee
Escape in my L.S.D. esque escapades that provide themes to inspire me.
If Tim Burton weirdly traveled in time to meet
Tim Leary you might see clearly the styling and theories
colliding in my hallucinatory hi jinx
superficial stories' implied things
symbolic future image imploring bindings.
Dreams conscious products of my mental gear's running parts
Fulfillment accomplished cardiac compasses' pumping heart.
Maybe night terrors are the past you regretted
Dreams desires for the future
Making waking life the present
In a canvas-sleeping-bag I proceed to paint dream scapes
in my R.E.M.Brandt sleep. I concede to create lovely art of the ugly dark,
20,000 leagues placed under the sheets I wait
for their seams to make a streaming cape or lead the way
as I sail on my water bed in my dream boat Cutty Sark with Snuggy parts,
following mental mirages of Magellan charts and crafted maps,
So I'm gonna pack bags under my eyes when I hit that satin sack,
I'm a sheep herder you can count on that fact
I dream of leading at least one of these nine lives benignly in cat naps...
Dreams conscious products of my mental gear's running parts
Fulfillment accomplished cardiac compasses' pumping heart.
Maybe night terrors are the past you regretted
Dreams desires for the future
Making waking life the present
I'm on an over-night-mare flight on a guilt trip
Hate at first hindsight, regrets the bed's filled with.
Maybe night terrors are the past you regret and
Dreams desires for the future
making waking life the present.
Dreams conscious products of my mental gear's running parts
Fulfillment accomplished cardiac compasses' pumping heart.
Maybe night terrors are the past you regretted
Dreams desires for the future
Making waking life the present