Live at Supra Sound Studios

by Flesh Eater

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03:34
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05:21
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03:14
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about

recorded live at Supra Sound Studios, April 2016

credits

released February 3, 2017

Adam Reid - lyrics, vox, R3
John Ottenlips - guitar
Marc Greenspon - minilogue
Max Zikakis - bass
Paul Daleo - drums

engineered and mixed by Samuel Bernhardt
mastered by Secret Friends

artwork by Helen Gilley
photos by Secret Friends

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Flesh Eater Nashville, Tennessee

the Flesh Eater is the dark mass growing ever larger, pressing against Your diaphragm, scuttling on the inside of Your skull

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Track Name: You were but a Male Angler
oh my god – when you
walked in after me
minutes after, I
couldn’t handle it.

oh my god – then I
followed after you,
got a look at you,
got a look at you.

long eyelashes and blue eyes:
you can’t disguise.

you’ve got that Aryan fog about you;
a light surrounds you; you glow.
we’ve got similar
thought processes.

cat-like
attention
grabbers

long eyelashes and blue eyes:
you were right;
I won’t survive.

now, I sit behind
you watching you;
I cannot see your face.
wonder what the changes
are after years…

when I go to sleep,
twitching and shaking
shaking all the time
Track Name: edema
what happens when you can see everything that you’re doing,
such that the weight of things always is displaced like fluid?
the liquid is bitter and fills up my lungs, and I cough, and it doesn’t work.
the room I’m in explodes me on the walls in kaleidoscope vision, and I’m everywhere around me at once.

I wanna take you out on a proper date;
I wanna half-drown with my arm
around you in the pressure-chamber;
I wanna wake up from the dark mass without you–

I’m not ditching you.
I’m ditching you.

is my vision too pointed?
am I so open that there’s no room for you?
I’ve been in the attic twisting up your callbox so fervently that you’re not moving,
or you are, and I just can’t see you

I wanna take you out on a proper date;
I wanna half-drown with my arm
around you in the pressure-chamber;
I wanna wake up from the dark mass without you running home.

I want you to know,
no matter how you look in a picture,

you are always beautiful.
Track Name: Cancerbeast
government like a cancerbeast:
“you’ve got what I need,”
and a few emotional X-Files episodes later…

I’m so tired
let it go

you scrape the skin – rather, it scrapes you
you’re only scratching the surface.
you’ve got to get to the organs;
you’ve got to rip out the heart.

it did not believe in you;
it will continue doing as it do.
it must be destroyed;
you must be sure you’ve got the heart, though,
or whatever parasite’s inside controlling,
and spare the host.

pale green
lumpy mass
black-green
high-pitched
chirping

when bees swarm in my brain,
I smoke them out;
when spiders crawl on my skin,
I poison them.

but now, I don’t have these things;
I’ve no control,
so now I’ve got to figure out
my own system.

who is it that said it?– but
I’ll say it again:
“The brightest lights are in the darkenss.”
the highest flights are when you’re grounded.

what flames can induce
pills can’t undo
little compression
holding it in
can’t contain explosion’s
enigmatic rambling interdimensional
massless form

whatever inside me that makes me me,
you know, me,
is unidentifiable,
as unidentifiable
as the antity within me
that causes this unrest
and keeps me on my toes,
able to keep making the wrong decisions
(but also the right ones).

she chose a normal day,
and Scully holds a bone-saw.

government like a cancerbeast:
“you’ve got what I need.”

you scrape the skin – rather, it scrapes you
you’ve got to get to the organs.
you’re only scratching the surface;
you’ve got to rip out the heart.
you’ve got to destroy the fucking heart,
and it’ll look up with those big eyes:
it’ll say, “Hope in me;
believe in me.
Track Name: Stylops
I wanna go to this place
where the sheets are shinier,
where there aren’t snakes
at my feet at night.
yeah, I wanna go to this place.

what a terrifying prospect:
to lose control of one’s mind.
or what a terrific release:
to be freed of my kind.

when what’s inside of you turns outward,
and it occupies your body now,
and nothing you know can stop it,
and you know it will destroy you,

it is practical to listen
it is practical to slow down
it is practical to action
it is not something that is practical
anyway, haha
Track Name: rattlethud rattlecrack
my skin is translucent; through it,
in the pathways, like proteins,
my soul mingles with the air particles
like the lingering vapor
that spilled from your green lips
and settled into my hair
as we walked through the walmart.

my eyes are translucent; through them,
I make contact with everything
ever
now,
and the obstructions
between me and horizon
shape a vignette, and I remember that
I was here.
I’ve been here.

because I walk,
the pavement is unreceiving;
it is porous,
and I cannot get through;
it even seems to reject my soles.

now, I am upright, and inside
the water swings as a child would
when they went as high as possible
and landed with a thud.

stopped, fell, caught breath, jumped back on

because I walk,
the pavement is unreceiving;
it is porous,
and I cannot get through;
it even seems to reject my soles,
as now I stand
facing a mausoleum built to house but a few years.

from the sidewalk,
my ears are numb
and wiggle with the wave
of that still room’s door
which white-washes the yelling
from the living room, bridge, island, foyer, tumbler, den, master, ball

I sit above the mancave where the
money disappeared, a black hole
from when his name became hers
because she was his.
the collapse of a Self into
inevitable ¿¿¿

I, then of green lips,
could not, when I sensed
the color peeking
through the pink flesh,
continue further, for your
influence –
the haunting spectreface
on a beam
in the wing –
reminds me not to say
“I’m godly,”
not to become the picture
I always change
every day,
so that I’m not stuck
wanting to
constantly fuck
myself
(over)