1. |
Waiting
02:52
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We won't blindly take the bait.
Parade the sidewalks; painted masks,
Infiltrate; dictate over the mass.
I'm so fucking sick of it.
Broken forearm's of a lower class;
I refuse to be reduced to trash.
Trash, I refuse to fucking feel like that.
We won't let you intimidate.
There's not much more of this I can take.
Rats in the walls wont find us at all;
The bats in the halls are waiting.
I'd rather be dead, I'm sick of waiting.
The clock on the wall never changes at all.
I can't be the only one watching.
We know you're scared, constantly showing your colours.
Everyday a new scene shot from dashboard angles.
Kids living in concrete while clowns march to their beat.
Surveillance, dependence, reliance, fuck that shit.
They're watching you, waiting for you.
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2. |
The Escapist
04:05
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Break back my own bone until shin splints split.
Break back my own bones to hold my own weight again.
All I want to do is corrode.
The rust in my veins spreads to my parts
and calcium heart starts to beat to resemble itself; dust.
Turn the page, nothing you can say can make me stay here.
Save yourself, piss it away, walk on home, I'm never coming back.
Stare away from me.
Follow my feet, eyes to the ground, I'm standing on a phantom limb
Illusion holding me up. Lead the way, I'm never coming back.
Break back my own bones.
It'll break me down but I'll watch you die.
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3. |
Spit
03:08
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Grind the edge of your worn down words
On the sharpening stone. Spare the cats claws;
Dug deep into that flexed muscle between your teeth.
Spark your words on the flint and watch the flame and watch
Innocence burn out. Blind deaf and dumb. Blind deaf
and incoherent.
You'll lead their dignities hands into traffic.
Opinions are only pity based and contagious. Here are
The facts: You're not scared to put a knife in our backs.
We see where you stand, next to that fork in the road,
With the same damn expression; complacent and bored.
I'm bored.
Omen, believe what you will but spare me.
Bite down.
An autopsy to remove to parts of the tool left between
His teeth, strained. Shed some light on shallow graves
And find the point of poise worn down to spit.
The edge of his tongue as dull as his point.
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4. |
||||
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There's no where you can run, There's no where you can go.
They hide in the grass; they hide in the snow.
Plates are full but lack any substance.
Accustomed to their eyes on your pockets.
These plastic knives left blood in your wallet,
Nostrils flare; they can smell it.
The teeth, they aim for your throats.
You make a kill they take a percentage.
Nothing but leftover bones and cartilage.
Say your prayer, close your mind.
Even with your open eyes you are blind.
You bastard.
They are dripping with drool planning on keeping
your meat in their school. locked in your houses, locked in your cars, Locked in their banks, lock in their laws, locked in the desks,
Locked to their flaws, locked to their programs, locked in their jaws, Locked in fake security; house like jaws.
One day their stomachs; one day they'll gnaw on your
Carcass. Bloody and raw.
Break their fucking jaws and rip out their fucking teeth.
It's time for us to act.
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5. |
Old News
01:10
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Don't you dare refuse them, you know they'll test how far you can run.
Bruised souls and scrapped palms from countless nights runs.
Past frozen and familiar cars; hand prints on the rear passenger-side.
Like night behind the glass your memories reflect who and where you are.
The busy signal is all that comes through when they're trying for you.
It could be your life on the line and you couldn't bring yourself
to pick up the phone.
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6. |
Bottom Feeder
02:26
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Obsession can happen with priorities in reach.
Be what you want they said; then one day it stops.
They look at each attempt a failure, disappointment.
Now direction is what's needed to pick at that dreams that
they let grow. Always peeling the old scabs
Before tearing new holes. So tie me up by a hudson knot and let my
motion depend on the air coming from other men.
How long can you survive?
How long till you realize?
How long till you come crawling back?
Fuck that. I know there's a choice.
How long can you scrape bottom for?
Bottom-feeder.
Now that's an irony of a fucking life-time.
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7. |
Deprived
03:04
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Sick of the taunts about losing my head.
Paint the walls the shade that makes them look dead.
I'm giving up. Everything's gone to shit.
Keep in mind its not my choice.
I swear it was like that before I touched it.
I'm losing sight of whats worth while.
Confusing myself by which way my fingers point.
I can't grasp the point of any of this.
Monotonous/ monstrous.
Take my life with number in ink on paper.
Tell me how much I'm worth and I'll lend my
life to the highest bid.
I might as well save my breath.
It's voice comes from calloused lungs; discipline from repetitive
breaths. This life is a long winded fuck.
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8. |
Piss It Out
02:21
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Your dreams on the rocks mixed with an overcast sky.
You wear this broken disease like a suit and tie.
You pissed it out, fucked it up just another wrist to cut.
You could have fucking fixed it if you had any god-damn guts,
But you pissed it out and fucked it up like it was just another tie to cut.
The flowers on your grave; pull until the roots cave.
A pool full of liquor; I hope you drown in your watery grave.
Deadbeat.
Strike a match in the dark, it won't guide you home.
Set fire to your teen-age brain; kicked out and die alone.
Twisted past, running laps, wait until your lungs collapse.
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9. |
Autophobia
03:28
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Subconsciously angry, these aging circles failed me like Starving dogs.
Independently; I found my way to the rocks.
Incidentally born accident prone: Prone to buying in for more than it's worth or for believing in safe- guards.
Look at this view from here.
I can see all the way down.
I can fall all the way down.
Don't give it a name.
Streaks of shame from where my heals peeled open.
Pain familiar to that of a fiend. How did I end up on this life I lead?
I think I'm prone to buying in for more than it's worth.
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10. |
Building Skeletons
01:30
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You better dig in, you better pig out since
Its to late to apologize. You're getting caught red handed,
caught with your fucking pants down.
No excuses will do, they got their proof.
Evidence has been bagged.
Tell the truth.
Screw you, this is not a confession, your crimes
Have been predetermined. We watch you watch it spoil.
Another stand off? Where do you get off?
The look of delusion suits you and you wear it
With an unseen confidence.
How long can you drag out a sentence and make
the same promises of acceptance.
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11. |
Synthetic Skin
03:34
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You got someone to be, if you can't be that then you can't be me.
The purpose behind your actions achieve nothing but a tease
Of happiness promised by the disease,
Promised by the attereny.
The look of sincere alleviation on one face in the sea of washed
up minds, synthetic copies with tired eyes
shouldn't be the topic of praise.
How much skin and bone do you own?
Enough to crawl in and out of with changing fashions?
How much spit and how much blood can you call yours?
Enough to say you can taste ambition?
Do you feel whole?
Because the rats nest is damn near full
And you're on the bottom of the pile.
The cesspool's boiling over
and your Identity has soaked up the mess.
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12. |
Save Yourself
12:10
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The place I loved; where did it go?
Am I brain dead?
Recall whats lost in my head.
The void is too empty to be filled by ourselves
Just like the port that harbors your guilt.
You wear your face like a god.
What feels so right but feel so wrong?
We feel so right but we feel so robbed.
The void is a place where empty belongs
Cause empty's a feeling tangled up in itself.
Trapped in its hell; to hear the sound of church bells.
Why don't you just save yourself?
Pick out your demise. Bury us all.
Pick out your demise, man without soul.
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EXITS Edmonton, Alberta
"Straying from hardcore norms, but drawing inspiration from the late ‘90s to early ’00 era of the genre, EXITS produce
technically sound recordings and intense, sweat-soaked live energy, demonstrating the group’s passion for the sound. Not so chaotic that it’s out of control, they manage to capture the white-knuckled intensity of hardcore punk."
- Sled Island Music Festival, 2015
... more
EXITS recommends:
Van Dyke Browne's Crystal
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Mathcore infused with more than a little creativity. Some of the best musicians you can see live.
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supported by 11 fans who also own “Self Deprecation”
fix my life! eric inspired to play a drumm
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Chaotic metalcore invoking early 2000s bands like Converge and Curl Up and Die.
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The Brooklyn miscreants dish out six helpings of raw, sinister punk that combine raw energy with metalcore power moves.
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