Oh tired eyes, taste the sleep
In its place you swore defeat
This old hour, fan desire as one to keep
Flying high, hand in hand
We were one, embraced the skies
Intending to save the world
Save those souls from falling through
Who are your critics now?
Siberia stole my heart
We are the mystics rebound
The sand won’t wash our feet now
Clipping wires (static fire)
Solitude from sounds acquired
Lift me higher (hands conspire)
Gratitude in luck so dire
Brace yourselves the tunnel won’t follow this sign
Weary eyes the view is blocked through the mist line
Take an oath and turn it to something gold
Telephone the pews, old excuse
I recall the days when you left home
Found a life so far away
Maiden eyes, sailed a voyage full of surprise
She spoke in tongues, they all fell down
I was left there standing up
Wondering and questioning
What it took to be a chosen son
From the first deadened cowbell to the last dissonant guitar interval, Dutch quartet Geo's new record is shaped for impact. Bandcamp Album of the Day Apr 25, 2024
Dead Cross, Retox, and Qui members dish out subversive hardcore with an indignant smirk; come for the riffs, stay for the synth experiments. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 31, 2024