I put this here because this is the most intelectual forum on the siccness

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Feb 21, 2004
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#1
Anyone aside from me into CTTS???

In my opinion they are one of the most creative groups...Im not sure if its due to thier very poetic lyrics, or the fact that theres 2 vocalist going off at the same time in alot of thier tracks (1 female 1 male)...

They go from a beautiful melody calm to a brutal intense storm instantly...

Check them out...Get on your favorite P2P network & download these songs as sample...

Circle Takes The Square -
A Non-Objective Portriat Of Karma
Interview At The Ruins
A Crater To Cough In
Comes With The Fall
 
Feb 21, 2004
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#2
Here are some of thier lyrics...

Non-Objective Portrait Of Karma

Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to mention
and surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to perfection'
but the more I turn my face from the crowd
the more I feel my backs' increasingly compelled
for the sake of escape, to turn a knife on itself,
a knife of relief, from all the petty insight
and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the night.
Bored as fuck with this street corner-cover.
study of a face in a figure. surveying this language as a game
surveilence of this language as the plague.
the dimension of persistence condemns.
This portrait of karma, crafted in accident
text book seduction, minus the text in the language of ghosts
and so we ran, like the wolves were biting,
the inhibitions of their prey kept them from screaming
"scratch my back and I will stab you in yours"
so I chose to live this life alone, without the teeth marks
but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone else's heart to heal my own.
just a victim's split, one part for the wolves, one part for you.
but I'll grow weary soon, weary of this fractal code,
weary of this hallway lined with ghosts.
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to let them in
their words will cause the sweetest fracture from a stone's throw
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to welcome them
parasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like spirits mingling in the mist
that we crafted, a starving jury, let them eat shit from our trembling hands.
The heat for heat's sake, on this Barnard block of Congress
deductively speaking, the polar of progress
well maybe I put too much faith in the accident
entranced, we danced toward the ripest display of escape
let the starving ghosts feats, from this flesh, from these bones,
let them all feast. In this chess game of language, forced to sit so I play all alone, watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from a wild crafted rose.
 
Feb 21, 2004
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#3
Kill The Switch

Mouth the words to deny, deny the symptoms, as 'oh yeah I'm doing fine', as I've found a most endearing psychosis.
Somewhere out there there's a thrill I swear. Desperate as I am I just can't strip bare and bleed the only purity I've known.
But I lay with reason. Found logic concieved in a walk with skin. I lay with reason producing these monsters.
Under painted catcalls as in temptation. yeah there's a key to be in, but there's no shade, no shade to blame.
Waterfalls in a cool grey, and the struggle is colored grey this day. The caw of crows fills up the picture plane.
Our picture plane is veiled in central neutral grey. Absinthe to slight the pain. This world's this worst case color scheme.
Streaks of oil stain, stained the road he crawled on homeward.
Oh yeah, oh yeah he killed the switch with some unwieldy gauge, absence and light remain.
I lay with reason found logic and reap in a walk with sin. El sueno razon produce monsinios.
When does this dream end? Now I've missed another whole season,
I've missed the fall, clearly its fallen on this land as fields once green are ochre now.
This is no dream. Trees have turned to skeleton, roots teased and knotted just below the surface skin of ground.
Stitched between the earth and the sky struggling to hold it down.
Sometimes to realize you have to lose track of sight blurring my vision makes it clear the tiny moving parts make up the whole.
The image is clear, a tower is built of my own pride, I cry in the shade that if offers, the only shelter I've known.
When does this dream end? This is no dream. This is the walking living breathing caricature of a memory.
Shamelessly I cave in to temptation of creation. But still my only thrill is empty sidewalks, silent streets.
The caw of crows fills up the picture plane. This is your picture plain in central neutral grey.
This world's this worst case color scheme. Streaks of oil stain, stained the road he crawled on homeward.
Oh yeah, oh yeah he killed the switch with some unwieldy gauge, absence and light remain.
Life is lowly anonymity, in death a noble pose, a Marat David.
Tell me who wouldn't give their lives for such a soap box to die behind. Life is lowly, lowly anonymity.
In the space of a smile I found sleep. As in sorrow, so shall ye reap, as in reason so shall ye sleep.
Reap the promised end to the struggle. Reap every point on our linear path.
Reap the smiles in time we borrow, every harvest relies on the last.
Reap the promising song of the sparrow, that they learned from the birth of sea.
Silenced by the threnody of the crows. Reap the fallen fruit of the dogwood tree.
But I witnessed in all this silence one souls definition of beauty. a backlit smile so temporary.
A facade so rich with evil history. Cast in direct opposition set to overwhelm his moment to shine and sleep-
came out on top of what was borrowed, and found all that beauty to be still.
Every breath as in sorrow, reap the promised end to this path, by every image that we borrow, every harvest depends on the past.
Subdivide in factions our linear forever, we subdivide our waking hours to sleep.
While guilty eyes turn toward a porchlight, enlightenment is losing sight.
Somewhere out there there's a thrill I swear. In this low light town when my shift begins the streets reflecting yellow, yellow, yellow in the vacancy that overwhelms the red, red, red, your vehicle the color of expansion.
"Open up." the latter just a thought to thrill me "knock knock knock" the latter just a thought to thrill me.
"Red" is a four letter word. Four letter invitation. Now my head is locked in the direction of the sun...
Life is lowly anonymity, in death a noble prose, a Marat David.
Tell me who wouldn't give their lives for such a soap box to leave behind.
Life is lowly, lowly anonymity. I know its all been done before, I want to do it again. I want do it again.
Kill the switch.
This night our journey's through the dark.
Kill the switch, a welcome comatose, tonight we journey through the darkness.
As in sorrow, so shall ye weep, as in reason, so shall ye sleep.
 
Feb 21, 2004
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#4
Houdini Logic

Chanting in the darkness for just one taste. Screaming bloody mary until my mirror breaks. Cheating on reason for just one glimpse of the disease riding on your lips.
Lay reason to waste.Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Breaking into you. Is like waking, waking the dead.
Burning inside you. Is like waking, waking the dead.
Burning inside you. As you bury, bury your dead.
How much did she see? She stole my skin, I lost it all of what shed. I lost it all to that flicker of pearly white. Those nails did lay rest another chaste and serpentine (lunar) sacrifice on the eighth or ninth.
 
Dec 25, 2003
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#5
bla bla bla bla bla

peep this shit bla bla bla bla bla

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Feb 21, 2004
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#13
No, far from gothic rock...some call this genre grind, some call it premocore (no not like thursday or taking back sunday)...Its realy just...well...its diffrent then almost anything out there...its ambiant, then brutal, then calming, then pressurising...Its not slow at all, (like gothic music is) & at points rather midevil...

Picture the voices of bizzy bone, gangsta dre, & luni coleone combined into 1 with an adrenaline rush &'a 1600's accent...Then trading & backed by the voice of an energetic slim toned female...All this over some of the most unique melodies combined into one storm...