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Yes, It Hurts... Lyrics

Artist: GrÃ¼vis Malt
Album: Sound Soldiers

Had to concentrate on nothing
So that the somethings are left with no food
Yet my mood turns the truth into prominent enemies
Armies of sketch diaries and scrap papers
Taper down and puzzle it together
In present time I live by the clock
Angrily staring at a locked wall socket I sit undertall
Three prongs and all
I am the source of this hunger
I long for these things
The mediums to create myself through
Without the proper means to obtain such materials
I must remain suspended in particles
And refrain from creative thought
Has no place but to be forgotten

I crawl through machines with anger
Into ears with ease
And refrain from ideas which might be forgotten

Capable yet unable
To express what has backed up inside
And formed a pulsating mound of rough draft material
This is a mound of speech sound and sight
And the written word
And it's full while I scurry trying to find places to spit it out
So I can be empty
And have something to show for my thought
and refrain from forgetting ideas

Looking back my timeline is a circle
And faded in nature a turtle
With a shell to mask the past
Which memory came first and which last?
I recall Texas swimming in the backyard
in grassy agua when it rained hard
And chasing snakes in two leotards:
one for pants the other for head garb
Flash forward and I'm hunting Moorlocks in Utah
More like gremlins in description not seen
by me but by my friend Clinton safari through the
jungleweeds in the outskirts of faculty housing all
that resulted from the outing was a dousing in delousing powder
Leap years back and I'm on the trail of snappers
Mom did the laundry while I watched from the windowsill,
a mother left her eggs buried by the picnic table
I met evolution and when she left I smashed all the eggs
I was Abel

I am hungry
Words and pictures don't form on command
When you are ready
You will take full control of me again
These times when I'm empty
Who is getting blessed?
Who is starving like me?
Wondering about it
And fearing that it won't return

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