Tracklist & Runtime
I 1:01
The Sketch 1:19
The Labyrinth 1:08
The Nausea 1:37
II 0:44
The Bones 0:44
The Sixth 0:47
The Dimes 1:01
III 1:19
Written, performed, produced, and mixed
by disembodiedxflesh.
Mastered by Semblance Smile.
July 2026
A project in the service of reorienting from a pluralities of shocks.
Poems with song previews
I
Instrumental.
The Sketch
I crafted rooms purely by the pen,
Do you recognise any of these stroked lines?
I’ll be here on any edge,
Sketching,
Can’t forget how they tried to put me out,
Anti-psychotics and a good luck back home note,
So absurd,
I’m still rubbing Hera’s clit, though.
Why all the hate?
Acid trauma healed by the willows,
Only gorgeous faces on my skin now,
I doubt your envy can fixate at these feet any longer,
Sketch it out for yourself hoe.
The Labyrinth
Ripped skirt & a few bones frail,
I’m barely loving right,
I hate that I made it,
Somewhere,
My sweet little child,
I can barely stand anyone’s sight,
I am low on breath,
Chest tight,
A victim of the unconscious haze.
I miss the slum mundane
Less hope, lesser textures,
Okay with the whatever,
Now it's a war to walk the corner,
And the music barely sounds nice,
Please burn these bags at my sight.
And truthfully,
I only wanted a three of you,
Tied,
Home-bound,
Build a labyrinth,
Watch the red sky melt
I hate all sides
I hate all else.
The Nausea
Forecast is a nausea,
I hate sampling my brain,
I’m designed to love so what’s the rush,
It’s all play and games,
It’s all play and games,
Empires take time,
Rose gold Lakes, Lush bodies,
The Roots are Fed,
We are the only true underground,
The rest is a guessing bet,
I can’t be bothered,
I pray to no one but I,
For when the day shines.
II
Instrumental.
The Bones
I keep the signs close by,
You died too soon, hun,
You were mine,
A noose too light, or a blade,
A blade to remind you of our times,
Now I keep your whispers caged in the wind,
Sometimes you clutch on my skin,
too tight,
I was your dearest treasure,
wasn’t I?
I promise the end is I,
Your blood, bones, and skin,
walking a scythe.
I’ll keep the signs close by.
The Sixth
I walked, muddled snow,
Barely a breath on my feet,
They call it physiotherapy for the undead,
My mistress became short sighted,
Told her its all about the death,
A convoluted belief on the baby witch,
lay it to rest if you can sense the end,
I know we both agitated,
My wife gets it, a bit more or a bit less,
Big Bright Beautiful Blue eyes,
Tightroped bodies clawing it to Hades,
Mythologies complexer than the NOI,
And there’s these scaling the walls on whether they believe.
The Dimes
Two dimes for a Faustian night,
The Faust is now on the crucifix for being too mundane,
Those dimes are now seven scars,
I see the Dracula tipping its hat,
Proud to be sucking the blood,
Four months straight,
Barged into every space,
Detention our only commune,
I’m really tormented, babes.
I laid my feet nerveless at Berlin Hauptbahnhof,
Not a sense, Basically dead.
Rose to bone cracks, and cops,
No sight of the hajji I punched,
Vibes are a bit dumb,
Guess we all needed a cigarette.
Morning dews with my ripped up skirts,
So now I’m grinning, is this home I ask?
We all sigh in an occultic psychosis.
III
Instrumental.
˚ 𖤣 𖡼
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