1. |
Refurbished Kids
02:03
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(I’m) Not unlike any other suburban boy, if his quintessence overflowed. Please let this be the one lie that I won’t tell. Let this be the one piece of me that I won’t sell. I’ve never wanted for too much of anything, with the exception of intangibles that cannot be obtained. So, write yourself a song, one you swore you would never write; about being afraid of yourself, of everything. Let this be the one time that I do not quit. For the first time in my life, I will not give, not a single inch.
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2. |
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In my lifetime, I have been beaten, I’ve been jumped and I’ve been robbed; and every time, my transgressor was a straight white male. So, please tell me how I am supposed to believe that race, gender and sexuality have anything to do with what makes you a waste. You look confused. I am nothing like you.
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3. |
Ex Machina
02:59
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Control is an illusion upon which we’ve built a metropolis which is populated and diluted by archaic symptoms of madness. Still, we submit to this group-think apathy, remaining terrified of conviction and just obsessed with our own brevity. Tell me: what do you say to the ones born afraid? We draw a line in the sky and spray paint the words, “do not fly.”
All of our fables have come to an end, but they possess no shred of any lesson, or anything akin to wisdom. We set our own limits. We drown them in distraction and reinforce them with comfort, so that we do not have to see the flaws in the rock, the cracks in the hull. We are the capsized ship. We are the shattered stone. There are flaws in the rock. There are cracks in the hull. We’re losing oxygen. We are the shattered stone.
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4. |
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Have you finally realized that your problems are not problems, that there is no hierarchy of pain? Have you drowned yourself in self doubt, or rich white-kid shame? Run the words away until they burn up in your lungs. Face what vestige yet remains of your regrets. Prepare for the regrets yet to come. You’ve got your head down on a desk in the back of the class. You’re staring at the clock, and begging for those hands to turn back, begging those hands to stop.
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5. |
Groundhog Day
02:24
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A solid iron snow globe surrounds this city, trapping it in the only season that it may ever know. Far too many bodies hang from these family trees. Generations of violence have become entrenched in poverty, a poverty born of violence. This man made serpent is still biting down on its own tail. These would be our final days, if the nights would ever end.
So, when you finally open your eyes and take a look outside, please tell me what it is that you see; because I just see a cycle that you couldn’t cut with the sharpest knife. These would be our final days, if the nights would ever end.
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6. |
Dear Kilgore Trout
02:07
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Do you ever wonder if you are the only one imbued with free will, standing amidst a sea of suffering machines, of such selfish machines? Maybe, you didn’t get them memo, or just skipped the preface to the book.
See, lately I’ve been thinking that I am the only one who doesn’t get the joke. Tell me: where is the punch line? My noblest of aspirations have all gone up in smoke, but I still rock my dreams to sleep. I tell them that they will be just fine.
Do you ever wonder if failure is really all that bad? What’s scarier for a man like you, the American dream or the fact that it came true?
Please, someone tell me what the hell I am supposed to do, because I have become incapable of making decisions for myself.
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7. |
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I have sewn my misgivings into the most comfortable of quilts. It envelops me like a sea of swirling brine and half-dead memories. Still, I grow more claustrophobic with each passing day. I’ve grown so old, but no wiser. If I could only see the me that I used to be, I would listen. I would let that young man condemn my actions. (He would ask) what happened to your grand ideals. What happened to the things you had to say? What happened to the man you used to be? I’m not sure that I know, but I will say, “It is high time that I tried.”
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8. |
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I know that there are days when all you feel is this malaise. Sure, you remember better days, but you can’t see many up ahead. Just know: on those days, I will be there with a hammer in my hand and a pocket full of nails; because I remember days when you were right there with a hammer in your hand, and I never had to ask. We can put this great wall back together. We can armor up this egg, (and we can do it) better than a thousand horses, or a thousand men. I know that time has never been on anybody’s side, but I will do my best. I will not give, no matter how cliché this sounds.
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9. |
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I can’t remember how many times I’ve said, “This might just kill me where I stand.”
I’ve compromised my heart and lungs. I’ve compromised my head. Will it be worth the time? Will it be worth everyone and everything I leave behind? Will I wake up one day with nothing left but a photograph of the way things used to be, and a slight recollection of just what it meant to me?
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10. |
This too Shall Pass
02:52
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A half-empty night in a half-empty room; (I’m screaming) half-empty words, but I have a child’s eyes. There’s nothing you could say that would diminish me. You can’t take this away, because I don’t care. I know that this is all just standard fan fair; a thousand bands have said this all before, and most, better.
Do I want this bad enough? Do I want this at all? Do I need this bad enough? Do I need this at all? Oh, and if I seem ungrateful, it’s just my state of shock. The only thing I know is how to take, but you’ve given me so much. These are the only memories that I will ever need.
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Heads Held High Cleveland, Ohio
One of these days, I'll get to writing it. Was never satisfied with any of the stuff I hastily typed up when it was required of me.
Heads Held High recommends:
Elliott and Eddy play guitar in this band. Eternal Heads Held High road dog (outlasted most of the guys who actually played in the band) Nick Kratsas sings. David occasionally scabs for them on tour.
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The Great Dead Hope: Act I
by Cattle Dogs
Comprised of the final touring lineup of Heads Held High. Too heavy and doomy to be the logical progression, but there is a bit of Heads Held High in there somewhere. The bitter, frustrated, bit.
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Aug 18, 2023
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The Language Of Injury
by Ithaca
On their debut record, the London hardcore upstarts cross-up mosh-ready fare with melancholic ambient passages, weeping guitars, and virtuosic vocal harmonies, but its romantic veneer is much more complicated than it seems.
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Sinister Feeling
by Sinister Feeling
featured on Bandcamp Radio Mar 29, 2024
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This Is All We Ever Get
by SPACED
Knockout debut from a Buffalo, New York-based hardcore band who like their riffs sick, their drums fast, and their choruses sticky-sweet.
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