The Narcoma

by TRITA

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about

Several years in the making, Trita's debut album personifies mediocrity.

credits

released October 2, 2014

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

TRITA Minneapolis, Minnesota

We try to make music sounds. We try to write songs. We try to be a band. TRITA.

Prog rock with some elements of post-hardcore.

Take care of yourself, and take care of somebody else.

contact / help

Contact TRITA

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Track Name: Is That What You Think It Did?
Bow down to sickness that has given you birth. Disguise in your eyes and disguise in your size, it's so old. Blesses the sick, blesses the weak. What is the coward doing inside?

Consumer, the game is rigged.

Bow down your highness, your table is now full. Hands of your lovers, kept as a token of love. Blesses the sick, blesses the weak, what is the coward doing inside?

Consumer, the game is rigged.

If you wish to enslave a man, make him believe he's free. Control through disempowerment, and endless coveting.

We are responsible for negative polarity. Desired fullest expression: absolute energy.
Track Name: Enamel
Why do you think that I die when you come around? I'm okay.

Indefinite detention by the five senses.

Fires started with olive branches. Wolves in shepherd's clothing. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Technicolor telescreens. Gratuitous violence and nudity. Televised genocide, in high definition broadcasted live.

Dribbles down your knuckles. Permanent discomfort. Dribbles down your knuckles. Copyright infringement.

Why do you think I lie when you come around? I'm okay.

Higher indoctrination. Insufficient funds.

Create the problem present solution. False flags and memory holes. And then what is fears recommended daily dose?

Technicolor telescreens. Gratuitous violence and nudity. Televised genocide, in high definition broadcasted live.

Dribbles down your knuckles. Doublethink. Drunk tank pink. Dribbles down your knuckles. Polluting holy void.

Illusionary oscillations, figments of this mass dream. Ascend as one that is all there was, or could be.

Manifest.
Track Name: Youth Pastor
So you took a true prophet and you turned a false profit. Premarital eye contact. New Sodom, U.S.A. Transcend.

Please tell me I'm on your mind I know that's where I should be found. Please tell me I'm on your mind I know that's where I should be found now.

You tore me apart.

So you took 30 silver pieces, and you milked golden cash calf dry. Baptized in false witness piss, wine red piss, the lucre of hypnotize. It's all pretend.

Please tell me I'm on your mind, I know that's where I should be found.

Shepherd abandoned all of us sheep, and I'll admire your insouciance always.

You tore me apart.

I know the pain is wrong.

You tore me apart.
Track Name: Yellow Journalist
Chasm's edge and at this old rope's end, both overdrawn and spent. Savior's carrot hangs ahead and cancer's scent, colored corporate soft drink red, are siphoned into our heads. Celadon green's crimson trend.

So long since I was conceived. Was this all a tease? A taste of my own endless seed. Endless rhyme, forgotten but not alone. It bleeds when it's clean. Sightless sight unseen. I can't take anymore.

What will kill me? I am frightened. And/or how will I die? I am spayed. Imaginary enemies. I am frightened. Perverts and saints alike. In this world.

What did Rorschach see in the clouds? (Silence yourself) Symbolic figures, within and without. Obelisks with condoms. The privileged white. Counter-rotating fields of light.

Go ahead and take it, take it as if it were free. Go ahead take it, take it as if it were me. Resist, insist, persist, yellow journalist. They serve no purpose than to exist.

Pilot light flickers overdue on loan, idle hands reap what I've sewn, uninterested in letting go. Why is the inner voice of doubt my own? Siren sings a sour note, "angel hangs self from halo."

So long since I was fed. Take turns with the dead. Deny the self and all those false witnesses. Silence the dissonance. Purify rebirth. Sightless sight unseen. I can't take any more.

What will kill me? I am frightened. And/or how will I die? I am spayed. Imaginary enemies. I am frightened. Perverts and saints alike. In this world.

What did Rorschach see in the clouds? (Silence yourself) Symbolic figures, within and without. No bliss with condoms. The privileged white. Counter-rotating fields of light.

Go ahead and take it, take it as if it were free. Go ahead take it, take it as if it were me. Resist, insist, persist, yellow journalist. They serve no purpose than to exist.
Track Name: Was
What is this? The audible roar. What is normal? Sharpened, relentlessly old. Limitless potential.

Hesitation.

Divinely indifferent. [expletive deleted]. Hemlock and ambrosia. Grains of salt collected. High fructose corn syrup. Parallel lines. As I was, you were, was I?

God said, "You are not my son." Inward integrate. The scent of shame always follows death. Interconnectedness.

Hesitation.

Divinely indifferent. [expletive deleted]. Hemlock and ambrosia. Grains of salt collected. High fructose corn syrup. Parallel lines. As I was, you were, was I?

"Work, buy, consume, die" repeating careerist. Toeing the party line. Fake indigos have your credit cards ready. For one low payment of life.

Hesitation. Hesitate.
Track Name: Turquoise
Is it all worth dying for? They still live. Lost another bet my friend. We still sleep. Charcoal faced, getting thin. They own us. The plight of a moderate man. They believe.

"I am another you, and you are another me."

From the slow vibration in this lowest dimension. Are these bare walls keeping us out or are they keeping us in?

Is it all worth dying for? They are us. Trade in my innocence for awhile. We are them. Was it too much to ask for forgiveness? We are all. I'll take one more life, then I'm gone. On our way back home.

"I am another you, and you are another me."

From the slow vibration in this lowest dimension. Are these bare walls keeping us out or are they keeping us in?

I will sleep now. I will sleep.

Changing bodies, changing minds. I will no longer be on your right side. Changing bodies, changing minds. I will no longer be complete 'til I die.

You are the conduit. We are the conduit.

Is it sad to see I'm falling apart and you have not moved on from the life? I took the time, always took the time, to smile right at your face. This is understood. This is understood that time will not ever change. I'll take myself and move on. I'll move on. I'll move on.

It's always the sun. Always the son.

All of this and none of this, infinite consciousness, experiencing life. The oneness of the mind.

What would we do with the truth? How could we put it to use? But both money and time are only of the mind.

What if there is no truth? Why should we believe the proof? But why are we alive? I want a better mind.

Intuiting then intending then declaring then completing. No further than inside, look and you will find. Truth is true as long as you are breathing and believe it to. I want a better mind.

I'm sold.

Reciting slogans and pre-approved mottos. Regurgitating unoriginal echos.

We have forgotten, we have forsaken, our intended use. Possibilities are potential truths. We are here to choose.

I did this.
Track Name: Ritual Slang
Well, it's safe to say I've got nothing to say. Most of the time every time it won't go my way. A bracelet of kidney stones, a necklace of teeth. American is an ugly language, the humbug won't cease. And at the end of the race is a piece of cheese if you win. A reward for the circles that you had run in. But money comes from the ground, and "food" is a weird word. Does the savior have a degree? What do you do behind closed doors? As a casual sinner, common consumer, there is nothing we can do. Saint George can you hear me? The terrorists wear suits. But if words are nouns but not all words are nouns, which ones are the ones that are spelled like it sounds. No humans, no dust, no people, no problems. The desensitization process. The road less traveled is the road less approved, in fear of change, but in the name of progress.
Track Name: Ugly Knees
Ugly knees. She's got it all. Ugly knees. What is it for? Yeah.

Forget it. She's not that bad.

Ugly knees. She's got it all. Ugly knees. What is it for?

Forget it. Heaven/business/heaven.

She's not that bad.
Track Name: Subdue
A nearsighted view. The cracked looking glass. Eggshell floor. Your own fair-weather friend. Sifting through sentimental debris. Malignant thought. Benign speech.

Sleep is free.

What if wealth was negligence? Primary colors. The art of surveillance. Your barbed wire tight rope, bell curve, post natal proud. All in worship of lonely sounds.

So who bequeathed unto you eternal pride? Painted in sainthood and in an off white.

Sleep is free.

Deep in thought only deeper in debt. Not many heroes die natural deaths. The wool is thicker when over closed eyes. As above, so below. The eaters of light.

Is it all just how it appears? Paranoia is measured in years.
Track Name: Song in D
I can not. I will not. I can not die.

Die. Dead.
Track Name: Majesty Gray
Everything is beauty on your side of the fence. And everything is gray over here. But in time all eyes will adjust and the pieces will fall into place. With burdens lifted, the tried and true still will wilt to shame. A new low, your majesty. Please spare me, majesty.

Depict a picture of white picket slivers, gray dims to grayer gray. Hindsight is priceless, you're hired your highness. Memories degrade. A new low your majesty, hallowed by thy stain. A new low your majesty. Low.

Everything is hearsay on your side of the fence, and cliche reigns over here. But in time all eyes will adjust, and the pieces fall from disgrace. With burdens lifted, rarely they do. Then had to lose faith. A new low, the majesty. Please spare me, majesty.

Depict a picture of white picket slivers, gray dims to grayer gray. Hindsight is priceless, you're hired your highness. Memories degrade. A new low your majesty, hallowed be thy stain. The new low your majesty. Low.

Letting go.
Track Name: Lilac Debt
Allow me to give you my unwanted thoughts and two cents. Carefully placed words that do not make sense. Two one-armed skeptics shake whichever hands, working hard and in circles like a ceiling fan. They sit atop a high horse right on top of the bell curve. Single syllable swear words. What precious medal does last place deserve? A chorus of hipster scoffs I have earned. No wonder we're convinced that bad news looms, when T.V.'s are the only windows in rooms. A plastic bag of plastic bags. Sacred membrane. Although not stained it's just not the same. A face among faces, a name among names. I have spoke to these walls and though voices they lack, I have spoke to these walls and they have spoke back. A storm in a teacup, a tree on a branch, words don't really mean much when you don't have the cash. Although a ditch digger, I've come to help cash. To fight the losing battle, while you rest your back. Holden, are you listening? It does go by fast. Only noticed after it's gone, now I want it back.