Limited to 240 copies, the 180gm 12" vinyl version of the album is being produced with colors at random. There are one of any 21 possible colors you may receive and no one will know, not even us as to which color yours will be.
**Note: This means your copy will be a **single** color opaque/semi-transparent, chosen at random (i.e. there aren't any "rainbow colored" copies).**
There’s no rhyme or reason why I find my hands stretching the skin
From my cheeks down to my jawbone until it's see through
Shaking excessively while I coddle glands with palms
Until my eyelids bleed too
Allowing negativity to cram into my head with no handle it
Makes any positives seem duped
With pessimism and all, I end up hitting a wall
And let the executioners dress me with a clean noose
It's not a suicidal cry. More like a hanged man's
Right to die, amplified when I feel blue
An awful stance arrives once the font, Comic Sans is applied
Onto signs I’m not trying to read into
Put a message in parenthesis and it’ll undermine an expression
Intended to sneak through
Encapsulate it in quotes and there it goes
Exacerbating the lows of a deceased view
Surrounding asterisks makes stars breed black-hole passages
Gravitating a lead to
Swallowing sedatives, subduing mood deficits
Give a man too much to chew and there he goes banging his head again
Like boom, clack. Boom, boom, clack!
Boom, clack! There he goes banging his head again
Boom, clack! Boom, boom, clack! Boom!
There he goes banging his head again
It must be terrible
There he goes banging his head again
Only advice is to say, Oh-oh ok
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-uh-oh
Uh-oh, uh-oh, oh, uh-oh, uh-oh
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-oh
There he goes, banging his head again
It wasn’t a part of the plan to impart a displeasing
Changing of guard this season. I didn’t mean to
Extend to the farthest of reaches, stretching the mark of the beast
And depart on a freezing-hot air balloon
Locomotion squealing drowns just how hopeless feelings sound
As light speed weakens to reveal truth
That visions of romance only exist in a slow dance
It’s a kick in the pants with a steel boot
Reading between the lines with a bitten lip redefines
What it means to meet demise, long overdue
In a language I can't speak, written in Sans Serif
I try, but can’t scream within this black vacuum
Between a hard place and a rock, there aren’t ways to talk
Just asteroids to dodge on a dash to the bathroom
With a mirror in the front, my tongue pushes swollen gums
Where food doesn't belong between a sheared tooth
Hung up on the tone and teething from the drone of beating drums
Seeing a seizure come in this telephone booth
With a clack, clack, boom, it's a catch twenty-two
Give a man too much to chew and there he'll go banging his head again
Like boom, clack. Boom, boom, clack!
Boom, clack! There he goes banging his head again
Boom, clack! Boom, boom, clack! Boom!
There he goes banging his head again
It must be terrible
There he goes banging his head again
Only advice is to say, Oh-oh ok
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-uh-oh
Uh-oh, uh-oh, oh, uh-oh, uh-oh
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-oh
There he goes, banging his head again
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-uh-oh
Uh-oh, uh-oh, oh, uh-oh, uh-oh
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-oh
There he goes, banging his head again
It'll come back sooner or late
To get rid of it again, just say
Uh-oh, oh, oh, uh-uh-oh
Uh-oh, uh-oh, oh, uh-oh, uh-oh
Uh-oh, uh-oh, oh, uh-oh, uh-oh
credits
from Visceral Candy Feat. Tim Stiles,
released November 22, 2016
Written by Seth Swift & Tim Stiles
Vocals by Seth Swift, Tim Stiles, & Ian Hernandez
Produced by Jay Battle & Seth Swift
Recorded, Mixed, & Mastered by Jay Battle @ The Battlefield
Seattle, WA
Tim Stiles is an independent hip-hop artist historically known as the lead vocalist/rapper of the satirical hip hop band,
Passion Party. Tim is no one trick pony. He’s a clever, crafty wordsmith in his own right with an ability to adapt to just about any concept or genre....more