supported by
/
  • Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

     $3 USD  or more

     

  • Compact Disc (CD)

    Includes unlimited streaming of Maps via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 2 days

     $5 USD or more

     

  • T-Shirt/Apparel

    White on black or maroon
    ships out within 2 days

     $10 USD or more

     

1.
03:03
2.
03:20
3.
4.
5.

credits

released April 1, 2016

Produced and Mixed by Sanford Parker
Mastered by Collin Jordan

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Lower Automation Chicago, Illinois

Chicago math punk and noise

contact / help

Contact Lower Automation

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Track Name: Ring
Crutches for smooth bones
lure splint commitment
burning, make this phantom limb
contort and twist

Crutches for smooth bones
these weapons.
The nurse knocked into your pit.

You broke my feet to match your face.

It's just another kiss
on conviction as it crumbles to waste.
You waited at the base of the fire escape.

I can't feel the wet moving.
You are the nerve to my limbs.
Sling me through your waves.
You are the nerve to my limbs,
a pointed smile to the back of my head.

I'm seeing red, still swimming through
the arson I'd miss
if the bait's cut loose.
Light my life on fire and I'll wait
at the base of the fire escape.
Track Name: Decorated
Bottleneck crew
repletion cries,
command, control.
Bait and switch redemption stripes
camouflage a jester's grin,
and you're swallowing eyes.
One armed, you're swallowing eyes.

But I see you're decorated.

Crippled men with bayonets destroy what they defend.
We press our voices up beyond the box,
kneel down and clear our homes for gods.
I used to warm at you in pride,
but the small child's idol topples.
Until our ego it divides,
you're not a hero until you die.

We press our voices up beyond the box.
Kneel down and clear our homes for gods.

Command, control.

You're swallowing eyes.

I'd say you're white-washed
and I'd say you're clothed in fear.
Your mind's been infiltrated,
but I see you're decorated.

And I'd say your weapon's been clogged,
won't fire with the safety off.
Your mind's been infiltrated,
but I see you're decorated.

Command, control.
Celebrate.
Track Name: Break Room Curators
Transplant juxtaposed
over this opposition,
rehearsed to reinforce.
Tunnel voice resounds,
disembodying the turn
while branded x's tumble down.

This rapping on the door.
We're looking for a role in another's home.

How we laugh at the parasitic joke.
This order's been misembodied.

This rapping on the door.
We're looking for a role in another's home.
Rites can't be recreated in a purging of the host,
bodies disowned.

How the needles would turn.
How the scalpels would turn,
But we laugh.
Track Name: The Cartographer
Atlased by worth
in this contention for place.
Cants covered, redesigned.
Jaundiced paper meets a quill to spill
a system the system desired.

Bound feet in these trap streets.

Thieving to locate,
to mark.

Apex sifts
through the bottom for stilts.
Apex sifts.
Eyes up, push down
to stand above.

Physics manifest
the one with the pen.
Physics manifest,
stain the canvas.
The one with the pen hides and denies,
groundless.
The one with the pen
is the arbiter.

As old ink spills

Tell them they're in the dirt
because of your self worth.
Track Name: Scissor Lapses
Breaks and fractures feed
syncope dreams
where a covert man with hatchet rage
whittles away.
He looks me dead in the eye,
but still lets me hide.
And I awake to seven cold mistakes.

Well, this can't be right.
The tide swings red.
All sinews torn,
dissections have made their beds.
Cut parts appearing,
heads I know backstroke
up and down the creek.

Swinging, swinging
I miss the ringing
the pressure in my ears.

It's all flooding back.

Swinging, swinging
I miss the ringing
the pressure in my ears.