Self​-​Titled EP

by Montpellier

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released August 31, 2011



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Montpellier Baltimore, Maryland

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Track Name: Hygiene at the Turn of the Century
Waiting on this bond to bend
I'm turning my back towards the sun
Hoping to be remembered as some silhouette that's left his mark
Moving on,
charging dismal grounds of convex ruins and dead towns
Because I know if I stayed, I just stand there staring at my empty house

But I'm pacing my steps to steer all focus from the past
But the sun's lashing out, cutting skin and penetrating
A constant anthem pounds between my temples
Pianos banging obnoxious melodies
Drums kicking and crashing

"The wind through the trees has been calling out, asking
'Will you stay? The ground underfoot spoils seed, lacking your footsteps.'"

Choirs chanting and shouting a sad familiar mantra: Crawling on tightropes like infantry

Behind me monuments of empty promise and statues of dead men salute white flags that wave so violently
A line of blank bases wait to be joined with the images of their previous idol

Now I'm following my aimless shadow
through a steady crawl that was once my steps
The setting sun's biting at the back of my ankles
This road's a fucking desert
Knelt-over purging those uncouth thoughts that I've been swallowing for months

For years I was once a hero
For year I neglected grasping on
My reflections screams as a mirage
A second glance
A second guess
A second best
Track Name: Full Nelson Mandela
Our feet sinking in mud
Our hands scratching away at the eggshell path
We carelessly march across leaving prints for our followers
As we near the split I question my own intent
Paused and eyeing the gutter trail to the right,
downhill, lined with sewers and littered with grinding joints, tense tissues, our polluted memories
Should I lead to higher ground?
I'll never taste the icy summit.
Track Name: Western Expansion Rumble Pack
I met a figure I've adressed, I undressed
a flame we've kept tangled
bending feverish angles
It's mashing teeth, sweating, muttering
crossing burning rocks though I only spent minutes chasing apparitions
aspiring to be caught and embraced

still growing features and depth
shaping expressions, contorting like wild fire
sharpening a jagged walk, stumbling forward

How is this parade so damn hard to resist?
I swear I can feel every twist as I run my fingers down your back.
saliva spills, I'm your easy kill
Our huntress knows twelve point won't roam tonight

More features appear
She's shed her graceful poise for repeating mistakes

And regrets are shuttering, blinking like sirens trailed down highways
I took a deep breath and held it in anticipation
she's blinking like sirens and pushing away at my hands

Can phantoms really be so haunting?
They're drifitng vessels dragging the anchors they can't keep center.
Can phantoms really be so haunting?

I've kept a light raised in case and wait for the dust to settle.
Sifting my hand through my jaw to untie the knots in my throat and stomach,
one thread at time.
Track Name: Thank God for Industry
I've become the stale taste in this weather, and it's spreading like cancer
It's cold and I'm bitter watching streams of crumpled leaves and crumpled letters of my crumpled dreams wash the tops of my feet
You were the tree in the clearing
Tall and arching and proud
While seemingly so sturdy, your roots were hollowed out
And I circled through the mess at your roots before beginning my ascent
Holding on to false hopes that I'd find a sign of life at your top.
I've become the stale taste in this weather
It's winter.
Everything's dead.

I've lost comfort in leaving my ear to the sleet covered ground
My knees are ready to give
Your limbs twitch to choking winds that pull back my hair
And I continue to pull back my hair over thoughts of defeat
Thoughts recalled while I struggle to keep my grip

And your lucid peaks are blinding with spectrums through prisms and diamonds
"How can you chew the skin from your nails?" I've repeatedly asked wiping away at sap and bark.

Bare branches snap under my feet as the pressure snaps underneath my chest

When it snows, do bent branches point home?
They weren't able to carry heart.

The descent was beautiful, almost weightless in freefall
Eyes shut with teeth and fists clenched
to join the mess surrounding your roots
Just another mass shivering left only black or white

It's winter.
Everything's dead.