Diamond Igloo Night Rally Initials B.R. Marconi Diamond Igloo on Bandcamp

Strike on Back

from by Initials B.R.

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lyrics

‘03. STRIKE ON BACK (we play with fire)

Rate the effects of the song:
1 weeding wrecks from the lawns,
5 being half of the hoss,
10 avid pats and applause.
Anybody asking upon what
Attracts such a man to command of the forum,
Better take heed when I warn:
I want to match wits with the best in the form.

I one-man the quorum, get to business, split
Helixes with protein synthesis,
Menacing lids to invert kicks and leave kids
Dangling over black precipices. I
Pack punch like sack lunches.
Anyone crosses that line gets lit like
Light fixtures equipped to spit dikfer.
Ask and you get laughed at, get the picture?

Lean on the fence, kid. Sleep on the next. Get
Burned in the end, defenseless.
Keep all the rest. I can live with less.
I wait for the restless betwixt
Friction and phosphorous, with phillumenist
Nose jabbed into book jackets, this
Cardboard wrapped to set fire in a snap.

I wanna make contact. Pressure in a handshake,
Pupils in a dilated state, face to face,
Case by case, ‘til it’s safe to say,
We done set things straight, ‘kay?
I wanna make contact. Hunger insatiate,
Pacing the edge of cliff face, day by day,
Come what may, I lay in wait,
Aching for a hand to play ‘cause…

If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.

If you pull all the traces in, you can
See where the hands have been: little
Fingerprints, dusted in, each rippling
Ring expanding until you’re all twisting
Claims into questions like
Accents of New Mexicans. Then at
Last you get texts’ message:
Semi-colon, end parenthesis. I’ll tell you

This just once, in the event you have this
Flash of insight ignite and combust, the
Cavernous cavity’s switch flipped so your
Skull’s abyss gets lit like Christmas:
I hang up in the halls of yours and brew a
Beverage and pour it in thine ears’ porches, in the
Dark ‘cept for the sparks set to the canvas,
Hard steel marks in the flint of the language;

Large wheels’ arcs reel to grind
Gears and begin; the machine with a slick grin
Trims meat like an impenitent man’s with
Petulant plans intent on entrance in
Surfaces scanned with plans to adapt your
Shadow forms on a sage metaphor’s indoor
Grotto walls into transformed tableaus and
Raps like buffalo packs at Lascaux.

Teem in the tank, kid. Fiend for the thanks. Get
Worked in the end, relentless.
Dream with the rest of the rats and pests.
I wait for the restless betwixt
Friction and phosphorous, with phillumenist
Nose jabbed into book jackets, this
Cardboard wrapped to set fire in a snap.

I wanna make contact. Pressure in a handshake,
Pupils in a dilated state, face to face,
Case by case, ‘til it’s safe to say,
We done set things straight, ‘kay?
I wanna make contact. Hunger insatiate,
Pacing the edge of cliff face, day by day,
Come what may, I lay in wait,
Aching for a hand to play ‘cause…

If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.
If I meet my match, I’ll strike on back.

credits

from Initials B​.​R., released April 4, 2011

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