Aaralyn

by Aaralyn

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1.
04:06
2.
04:19
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4.
04:01
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03:22
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7.
04:01
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10.
05:41
11.
04:17

credits

released December 23, 2016

All music written and performed by Aaralyn

Tracking, mixing, and mastering by Adrien Clay

Guest Vocals on 'Art and the Artist' by Angel Flores and Adrien Clay of Painting Promises.

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Track Name: Blasphemer
I would tear every star from the sky,
if the truths I seek were behind them.
I would drain every sea,
if a single key was buried at the bottom.
I would steal a thousand breaths,
if it meant I could mutter an answer.

Feeling my way through the crowd of an empty space,
I can hear all of their whispers.
They want to pull me down their rabbit holes,
but I don't wanna' go.
I'd rather walk the forward path,
with those honest about their disorientation
than run down in circles,
with those who falsely claim to know the way.

Heroes are made the same way as villains,
and often cut from the very same cloth.
It is far better to be a blasphemer
than a liar or a fool.
Track Name: The Whale
The sea is my home.
The waves are the bones,
and the tides are coming to take me,
pull me under, so that I can once again
be a part of Leviathan.

Set sail for who knows where.
The wind is still my brother.
The sun is my father,
the stars: my sisters,
the ocean: my steadfast mother.
I will travel as far as I can,
'til the earth is entwined with the heavens.
I'll live with no fear,
my mind will be clear,
even though I'm all sixes and sevens.

I'm chasing an ominous beast
whose body is whiter than snow.
Set a course, headed North by North-East.
If the breeze rests, my crew will all row.
This isn't obsession, it's honesty.
The beast is everywhere and nowhere.
The storm looks at me ominously,
but it's out there. I can feel it.
I must go there.

I have a terrible secret.
I'm in fact not hunting whales,
in Davey Jone's Locker.
Abstractions and artistic concepts
have tainted this subject proper.
Whales are not a swimming beast, to me.
Instead, they are two things:
On the one hand, they are a blank canvas;
On the other, methods of thinking.
They are potentials, infinite and real,
unreachable, honest expression,
artistic in nature, impossible to represent,
for all art is simply refraction.

Great men, to those we have trusted
to tell what expressions are are better,
arbitrary and immoral practice.
Expression cannot be measured.
We hunt the whiteness, not the beast,
and here, I know, I must die.
My attempt to represent honestly
will always result in an artistic lie.
Track Name: From Maine With Love
The breeze is light. The stars are out,
but with clouds like these, I can’t see them shining.
Here we stand. The rolling, black waves
assure us that the cold tides are rising.
Dance away. Dance away, girl.
Dance as long as you can.
The sea is coming to take you away from me.

Dance away.
Dance as long as you can.
Dance for the moon, the stars and the sea.
As this is the last dance, dance with me.

The water licks at the seams of your dress.
Our toes are cold, and the waves are coming.
I know fear, this I will confess
as I can hear the Sirens and their sweet humming.
Young and free, such are we.
We sing a tune as the night air thickens.
The sea at our knees; a whistle in the trees,
but still, your dance, it quickens.
Bang the drums, the dance is wild.
Savage, that’s what we are.
Dance away, sweet child.
But please, don’t stray too far.

Tides to the waist, the terrible chill
is frightening, yet you still seem free.
Dance away, as someday we all will.
The tides begin to take you away from me.
The tides, the grin, the teeth,
they shine as the clouds part.
Dance further away from me.
Dance, sway, depart.
Death is an artist who creates in the shadows.
Dance away with It, dear friend,
to the depths and leave me to the shallows.
Track Name: Arsonists
These words are born in fire and we have every intention of engulfing everything with them.
We want the ground under your feet to crumble, so that you may soon find a greater foundation.
You're goddamned right we came
to start a fucking revolution.

Travel with us, and every night we'll burn a different city down.
In the blue and orange light of early morning ashes, we'll build something far greater.

It's time we killed the myths, the monsters, the ghosts, and the gods.
To our opposition:
We've come to wash your sticky fingers, to tie the tongue of your every liar, and strip you of your old cloth.
And, when the young have gazed upon your ugly, naked flesh, we'll hand them the torch.
When they've looked passed your throne, housed by cards, when their minds remove the illusion, they will burn it down.
Track Name: Eunuch
Gaze upon the glory of a massacre.

Torn away from kin to serve a higher purpose.
Before his lips could shape a word,
they took a blade to his flesh,
tossed his genitals to starving dogs.
"He will be loyal. He will be docile.
Son, you're holy now. In return for this gift,
you owe us your life."
Neither then, nor any day after,
did his screams sound like any they'd heard before.

Accustomed to the evil touch of holy men in want,
he is mutilated and without dignity.
With their lust satisfied, he is told to beg them for forgiveness,
"Otherwise, it is you the gods will drag to hell."

From a seed, the conspiracy grows.
A pain in his gut.
A rage in his heart.
An intricate plot within his mind.
Behind his swollen, salted eyes lies a secret.

On the eve of his thirteenth year,
he moves through the darkness of the grounds.
He moves from room to room, for the last time.
He drives his dagger deep into the neck
of every holy man, silences their screams with tiny hands and
soothes them with whispers of their time together.
By candlelight, he fills the temple
with the sacred bodies of the anointed.

He blesses himself, with the warm blood of his masters,
and fills his stomach with any fluid their corpses offer.
At the top of moonlit steps, of newly painted stone
he stands upright, a silhouette, with stars at his back,
the image of the beast,
a wolf raised by bless'd men.
Track Name: Matrices
Out of the most vibrant nothingness, comes everything.
We are the creators, we are the divine.
Our geometry is flawless; the hum, the movement, constant.
The waves break. Their spin is infinite.
We are what make it blue.

We construct the structures, the tunnels, the matrices.
All that we think is tangible is only truly imagined.

All is poetry, all are poets.
We exist, born of an idea.

We float in a sea of fluctuating potentials.
We fall through a space of super-positioned possibilities.
We collapse the function. There are no objects,
only relationships.
We are the expressive, artistic universe
trying to understand itself.

Everything is living.
Everything is breathing.
Everything singing,
and we are part of the sound.
Track Name: Art and the Artist (feat. Angel Flores & Adrien Clay)
We'll sing the songs that haven't been sung
and dance the sun, from horizon to horizon.
We'll breathe life into the breeze,
upon which we can fly
among clouds that
we've sighed
into shapes.

At night,
between each
brightly burning star,
we'll paint the sky with impossible colors.
Track Name: Poet and the Star
I live next to a poet, who writes about a star.
It seems to be so close to him, yet it is so far.
I've seen him standing, countless nights, gazing toward the sky.
I've watched him laugh. I've heard him sing.
I've even seen him cry.

The moon won't set tonight.
These hours are eternal.
The vision has left me breathless.
Take me from this world.

He's said that it's a part of him.
He misses it by day.
He swears, one day, he'll feel its warmth
and knows he'll find a way.
I've seen his work about the star, about the light it brings.
There seems nothing more dear to him, the bright and loving thing.

Sometimes I think he's crazy.
Most times, I see him sane.
To him, it makes no difference.
His focus stays the same.

Some nights I find myself
hoping he'll be free
to someday drift next to his star,
just beyond the trees.
Track Name: Juggernaut
Can someone tell me what happened here?
When was the last time you bought a copy?
When was the last time you tore off the plastic and looked hard at the art?
When was the last time you read every word, as the album progressed?
When was the last time a band was more than a single to you?

We all have names,
but do you even know them?

Can you see what's happening here?
The music is dying.
All of the fashion and trends
can never make up for the death of a sound.

An ocean of people, in front of the stage,
but none of them feels connected.
The scene has been taken and twisted.
This isn't the place that I once loved.

Egos and logos have separated us
but, by all means, cover your ears.
Throw the brand on your back,
and pretend that you don't fucking care.

The Ego doesn't exist in our world,
only calluses, expression and hunger.
We will write and perform every night,
until the revolution takes place.

The giants sit, in the dark somewhere.
But they've no ears to listen.
We are artists, musicians and fans.
We're not profit potential.

The underground is filling with distaste,
and a violent shift is coming.
We're sick of the labels and
we're sick of the tone.
We're taking it back and starting over.

Play, until your fingers go numb.
Let the tone ring out,
until the vibration breaks this world apart.

Break this world apart.
Track Name: I Am King
If you take the time, at noon, when the shadows have gone to bed,
to really look at me, you'll find the creature;
my eyes; where the wild things are.
Into the night, over the sea, I'll show you my kingdom,
but tread lightly. My family is always hungry.

I'll tie a tail 'round the moon,
and swing it full, to the middle of the sky.
Look how sharp our teeth are.
I feel like starting a conflagration.
Gambol and scream with my monsters and me,
as the flames reach for the constellations.

Sprint with us, through the underbrush.
We'll sharpen our claws on the bark, as we go,
then race to the top of the mountain.
In the frigid air, at the peak,
we'll challenge the sky to battle.

My beasts and I will tear it apart,
then swallow the darkness whole.

Golden Staff and Crown,
Gnashing Teeth and Sharpened Claws;
I Am King of The Monsters.