Technical Jargon and Partisan Rhetoric
released 08 March 2013
Recorded, engineered, and produced by Lee Stoker
Artwork by Bobby Gibbs of Verbera
All music and lyrics written by FAUS
all rights reserved
feeds for ,
- Track Name: Pledge of Insurgence
I cannot pledge allegiance
to this flag
that represents the divided state of America.
And to no Republic for which it cannot stand;
with liberty and justice to those who can afford it.
- Track Name: Macrotough
Written into the walls
The bark shed its pride
like a harlot.
We desire filth.
We are so economical.
Birth and taxes.
Death and organ donations.
Fix my head onto a spit.
Solace as the tributary.
Enemy money maker.
Free base the thurible.
Raise the requiem and
forget the forgetting.
Feeding on disease.
Taking pride in rotting teeth.
Bloat your whores with insects.
This taste can’t be broken against teeth.
Treat the symptoms
like black and white.
- Track Name: Dissin' Terry
nothing more than food for the dirt.
Mock my renaissance words.
History made a drain for hell
and seven billion believers to stomach it.
For the sake of things to come.
O’ this war cannot be won.
Your vote’s a race of arms.
For emperors who speak in tongues.
If glory were a commoner
amidst the depths of a raincheck,
how quick to find out
we’d always be the debt.
Get closer to worms
if you’re looking for home.
The dirt is fiending,
hungry for bones.
And I’m drained.
I will continue
to go unnoticed.
For every chance I’ve wasted
is no common mistake.
Tabloids in smuggling
have bred no affection
for the souls of stories
never amounting to shit.
All arms to the handless victims.
Writing for the sake of report.
Blinded by the newsstand
of a legend in shambles.
There’s always time to kill.
Heed my warning.
won’t be solemn.
to the mothers
of the destitute and the restitution we bore
under the covers.
Pray the attrition of meretricious news wore a quote.
If I met the dead
singing to the trees.
Play forgery with names
into the hides of their beds.
Every untold story
is beheaded with a smile.
No words could hold more glory.
Time takes a grave effort to save.
- Track Name: Maim and Release
Fuck what you know,
cause you're not here to speak.
These words we use were written by the weak.
Plagiarized in books that have written my name.
It's a fucking crook
into alcoholics and women maimed.
As far as I'm concerned
I've got nothing to give, except tax evasion,
and facts for your kids.
To all the Mongoloid relics of narcissistic Christians.
Holy water prison moms with preset daddy issues.
Take the long way home.
I've got problems money can buy.
Little honey, won't you cling to my fortune
and swallow me whole?
For the eye of pyramid:
Maim and release.
To the phenotypical emphatic dichotomy of bastards and saints;
glory holes, methadone and a bastardized faith.
Nothing your Christ can't fix.
So don't apologize.
Take the long way home.
God, miscarry the virgin.
I'm the latin root of hell.
Take the long way home.
Take the long way.
Maim and release.
- Track Name: (F)ranklin (P)olio (R)oosevelt
Who’s to say the architect accepted imperfection?
Smile for the, smile for the mirror.
Who’s to say the architect was right?
Dead men are better left in their books.
Liars are too fragile.
The bones of holy wars -
too broken to swallow.
So I would assume much like my abandonment that
holiness can’t touch me
when spitting back its verses.
Smoke the lungs with a distraction
to roll back into an empty head.
Lo and behold:
Hell made me her saint.
The lovers would stop making love.
Aroused by the thought that they might die alone.
Our bones are ignored by only a clock.
We are unidentified by all but our teeth.
Smothered in the lines that make for an easy transition.
But no more equipped to speak.
And I don’t have the eyes to swallow.
Or the tongues to think more than once.
Beg for truth.
Like lighting a candle in hell.
Remorse is a long shot for a holy man.
The crisis cannot be adverted.
Your insolence is shit
and heaven cannot be judged.
The angels in the rafters
are better suited for the schizos.
Qualities more shallow than cleavage.
Hitting every branch on the way down.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Faith is rewarded with a 7th symphony.
Where was predetermination in the Garden of Eden?
I can’t feed the
rats inside my
with the termites
rotting the wood of the chapel.
God won’t stand down.
And if this seems like a Neverland.
It very much isn’t.
If you’ve been praying for the eternal,
you’re not looking in the right place.
What can you build out of nothing that you might wish to outlive?
And I’m staring into the face of the abyss.
I hear not an echo in reply.
But as fair as it may seem to fear death, it's as shameful as fearing the nothing that replies.
I know not of the other side.
My will is impermanent.
I left the hands of the divine,
I couldn’t bear to wear the rings of my only sorrow.
If I could die content today,
tomorrow’s hardly new but I’m once again afraid.
Her beauty is unbearable,
drives us to despair,
offering to us for a minute
the glimpse of an eternity
that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.
Appease me in my reckoning.
Light the strings up to the guilty hands of judgement.
If I’m taking after heaven,
I’m as lonely as the muse that sits behind the throne.
- Track Name: 80HD
Birth the stench of pavement.
Underlined by static.
And the dirt grew language,
yet the audience cannot be swayed.
Your judge made my shit list
at the mercy of a stillborn.
Call it mal-interest.
I am feeding the food chain.
By the entangled tides of whim the dissident hold their tongues
for the cowards
of the cause.
God must’ve spoke blemishes into our lungs.
Held hostage by the empire cause the fat trimmed from the throne was not enough.
I want names.
I was only born to spectate.
Lucy ain't coming home.
Eat drugs kill sleep.
- Track Name: Flapwagon
My minds on repeat.
Tap the phone companies.
I’m told there’s a war.
I hope they’re coming for me.
Manifest destiny backwoods xenophobes:
detach the strings
from the white faced,
Feed from their hands like the sheep.
Burn with the victims
of the third world
and cover the Earth in white skin.
Vaccine or die.
I feed on drugs more illicit than anthrax.
Xanax zambien hormones and nuclear antibiotic preservative lunchmeat.
Birth control cut with arsenic flushed into water.
Calcify the glands.
McDonalds/Exxon diet plans.
Feed your children meth and
geoengineer the skies.
We’re breathing aerosol sulfate.
And we're stuck in a fucking tomb
at the bottom of the pyramid.
Take a dirt nap, make the soil organic.
- Track Name: 17virgins
We’re too savage
to bury our children.
And reckless enough
not to avoid it.
Nail the cross to a suture of unheard symphonies.
Plague the foundation.
Rot the wood.
Drown the firmament.
Wrap the crown
Bound the sea of hands that call to worship.
Slinging shots out the ass end of an open book.
I’ve caught the words of a smoking gun.
Stuck in high noon speaking tongues to the grave.
Literate and overdressed in exit wounds and the privilege of choice.
We’re too scared to die to burn this book.
Bronchial reverence of the black lung.
The laws of physics are a death wish for all intelligent life.
Burn the pages and be recycled
For my successor is doomed.
Lay the petals out on the aisle.
Feed the fiction.
Face the portrait.
Is there not one among us deserving of worship?
Are we not worthy of glory?
Sacrifice is only of men.
We built words like foundation.
Every moment lived is without regret.
The next smite with exigence.
I am free because I decay.
Rot on with diligence.
All I’m looking for is among the faces I see in front of me.
We are not what we fear, yearn for or dwell on.
To be is eternity.
You are only and forever at this moment.
Nothing more can survive.
This is your celebration.
Be here now.
- Track Name: Methmouth
Built by the e network.
Brainwashed by vanity.
Throw her out to the dogs.
Drunkards suckle like hogs.
Feed on the weak.
No respect among species.
Cinderella’s ripped to shreds
in the company of so many men.
Daddy would be proud.
He raised an STD.
She’s ignored until compelled to feel complete.
Watch the fire.
Watch the fire in her eyes.
I beseech the way you’ll always lay beneath me.
But darlin’ you don’t need words to tell me you love it.
I’ve been hung by the cross.
And I got a little bit of something to say, and I hope I can say it right.
I gotta praise God for this food chain cause we ain’t cookin’ nothin’ without our bones tonight.
Lift the skirt.
Muzzling the bitch.
You’ve got legs like a runway.
And housewife honey I hope you’re feelin’ tight,
cause I’m plannin’ on fixin’ on making some inequality tonight.
Straight jacket princess.
There’s a hole in this ward.
Bloated worm skeleton atop a sequined throne.
Glitter me timbers.
I want another fuck.
Plastic hair and a silk thong.
Your pride needs to get ripped off you, baby.
You’re being judged.
You’re being judged, Miss America.
It’s a red, white and blue bimbo pageant.