Ashenspire - Hostile Architecture [Full Album 2022]

Lyrics to Hostile Architecture [Full Album 2022] by Ashenspire

Tracklist: 01. The Law Of Asbestos Capital’s pre-eminence made matter. Nailed to the high-rise, under the budgetary hammer. Do they sleep well, wrapped in irony? Better that than tangled in austerity. Better ours than their children in poverty. Tide over the tampered-with, until it’s their turn; A corner cut, a penny saved, Grenfell burns again and again and again! There’s worse than the pox for all these houses. The scaffolding holding the bread from their mouths as it rouses the worker to sell themselves short. Both foundation and corner-stone and entirely bereft of support. If I drink Tollen’s reagent, will I finally shine inside? And will I see myself as God sees me If I pour it in my eyes? Pour it in my eyes. All’s silent but for the rain; Weary lungs, asthmatic brain. And tell me, is this, now, the humour of it? Some architect’s great satire in prefabricated shit. The rot and the damp creeping in, every corner A reflection of the presupposed sin of every presupposed hoarder; Scrounger! Thief! Gangrenous scab! If the game’s afoot I’ll gladly lose the leg. This is not a house of amateurs. This is done with full intent. Always three months to the gutter. Never three months to the peak. Another day to grind your fingers for the simple right to eat. Always three months to the gutter. Never three months to the crown. Another deep breath of asbestos in a godforsaken town. Always three months to the gutter. Never three months to the top. Another set of fucking homeless spikes outside another empty shop. Always three months to the gutter. Never three months to ascent. This is not a house of amateurs. This is done with full intent. 02. Béton Brut Spectral lines all lined up on the cosmic bathroom countertop Bloodshot eyes in a cracked mirror in the silence of a throbbing city club and the void When I couldn't see the stars, I stopped dreaming of space Always keep the beaten path Always keep a straight face This year's galvanised me But zinc's a drab-as limbo as any Trading one grey for another The music of the spheres spun in colours I had never dreamed of I would be lustrous, I'd be rusting in lust I would be wretched. I would be loved Leaving home. Muscles knot my aching shoulder bones Wash out my veins with acetone I wasn't born in fear. There's no self-loathing in my genes. But from what I could hear, I heard the hereditary; the poison if misogyny An amateur wavering, thrust traversing the tripwire of masculinity. Dance, hummingbird! Can you dance? I had learned the steps before I could walk; I had learned the silence before I could talk Where are you, Orion? Into what abyss goes your hunt? To black depths I condemn ye, and raise up to the heavens new stars Stare into that void all you like It won't meet your gaze; When you can't see the stars you stop dreaming of space 03. Plattenbau Persephone Praxis The white noise is wasting me A thousand spinning plates and nobody's doing the dishes Breathe in, the body rises; exhale and the mind sinks Cloying brains brought back from the brink, another stimulant, another drink With coffee-stained nerves and finger-stained keys furrowing digital fields, hands lashed to the plough let it be this; let it be now Searching for the meaning in the depths of the well, In the wiring inside, in the ringing bells The coding of elegance, the gatekeeping of eloquence where sparking switchboards dazzle and dance into deference where starry eyed meet light pollution, where word of mouth meets gathered feet and dissolution We're each kept in the dark as the black-bagging begins, kicked out on the street for their sins. I won't be dragging my feet any more than they're dragged through the mud, hands riddled with wages; fists dripping with blood Why do the hungry pick all the food? Why do the naked sew sequins, secluded in sweatshops? Why do the capitalists blame those without jobs? We're all in, all in up to our necks; Horizons foreshortened with your nose to the ground The waisting starts younger than birth; the coping narcotics bloom neglect and a face in the dirt A beating to state latent hurt And, after all, things can't get worse, when it's the third time this year you've carried friends from a hearse As if for hunger we yearn As if to cauterise the burn I gazed into the tubes to find reason and cathode rays beamed through my each, my every nerve, Persephone The natrescent glow of the after-dark Styx and skin of white phosphorus leave me transfixed on the monitor. And I see you there And squinting revealing these pixels depicting your fear The marble as cold as objectification No will of your own. Still passed between unfeeling hands With head to the glass, I wept 04. How The Mighty Have Vision How the mighty have vision; How they stand there, crestfallen At the works they have realised, As their pride and decorum Now become a reminder That those they hold in contempt Still need somewhere; Somewhere to shelter, When they run out of rent. 05. Tragic Heroin High tides. Titanic strides through twisted metal. Red Roads. Brought low. Once more into the breach. Up rusted rungs you reach, up blank stares you climb. UP, UP THROUGH RIME AND RUIN TIERS OF CONCRETE TEARS OF UNDOING Hostages all; at gunpoint they spun the wheel and hoped that what they had was sellable; one’s labour must be sellable. The violence goes deeper. Violence indelible. NO GREAT MEN ONLY THE GREAT MANY I have a feeling. I have a feeling that it’s falling apart at the seams; and that the people, and that the people in the gutters recognise their means. I hear the meaning. I hear the meaning of the whispers sprayed upon the doors. Now comes the hour; now comes the hour that the needle will pierce the spoken-for. Fuelled with your labour. Built with your bones. There are no great men. Only the great many. 06. Apathy As Arsenic Lethargy As Lead Are you all in? All in closes copulating! All threaded screws to get you repopulating a choked engine of stupor and static These days; may these days, as milestone collars, fail to drag us further down While lashed; here while lashed to arsenic eating, sinking fast with leaden bones All hosts; owning isn't earning, it's a wound open to sate each leech O, lust; to gorge on endless blood, two thousand parasitic Billionaire men With workers bleeding, the horse is beaten God forbid that you should ever want a home "You'll shine like a diamond when your down in the mine!" And if there's any whose eagerness To trample beleaguered and Deteriorated outpaces their empathy; You'll find a place in the ever-increasing; The holds over hollow-eyed hands The flesh tearing flesh from the famished and failing; The Ouroboros, the unquenchable thirst Crushing the heads of the last to be first Halls humour on the all-scaffold; all the world's a stage on which the working class is hanged They say men are hanged while meat is hung, but it's apparent how the ones a-struggling, strung, are seen; so much brawn swinging from capital's very beams WE ARE THE CULT OF WORK WE ARE THE CULT OF LABOUR SOLD WE ARE THE CULT OF WORK WE ARE THE CULT OF SIPHONED GOLD 07. Palimpsest[Instrumental] 08. Cable Street Again This is where it stars; a sinecure sleight-of-hand to saturate postures with wormwood and gall Settle with hatred and you'll how on command Compromise doubly and compromise all Fascism hammers out his hooks on scapegoat anvils beneath your nose Perhaps your eyes will follow suit as your hearing, hearing, hearing fucking goes This is where it all goes; when breaking point's reached the dry-rotted floorboards will always give way, and thus once again the sealed vault is breached in cycles and cycles of silent decay. Rot and negligence Scarcity's false, except for the truth; the Bindweed is once again taking root I hope you like poverty, breathing in soot and the taste of leather off Britain's boot Desperate times call for desperate measures A few misdirections to change how the pressure discharges; I see the forked tongue in the ear if the strained and both barrels restrained on the ones in the margins These dispossessed people, silver-eyed, glazed with a mirror of trauma, boats sunk in a wash if formaldehyde The Tollen's reagent scars the irirs anew So hold your tongue, or I'll hold it for you! The violence is here. Modern Blackshirts in the streets What good is civility in the face of a kerb full of teeth? "Tis no broken system; but the product of it You cannot fix that which is working as intended Gnashing-toothed printing press. Virulent. Caustic. They bound the fasces themselves. Sharpened the axe Know this; they aren't resting, nor reading the rules They're desperate for war; gagging for it If it's to be Cable Street again; we won't sin through debate You can't reason with malice. The fasces must break If this is against the grain, then blight really has set in; the furrowing of brows and the festering of blame. Misshapen and bent. It's not the fucking corner shop that drives up your rent They salted the soil! Buried up to your neck in the debts of your station But this is where it ends. There's no middle road And I tell you; Get down of the fence before the barbed wire goes up