Get all 15 AllOne releases available on Bandcamp and save 10%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Emotionauts, Halcyon Wonders, Whole > Sum Parts, My Answer (prod. by Tantu Beats), Dusty Dossiers EP, The Following Story... (A Midnight Pursuit), Stone Soup For The Soul, For a Year, and 7 more.
1. |
Revealed [Practical]
04:12
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What would you dare to do,
if you inhabited a vacuum,
with no one offering to talk back to you,
or no authority to answer to?
If you were locked within
a box affixed with common tricks,
synonymous with provinces,
you've lodged amidst with naught to miss
and given oxygen and all you wished
with not a kin to harm your limbs,
watch and grin or mock your sins,
how would you honestly live?
Would you live honestly?
What would your appearance be,
Would you give effort constantly?
Would you lay and lounge languidly
with all of the food you could want to eat
posh and pleased as though you were conquering
with lots of greed and won a lot of green in the lottery?
Would you live exorbitantly, actively? Luxuriously, lavishly?
Ambitiously, arduously, adventurously?
What are your activities, hobbies and your tendencies?
Treat your surroundings tenderly?
Are you tempted to tenacity,
tyranny and living aggressively?
I'm sure searching and attempting to see
your pure personal identity.
What your concluding view of beauty would be
excluding the putrid reeking brutally polluting scenes,
and eluding the diluting screens of scrutiny,
assuming we'd be pursing dreams...
Would you please postulate the terms,
as beats congregate and churn,
as themes modulate and turn,
epiphanies copulate in turn....
How would you define successful living
if no one was over your shoulder when penning the definition?
Whatever masterpiece your cerebral canvas has been
imagining, that's the scene you need to be enacting.
Trash all things counteracting that plan you've dreamed.
In the event of tragedy,
lacking spectators expectations to have to please,
with judgments and influences absentee,
no longer attached and leeching to atrophy veracity veraciously,
what would you be practicing to pacify your creative cravings?
Chase these things courageously, that's what we've been crafted to be!
And lastly if you were passing and this past week was your last week
and your time-line lime-light was flashing would glancing,
at whats happening on that screen be relaxing and satisfactory,
knowing that's the path you beaten that your legacy adds and leaves?
Really I'm asking...
Would you please postulate the terms,
as beats congregate and churn,
as themes modulate and turn,
epiphanies copulate in turn....
How would you define successful living
if no one was over your shoulder when penning the definition?
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2. |
Needle Kiss
03:28
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Needle Kiss
He claims there are days he'll be okay,
like I may trust a phrase he'll say?
I've made so many efforts in vain,
and he's a castaway I can't successfully save.
Too many visits I've paid his island,
too many times when he tried smiling,
Mind you, gladness is madness in the face of Armageddon,
and I'm charmed attempting to start forgetting
about your arm's injections that caused infections
and marred our friendship, no martyr's presence...
I had to leave you, I need amnesia to make this easier,
I can't breathe for me yet, I seek relief for your grieved apnea?
I threw these buoys of advice, love, hugs, money,
and true pleas, to try to plug up your ugly
but you keep choosing to spoon feed the fluid groupie
doom inducing movie, producing my guilty need
to cut tape and just take a new direction.
It seems a dangerous suggestion on a teleprompter
descending a helicopter to stray to straight collision
in a flame prone district when on a rescue mission.
I wish I'd be the friend to see
you removing your IV dependency.
You're addicted to the needle kiss,
you've accepted that you need illness.
If you have to slash yourself so bad,
it shouldn't be hard to start from scratch,
you're maniacally attached to that as an addict,
and I'm panicking, I happen to just want you back.
I'm out of lifesavers to try to cater to evil with,
And in the end it's sink the needle in and sink or we will swim,
Since you consistently instinctively ripped these
swimmies viciously with your syringe.
Now it’s hell or high water over which you need to keep your chin.
You can singe our bridge along with my skin,
that's how you're down in the high tide’s grip,
Now, I've been refusing to dive in
to drown grim to extinguish this, not even for my kin.
The choreography of your eulogy is me
kicking myself in guilt again.
Feeling like I couldn’t help but help to kill a friend.
I wish I'd be the friend to see
you removing your IV dependency.
You're addicted to the needle kiss,
you've accepted that you need illness.
Maybe I've got to let you go,
Sorry I'm not dependable.
I've not even strength enough for me,
I'll just justify this as entropy...
A real friend wouldn't stop 'til you stopped,
A real man would've dropped all 'til you dropped all.
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3. |
Trash Can Epiphanies
04:28
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I'm suggesting it'd serve you to be a better observer,
recognize the many lives that pepper and curtain
the weathered surface of the Terra-firma.
A trendsetter learner's extra sermon, stepping further,
to help collect the murmur of what's left to sternum.
Accept a firmer tender verdict lesson, worded with pleasured fervor:
if every person literally littered messy earth with their experiences,
the pestered birth of gated-community-service wretched workers
would result in weariness.
Grab the garbage, start a collage,
bring it to college, fight the mirage,
accept reality, except realistic
cynical viewpoints. form opinions
influenced by your futuristic waste visions,
stare within the human culture:
you've been cultured,
spare the women! spear the simians
living in a world of folk lore
choked, gorged with gross porn
and stoked wars, hope for a new culture that cultivated,
motivated individuals, win with full -glasses,
as you pull past this still grass filled with pills and trash.
The new society,
not purchasing products but buying these
subjects that we've brought up,
raised humanitarian worldviews,
instead of razing and tearing in worlds you hurled through.
Created a sister/brotherhood
where another would have understood
that we're making a mess but staking in fresh
concepts where sentiments many heads forget
mesh into a blessed dress that lady liberty
both bets and attests it would be best to test
and arrest the stress in this culturally aggressive but fertile crest.
Chorus:
It may not seem all that profound, or even environmentally sound,
but when I look down at the ground, I’ve found something that simply astounds,
for every inanimate object abound, there's a story it revolves around.
One man's trash and the next man protects it,
but what if the first man simply changed his perspective?
Let's live in a collectively accepting collective
reflecting the beautiful collection of pollution sections
using the crucial methods of non prejudice
mutually respected brethren represented
so perfectly by the mosaic of thrown away bits.
Each and every abandoned peace declares to me
another tale of travel indiscriminately planted
adjacently so it's a cosmic metaphoric microcosm
analyzing the advantages of variety or unifying
creed and aligning peace in a horror free
geography and society
with no boundaries and pardon me,
but I've found in these subtle harvest flings
of discarded garbage and things
is unintentional but vitally mentionable artistry,
where harmony isn't synonymous with homogenous,
bonding all of us, launching thrusts
through societal bounds and leaps.
Lets not be bound, but free!
And now I plead:
salvage some of this magic trash,
clean up your savagely tragically racially combatant act
and ask your neighbor to act with it,
it's clearly no accident we all act different,
I'm flabbergasted those facets have you distracted,
consider that fact that magnets are attracted to antonyms.
shake the hand of all peacefully and prejudice free and
you'll shake free the prejudice from all hands increasing peace
this epiphany came to me aiming to see the beauty in all things
so similarly believe all beings are being and breathing truthfully
beautifully and unity is soon to be what you will see.
Chorus:
It may not seem all that profound, or even environmentally sound,
but when I look down at the ground, I’ve found something that simply astounds,
for every inanimate object abound, there's a story it revolves around.
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4. |
Pennsylvanian Patriarch
06:53
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Pennsylvanian Patriarch
You were honest, you were loyal,
though the carpet's made of soil,
after hours work and toil
scour Arthur Conan Doyle,
eat a modest meal that boiled,
from a harvest far from royal,
On Friday nights, forgetting rod and reel,
on harbor plies tried netting knots of eels,
on highway sides pick dandelion bouquets,
until quantified enough to have a soup made
Chorus:
Poppy, this Pennsylvanian Patriarch
Taught me in special ways and gave me heart
Sonny:
Mr. Apollo, bright and warm as grandest rays,
social butterfly-effectiveness kindness clad and brave,
enchanting taste, enhanced his brain, even passing strangers,
gravitate and had to stay. Your passion made so much sense,
you'd carry weight that Atlas may fabricate
and cast ashamed embarrassed faces.
Triumphant habits traded cabinet space for trophies
showing he helped a path be paved in body building's champion age,
however heralded, humility had remained an active trait
despite his heaps of accolades. Meanwhile he was a family man and labored
more than half his days moving for his sister Anne Tufano's pay,
where even there he was dashed with praise for immaculate aid,
rewind to back when A & P wages paid and bus stop romances laid
tracks to train two kids to laugh on dates. When Jacqueline came,
love bore three more for your Nassau place.
As the way you handled weights you actually raised the bar as far as
compassionate Dad and parent's, taming, didactic, tactics played.
Despite your muscular massive frame that had came to greet us
with a saddened gaze to act dismayed in response to the shackles, chains
of atrophy knowing life had to change but why with so bad a plague?
Your Sampson state had to wane with alopecia receding life-line
that madly maimed in malignant mask to raid with heart attacks
to take his last intake of air and magenta that cascades in majestic
vascular lanes of a map of veins in his lasting shape and masquerade
in a casket's dank masticating captive gape and bade him “pass away”.
Like that's a phrase that accurately captures such a tragic phase?
When the dazzling sagely dancing blazing youthful eyes were consumed
confined by a cardiac Kevorkian. Key in ignition, switching existence
to nixed to euthanize his beautiful light and brutalized any chance
I thought I knew that I'd have to see what's true or right or what to do in life,
but the nail in the coffin crucified my views and mind since you had died.
Chorus:
Poppy, this Pennsylvanian Patriarch
Taught me in special ways and gave me heart,
Poppy this Pennsylvanian Patriarch,
Taught me in several ways and gave me heart.
Nothing could come between us since birth.
But something would, and six feet of this earth.
A pine box, a shrine block, I cry lots and when my thoughts
visit you time stops and my mind rots, as I plot, cause I'm not
imbecilic, I know there's no way to quell this, even as I spell this.
I know if I ever perform this song, no matter the response,
I'll loathe it belongs in my experiences I drew along and knew to log
as a tribute to all your attributes and the awful fact that you are gone.
And all the seconds I'll spend in attempts to implement
the precious lessons you lent to render splendid events.
It's an intense detriment to my upset unsettled mess of a head,
to be aggressively expected to accept or make sense of the fact
you've left and your death really meant I can never again hear
a word you've said or peddle my debts and regrets and success,
or whatever I've met or I've penned to a man to a mentor, a friend.
I don't mean to let my aching,
censor my efforts in making,
a portrait that perfection painted,
but of course my pain is plainly,
proof of all your pristine paving,
of a road you drove to safely,
arrive at any destination,
and successfully affect it greatly
Chorus
You were honest you were loyal,
now your house is made of soil,
after decades work and toil,
you've joined Arthur Conan Doyle,
Our blood and tear ducts boil,
as your marble crown is royal,
On Friday nights tried grasping it's all real,
On sudden flights shocked, unable to feel,
while condolences are handed out with bouquets,
wish you'd tear them up and show me how the soup's made.
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AllOne
Left-field rapper, slam poet, singer/songwriter, and author Bruce Pandolfo from Long Island.
Creating to connect. Obsessively exploring and creating art as healing and growing.
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