Vein I: Varying States of Decay

by Thira

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    Vein I: Varying States of Decay Digipack.

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  • This is a limited edition of 50. The cassette will have Vein I : Varying States of Decay on Side A and The Ascension Construct on Side B. Final design will varying slightly from the image shown.

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credits

released October 22, 2013

Copyright Thira LLC 2013.

Produced by Thira and Matt Keszler. Vocals recorded by Thira at Hideaway Studios by Mat Keszler. Vocals for Cognition: One recorded with Mike Byrne at Transient Audio. Mixed and mastered by Rhett Mouton - rhett@rmmaudio.com

Thira is Kayden: Vocals; Coz: Bass, Vocals; Digg: Drums; and Pif: Guitars, Vocals, Programming

Special thanks to: Roeller's Custom Guitars, Lace Pickups, Hipshots Tuners and Jorge.

Artwork by Heath Tullier.

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Track Name: Good Morning My Name Is John
Listen and I will tell you mine is a good life. Hear this and it will become real. My blessed arrogance, self assuredly unprofrane. Today I walk among you, my prudence forgiven as I need. I need it to be. Reflexively branded to be part and parcel of my projected prestige, this manufactured standing by self and surroundings. Listen and I will tell. Your belief I need to convince us both of our lie. This is my existence. Suspended in threads of assumption and refusals of inconvenient defects that I push away. Your belief is our truth.
Track Name: It Was Never My Intent
In the end this will be upheld. Vindicated by our reasons these explanations test our faith in each other/your faith in me despite our purpose. The beginnings of an apology is justification. We may admit fault but always with excuse. These words shaped and shifted to soften the blow to you, to me. Can't we escape these words? These truths we concede. Conceit in posturing for only ourselves. The only true apology is an admission of fault and nothing else, but it seems impossible just to confess it. I am wrong. Can't say I am am wrong, can't know I am wrong. Tell me. I need to know how to admit it. I am absolved.
Track Name: To Fracture
Absolute in my beliefs, unable to recognize this sound as echo. Will it ever be the same? Can these hands, limp and mangled, lift us up? Or will these breaks heal as they're set. Will we not climb? We reach up, but fear contains our impetus. These cracks inside fuse. Carry these habits not of cloth but of faults and these flaws draped on ourselves just the same. Not shielding from sin but providing comfort in sloth and failure. Cast this off. These pits of fear in our psyche solidifying into finger holds, rungs on the ladder of our descent. Our grip is sure but it is so easy to to let go. I will climb out of this. These words fall flat. Here I am again, broken apart in front of reason. Set in these ways bent bones draped in flesh grasping but never reaching it
Track Name: Grasping at Straws
This denial is the only thing steady enough to hold onto. Close, quickest to reach, keeping safe and the same. But only shreds remain. This shroud is tearing, slipping through these fingers. Aching hands burn too frozen to release this. They won't tighten. They can't hold onto these lies anymore. Now offered only fleeting glimpses of the once impenetrable barrier- a shield against this truth, torn apart by mistakes ignored. This denial is now no longer strong enough to hold onto. It drifts away with all that was truth before this fall. These illusions are tearing themselves apart, but are only essential to themselves. This hell, this is borne from these facades. They are borne from us.
Track Name: Pale Light in the Depths
There are only shadows here. We too are just a flattened projection onto this desolate manifold, stretched and fragile portraits undefined. Straining to look up, the glare stings but down in this chasm these diffuse and frail effigies dim, fading into dusk. Emotion, desire, ambition all became abstracted as memories. Without boundary we are just fading sketches consumed by dusk.
Track Name: Cognition: One
This becomes truth.
Start a silent war against the consequences of a depth-less, willing ignorance and docile inaction. Open eyes pressed shut against the sweaty palms of a coward, scared of this truth suffocated.
This cure...
This cure is the sickness poisoning against the needs we ignore distracted, telling these lies.
Fight this silent war against the consequences of a depth-less, willing ignorance and docile inaction. Open eyes pressed shut against your palms. They cannot shield from shame cast on yourself.
In our own false void we have created the urge to fill this false emptiness in a fight rendered useless in the face of this crushing insignificance. But, pour out the forced sorrow from our hearts and we can wash this away. If we could only act, could this persist despite us?