sore mind (ft. gabriel)

from by oldtrees x mri

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oldtrees ~ one day i ripped the label off of a half kilo nestle drinking chocolate tin, painted it a pale green n left it on my balcony. its initial purpose was to keep my incense n lighters safe from the elements. one day i realised that it was the perfect place to chuck a mountain of ciggie butts in, and so it goes.
i know i say that "these milo tins are full of cancer", but that just poetic licence. occasionally i may produce something which is more of a moulded truth than fact, but who can blame sure. sure. sure. sure. sure. ruse.

mr.i ~

playing the piano poorly
bounce from midi to audio recording
quadruple speed it n exporting
stretch it back, choppy but rewarding ~


and all cries for saviour ring in spontaneous echolalia
I speak in tautological statements
Speak in broken fables lacking morals and
Stolen from the pieces of the art forms I'm inhabiting
Out in the air this milo tin full of cancer that I'm carrying around
This insidious sound
This comic is sad
This arrogant man
Proud and reclusive
I've lied
I've self-defined growth actually unapparent/it's useless
To lie to yourself
The harder you try to hide a thing the more it sticks out
And they say the hammer gets the stray nail
They say the snow don't fall where the salt fell

They say the sickness slowing with a pocket full of purple n posey
You don't know it but it's actually the withhold of impulse
Which signifies your own control
Knowing when to stop and doing so it's not restricting
It's actually the definition of freedom
It's actually the definition of free living

Hear the jangle of my gold chain
Feel the tripping of my loose lace
And pray
for the silence that I'm sending to grave
Hear the jangle of the loose change

Feel the tripping of my loose lace
And pray
for the silence that I'm sending to grave
Hear the jangle of the loose change

Fuck that I stay the same

[verse2 - gabriel]


Sometimes my absence astounds my self
I speak in lack of sounds
I crave observation yet fain neglect participation
I am the observer in the truest sense
These words of the weakened n bars for the dead

These milo tins are full of cancer that I'm carrying around
This soul in the dirt
This mind on the ground
This' angry neighbors with noise complaints
This sounds like old shirts with pasta stains/and moth holes
I'm not so sorry as I should be
Saltier than cured meat and far less appetising
Hardly disguising disdain but sensitive
Look upon this sleeves salt stains is evident
It's irrelevant sentiment
It's a fella who's dead again
It's a soldier who's weapon is love
and flowers for grace
An aura of orange
It's already been done
The love of the mother in spite of the son
It's all already been done

You'd think I was a pirate because of the pieces I ate
I'm melting now
I saw the softest cloud, ever mirrored in brain

As i lay here in the dark
Listening to the place where the silence goes
Growing my sleep
Adjusting my toes, I think of you
So now I'm not sleeping
I reach for my phone
A self-defeating action in its own right
It's almost not night

I guess it's about time that I laid here cried and died


from no need, released March 29, 2017



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mri Melbourne, Australia

aka {mr inhabitant}

genre {beats}

fav colour {green shoutout to green best colour}{pinks cool too though}

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