The Motels of Oblivion

by Circle109

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      £7 GBP  or more


From my skull I dreamed of you, and of other poems. You and other poems; Beauty turning inside the machine, To feed the tired beast of my desire, And become again a wild horse in the sun. For my own salvation, I stole the wisdom from the corners of your mouth, to ink the scriptures of my soul; A thousand years of electricity howling in the bones of your face; The ghosts of History howled in the bones of her face; Until, in a ghostly passing, she melted in snowflakes before my eyes, Within the bloody rituals of the final passage; With Our Hatchets Blunt and Bloody We had lived this life as if it was real, is real; The sidewalks, and the signs; The vandals in their bloody rituals, Admired the beauty in your hatred; And have filled the parlour of your mouth with a Deathly curse; Electricity howling in the bones until nothing is left. In her eyes the ghosts of History, Dance like mystic candles in a spectral wind; Almost like salvation; To stop the bloody rituals of your hatchets, blunt and bloody! All that was rotten on the flesh of your life; Your tired horses wilting in the sun; Now her love is inked into the scriptures of your face. And I love the morning as we descend a ladder from the stars; As if there is nothing left to dream.
Awake and silent. I seek some tenderness in the gift of your memory; As the city falls into distant embers; Sharpening towards the bonfire of a final journey; The distance between your beautiful suburbs; And the broken tenements of my desire. The days do weave into a bitter, frozen Winter. As the seasons turn to face the shores of tomorrow; Leaving drowned flowers at your window; The ashes of Time drift on a crematorium wind; So, shall we swim to the islands of our final season? Pulled by the moonwind and carried like secret cargo at midnight; Held captive by those we have lost: Still hearing their voices in the wind on the plain; The eyes that peer under starlit skies; The incense of our dreams drifts to a final benediction: Of unlit candles and unanswered prayers; The lamp of my soul burns eternally at the window of your heart; The Sky caresses the Earth with invisible arms, While the drowned flowers of your mouth, wash-up on the distant shores of my final hours, As I stumble through the blood drenched streets of Cadiz.
We swam the furious shallows; Away from the grey desert of pain and mutilation. Of pain and mutilation. When the horror is magnified, the body becomes instinct; Passion, mood, violence, madness. Passion, mood, violence, madness. We have created an inner infinity. A Grey desert of the Spiritually Dead. A yawning pain. Of terror and fear. Of terror and fear. A box containing a record of the terrifying everything; An infinity. Only in the shallows; Only in the shallows: The awkward geometry of Self-Mutilation. I am Furious for Pain. Of terror and violence and madness. Terror and violence and madness. Until it disappears into Instinct; Passion, mood, violence, madness. Passion, mood, violence, madness. We are drowning in the shallow waters of a sea becalmed. A mirror of my dying self. Mirror of myself dying. Into the interior. The dead eyes. The interior. Beyond the dead eyes. Everything that is pain and mutilation. Is pain and mutilation. The world dies over and over but the skeleton dances on and on; Is here. Always here, is here. The silent control; Love is a haunting needle hole; The awkward geometry of addiction. The world becomes a mirror of your pain. Is the mirror of pain. Pleasure dies over and over again; Love is a haunting of silent, helpless suffering; Passion, mood, violence, madness. Passion, mood, violence, madness. Into the mirror of myself dying. The Mirror of myself dying.
Perhaps 04:43
Perhaps awake I stopped, By the wounded ocean, Under a moon unflawed, At the Garden of Shadows, where dreams drip from every leaf? It’s late now, but finally you are here. To Find me on the sands of Winter, Waiting with open arms on the shores of my own solitude; Cigarette ends in the distant dark, like watching eyes; From the foreign windows of Summer, to the crying rains of home we go; Our people, still in rags of unfathomable darkness, The weight of my life in your small hands. The pillow and the rain and the sands of Winter: The journey to your lips, With a love that spreads its wings, In the Garden of Shadows. Perhaps I awake in a house of burning metal, The rusted old machine of the unknown grinding on and on? Wounded, we survived the atomic rain, To drift the decades with the watery eyes of a dead child, The rifle misery of another pointless war. My dreams have abandoned me at the shores of the unknown; Your story unfolding in the flickering celluloid invisible; Oh, to have lived when you lived! Really lived, when you lived! To the depths of Love and Death and cigarettes in the night of the Moon unflawed: A Time undefiled. My lover says Its late; With a voice bathed by the ocean and quenched by the moon; We spent Summer among the lost; My solitude lengthening under witness: Perhaps, I am a man drowning in the rain from clouds of his own creation?
The night beneath us, is unravelling; And the Earth, is disappearing, from view. In times of crisis, we know what we need; We know what to do, And leap, into love; And Leap, into love. Into love. Sleepless, in the darkness of my room; Memories, a thousand little aches; Lanterns dancing shadows, on frozen Winter lakes. As we leap, into love; And leap, into love, Into love. And sometime later, on the powdered road, With the sunset returning, I become the sea; And caress your shore; Into the last hour of sunlight, in our heat; Remember us, in our heat; As we leap into love; And leap into love, Into love. But we have drifted from love, like savages forlorn; I am become slave, to your god; My flesh, unfolding before you, like the fields; As we map the geography, the shifting landscape, of our hearts; From the first kiss, through to us in our heat. As we leap, into love; And leap, into love, Leap into love. Our Spirits, finally, unchained; On a night of moonless sea, you enrapture me, Your gentle fingers, sketching my pain; A painted smile, now washed by the tears, of a light summer rain. As we leap, into love; Naked and free, Leap into love; Green, like the sea; Leap into love; Naked and free.
A Song 06:40
From a voice that is the clouds on the river, Over park, over pale, lost in a time of doubts; That stretch into black horizons. Stretch into black horizons. A girl gathers up her pain, to reveal herself through the secret of words. The secret of words. The dew of her orbs and the cold touch of flesh; But the music is lost and the words are gone; So, do not send me your dead trees; your letters. I am navigating my heart along her flooded rivers, To a clearing where the birds swing low, To sing of my love in the dark of my blood; Dark of my blood. A raging wind may bend the rain. Bends the rain. But love is an everlasting song, a song that follows everything; Down all of my own dreary days and these frail nights. The electric flicker of my ancient valves resounds: It was you! It was you! Oh, the ruined city in me grows old. Grows old. Into the winds of nights that are long. The cold nights of our final song. And we carry the weight like ghosts in chains; Through the winter sky, over crumbling balconies and onto the motorways of oblivion, As the lost childhood of my soul pours from the singer's mouth, The song of her heart is over and pale, As lost as my love in the rain. Remember the rain? All your little sorrows, like unwanted gifts, tied up in string. Tied up in string. Oh, a gift is a terrible thing. Tied up in string; such a terrible thing. We are lost in the hollows. Lost in the hollows. Of aches and of sorrows; And too many tomorrows. And my love, she is all my lips and all my hands; And I love the rain. I love the rain. As it plays a sad song for the deserted streets of dawn. Deserted streets of dawn. Down to the Autumn river through a parade of dead trees; Oh, how a song in the memory festers and keeps; In the stain of love a swimmer naked weeps. A swimmer naked weeps. In the soft wings of the moon. In the soft wings of the waning moon. And you in your grief, and your ruins, with your halos of neon! Your halos of neon! Just dreaming us home once more. Dreaming us home once more.
The Open blossoms draw Their pain from you; And I fling myself And I do weep for the troubled night of you, Dreaming at the doors of sleep for your yielded mouth; Feeling your strong breast carry my heart to rest. And I do hurl through aching arms to you; And I draw The blinds to hide the Sins of night; For do not forget the eyes that search the dark for the sounding of your voice; And I at your breast will hide from life as you open wide Under the pallid moonlight; The mists of anguish lift And I do lift my head to the window, To see the garden where the moon Enjoys the cooling rain, And lays its weary head upon a pillow of apple-blossom, Oh, to know again When the apple-blossom is in bloom; So The Open blossoms may draw Their pain from you. So That The Open blossoms may draw Their pain from you. In the chilling night, of the terrified heart, I ran to you, And found you weeping, among the blossoms, As if it was they, who had stolen your dreams. From a memory, of the chiselled night, of a dream I once had, I swept you into my aching heart, So once more, the open blossoms, could draw their pain from you. Once more, the open blossoms, could draw their pain, from you.
To the Bone 04:59
In Sorrow's Temple we danced awhile, The gun was still warm in my hand, And so were you. What did you do, that brought such pain upon my bones? I can still hear your whispers from passing satellites; Transmitting messages from your mystic bones. The light, of your dying sight, centres on the river of the endless night; Where the boatman will carry you, Before the hounds strip your flesh and leave just your naked bones.
She cut her wrists and understood, The tender light of love glows ghostly here; In this place of crippling fear; Where they sell your body in the harbour of dreams; Look to the sky-line, 'tis late, can you hear the guitars all about? He thinks of all the things he can buy for a buck; He's selling plastic roses, while she shivers by the dock; Then they'll sleep by the window with the tarnished glass. The blemished night. Outside, the players on the stage, lift the evening by the hem of her dress; While queenly fingers gently caress, gently caress; She is there, but hardly there at all; With eyes all black mists and vague, she didn't hear you call; Her heart is a stormed palace, full of shouts and burning torches; Then a slumbering shade of some petrified dread; And everyday is another bed; Lying naked to die some, but not quite dead; On the outskirts of life she seems to dance, To fill the empty hearses of her screams, Tonight even the Moon will dream of you. And this is the place where I speak, Where I break because I am weak: My weary soul stopped for the night at the motels of Oblivion, Where sanity is pillaged by the herd; And you get to thinking, when will it end? How far can the bough bend? She strolls to where the light is; the plastic flowers; The Motels; She wants a man, not fake songs and wedding bells; And she thinks of the one she misses. And how the light reflects off her swollen lip, from his broken kisses; Tonight, even the city is shrieking, screaming, whispering "Make it stop" Burning torches light the twilight haze, time to run; The animal dies when the fear is done; The cops never came so he left with the gun. Drowning within a deep narcotic sleep her raven wings take flight and soar; He was just a boy; bitten by a bullet and then one more; Another lost soul from the motels of oblivion.


released May 1, 2018


all rights reserved




contact / help

Contact Circle109

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

If you like Circle109, you may also like: