Curator

by Feintlove

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about

A live recording from Feintlove's first wave of pre-production tracking.

lyrics

Walk into the room with this newfound prose,
And an image on the wall of a pastel soul.
Stare at myself like I've grown so old.
And maybe the pain is transparent in song form?
A single hole, another sore,
Maybe they wouldn't have left
If I had loved myself a little bit more.

Painted as a martyr, my bones overgrown.
This is my home, this is my home.
I guess I created this hell all on my own.
They hung me up in galleries,
Broadcasting the art of winning and losing.

I am like a knife taken to leather, stripped of integrity.
Raw and new, so I won't feel like you,
And I see my faith bleed out on top of your head.

Painted as a martyr, my bones overgrown.
This is my home, this is my home.
I guess I created this hell all on my own.
They hung me up in galleries,
Broadcasting the art of winning and losing.

My voice in the air, in its smallest form,
Wondering what words I'm out here searching for.
Knives and a sharp mind in collective score,
I'll cut my tongue to keep the lies out and truth indoors,
To evolve without remorse.

This is my home, hanging up.

credits

released June 15, 2017

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about

Feintlove Dallas, Texas

Formerly Feivel.

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