Album Rating: 4.5
White Pony = Digital Bath, Change, Knife Prty, Elite, Pink Maggit, and Passenger as best songs.
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Album Rating: 5.0
White Pony = Digital Bath, Change, Knife Prty, Elite, Pink Maggit, and Passenger as best songs.
Passenger and Elite are outstanding songs. The rest are pretty good to.
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Since we're talking about Deftones lyrics, anyone want to critique my lyrics for my songs? They're split up between two six minute tracks but I like feedback, you know...
We were dragged through the snow by the hair with upset stomachs and ice for eyelashes. Through miles of suburban jungle we were forced to trek. And I assume we gave up along the way, because faith used to drip from our tongues like honey, and then I didn't see any point. Honey was too sweet to exist. So in the forest I dwelled while algorithms of murder and crass spilt from the lips of my captors - I became infected by their words and enamored by their trust. Disgust was really what it was. I planned to keep in touch, but there was again, no point.
In the moonlit sky, centuries of stars began to collide and we planned. Screeching, we broke free of the chains which bound us to our fears and bade farewell to heartache and its bribes. With futility my comrade and my neighbors my enemies, we bolted for Opportunity's Entrance, but still I wondered what was the gain for this loss. I have heard stories of abandonment and recluses and I have heard of individuality, but when would my eyes focus on the line and not the blur?
Time did not answer any questions. It kept us in a house of brick, and it told us no lies. It did not have to, for it penetrated our ears and slithered up canals to our minds and distorted what was and was not truth. We had escaped one lie but fell for another. I didn't see any point. Blinded by heartache he scanned the plain for ways out of the hovel. I only followed along reluctantly. Together we fled, but alone I walked around the old trees and the cottages and the wheat fields and all of that. And I never saw a point to it till I sat in that room near my squire and my desire. Here I realized that suffocation was futile and regarding valuable things as pointless was just as pointless as the things I regarded.
I had escaped one sadness and entered another - her name, Apathy. She was sly and silent, pale white like snow, and of course as careless as a drunken sparrow. On her shoulder lay the gilded viola, split strings, split hairs invisible. Surprised I could half-walk and half-turn in the grassy meadow. Her embrace kept me cold like the French Cavalry. Her shoulder was the only bone she cared about anyway. And so she clawed into my heart messages of misanthropy and gravely nonchalance - exponential independence times a cubic five. "Round your little numerals, put ‘em in piles and swing through the motions. Be taken advantage of like wisping daffodils in the wind." Her breath was cold and paralytic - infecting both mind and muscle - it left me broken and senile.
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