Body of Habit / Visible Fissures EP

by Lost Lands

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Combined "Body Of Habit" and "Visible Fissures" 7"s both released on Vitriol Records.


released August 1, 2013

Recorded by Lost Lands
Mixed by Ryan Bram @ Homewrecker Studios
Mastered by Brad Boatright @ Audiosiege Sonic Engineering


all rights reserved



Lost Lands Los Angeles, California

Lost Lands is no more. Enjoy the tunes.

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Track Name: Body of Habit
the inexorable body of meaning
can be used and hung and bridled on
through the dark forest
of ambiguity
so easily
when the prostituted
forlorn value
so bold
carries more weight
than a shower rod can hold
there is fracture
I made those same mistakes
No criticism no consciousness
No acknowledgement
No sentiment
The notions oft reserved
For the piled shells in rictus
The most severe example offered
A Gift coated business
in banal conversation
At stride in humor
and discussion
to essentials
turned absurd
In a context
We sit in ether
Where we’ve browbeaten
the aura of the words
what’s the matter
that rubbing the poor itch of your opinion
Make yourselves scabs?
He that will give good words will flatter
Beneath abhorring
What would you have?
you curs
you fragments
Track Name: Hereditary Marsh
we celebrate together
with wide smiled faces
while the deference so long shoved off
shows its obvious genesis and traces
the floor falls out
we sit at a distance
with furrowed brows
how could the fickle mass
never so naïve to think
they could relate
to the tender faces shining
from above
and from their pockets
oh how we love the spectacle of celebrity, trash royalty
100 years banished with barrel and rationality
while the liberal with a small l
weeps in front of the tv
keeping your head down is not enough
on days like these
Track Name: Transitory
I’m a candle burning
I’m a candle burning at both ends
Sometimes I’m a mess of wax
Sometimes I’m barely even singed
At war with our ideas
At war with our ambition
At war with the worthless vestiges
Of tradition
Sometimes I’m the elusive gilded praxis
With action at hand
And sometimes
I’m a bullet-ridden theory
that can barely stand
But that’s the human smell
Of failure and regret
That all perfectionists seek to forget
It’s the unity of contradiction
And exhaustion, limitless
That propagates the complication
To do what we wish
And that’s that human burn
Of triumph
over ideas
over our ambition
over the worthless vestiges
Of tradition

Of failure and regret
Of triumph
Track Name: Evil

while the red stained mouths of machine guns ring
across the infinite expanse of day
while red or green before their posturing king
the battalions break and melt away
the monstrous frenzy runs a course
that makes 1000 men a smoking pile
poor fools, dead in the summer grass
on nature’s breast
who meant men to smile
replaced by wasted youth
and wretched forms
poor fools
while the red stained mouths of machine guns ring
across the infinite expanse of day
while red or green before their posturing king
the battalions break and melt away
the monstrous frenzy runs a course
that makes 1000 men a smoking pile
there is a god
who smiles upon us through
the gleam of gold
the incense-laden air
who drowses
in a cloud of murmured prayer
and only wakes
when weeping mothers bow
when weeping mothers bow
themselves in anguish
and their last small coin
into his coffer falls
Track Name: Unreliability
Siphoned through the filter
Of acceptable analogy
Through the oversimplified
Romance and theology
With no gradients
Allows a pitiful acquiescence
To a plot A sanitized narrative
A nebulous ideal, artifice
Of way the people never lived
Why bother
Standing on the shoulders of giants
When it’s easier to fucking crawl
Why think, why live
When it’s easier to just exist
Track Name: Visible Fissures
what’s keeping everyone
from responding in kind
beaten to death in a parking lot
or lifeless on a train
in a plainly mercantilist trade
where your loss is steadfastly their gain
if you’ve got a bone to pick
if you have any complaints
you’ll have a comfortable spot
to sit and wait
if you have a larger agenda to serve
to walk in your own town
refusing to defer
head up, undeterred
there’s a grave with no name on it
there’s a grave with your name on it
in a cemetery city
where the checks and balances insure
that the fraternal brotherhood
of the assholes you grew up with
with a penchant for power
and the absurd
will continue to operate with impunity
Track Name: Uncanny Valley
the ebb and flow
of endless flat desire for ease
dispense with labor
handcraft, need
the apex
a clinical likeness
a plastic quality
divorced from the chest cavity
that breathes and sleeps and sustains
the nadir
the dark matters of faculty
the deepest trench of
a valley floor
where the ships
of being are renewed
piece by piece
how long will it be
the fear stems
and grows
and blooms
from the lump in the throat
the drop in the gut

a clean self image
from a more perfect reflection
of us
Track Name: Poor Maps
I’ve been a traitor
I’ve ceded defeat
the force of ego smashed underfoot
and I’ve been weak
I’ve been some places
I can barely stand
On a stretch of bad road so poorly planned
Even the worst maps just reprimand
Your false sense of direction
That patina of suffering
And trifecta of disconnection
Man is tormented by no greater anxiety
Than to find someone quickly
To hand over the gift of autonomy
And without this stable conception
He would not consent to go on living
And would rather destroy himself
Than stay on earth
Though he has bread in abundance