You can stream Numbered here:
http://music.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=music.Discography&artistid=14703472

Those of you who own the EP may have realized that the songs "Principles" and "One Twenty Two" are flip-flopped on the artwork and  that has translated over onto this.
The lyrics I posted are in the correct order.


Caravel/Mediastinum
"Whichever way the winds blow."
Through the storm, through the stale, dead breeze.
I've been staring hard out of windows to lose myself in the scenery.
One wave will break and quickly fade into blue so I carved
you like "x" onto a map under a burning moon.
We'll learn to swim against the current. To the death I've fought the undertow.
I'll hold your head above the surface, though I may be swept below.
I've filtered waters of past-tense but you weren't even a drop in that sea.
You're more like the ocean so I'm letting tides wash over me.
If I am the sand of time consolidated on this eastern shore, I long to be at your side, you are what I thirst for and the eternal connection of where we are and where we've come from... I know that land and sea intertwine beyond even the shorelines.
If we're divided only by the air that fills our lungs then we'll bridge the gap one breath at a time.

Late Night, no. 708
I've spent so many nights struggling to fall asleep through the gears grinding in my head, just to retreat to the cold concrete to empathize with burning cigarettes.
I throw empty stares through frozen breath and smoke and watch the war wage between night and dawn. Yeah, we all know how it goes but I'm never quite sure of where it's gone.
So, try not to be too shocked if it seems that these thoughts are familiar. It's all just numbers between a fire and a flame. Mankind divides on culture, class and skin but in the end we know we're all same shit different name.
I remember some days behind me but I've lived in them long enough. Feels like the only things that haven't changed are the things I so desperately wished would but I don't want a drug or a drink to sedate me through the pain of living. I don't need another miserable song to sit and compare scars with.
I just want to see through the shadow in the mist of a society that's turned schizophrenic.
I've watched friends come and I've watched them go. I've spent countless hours in this apartment alone but I'm like a word that's been redefined. I've abandoned the thoughts that closed my mind. I used to believe we had all the time in the world but now I know we have all the world for a time.
Forget tomorrow. Forget yesterday.
Looks like another late night at 708.

Looking out, Looking In
I'm spreading myself thin over a torn out page. Spending days with a sorrow that works for an hourly rate. We press our luck at minimum wage but these things take time to accumulate.
Looking out, looking in: open mouth, closed eyes, bleeding heart, tongue tied.
I just can't seem to shake my commercial vice. And it's a full-time job articulating struggle and cashing in on the hopes that you're all as miserable and self-loathing as me. Don't take it personal, no don't take it personal… it's only psychographic marketing.
I lie awake. I shop for pain. I long for heartache. I sell complaints.
Flooding markets with angst filled words to worn out beats in a tired verse.
A bitter anthem out of syncopation in an endless surplus of misplaced aggression and now we're selling more than songs: torn up jeans, tattered shoes, pissed off stares, new tattoos and you can sing along until finally you embrace our socio-political views. Yeah, no one knows the trouble I've seen, till they're ten bucks out
for our new CD.
We empty our hearts to fill our stomachs.

Principles (of Scientific Management)
We raise hell in generations like time bombs. Our fuse is burning shorter but our days are growing long. The streets and bars fill, every weekday at 5 o'clock with faces full of lines and the sunk in eyes of men who've lost the ambition they once had of being anything more than coal for machinery. Of being anything more than combustible energy.
They're counting the days and wasting their lives tangled up in chains each endless hour of empty. Punching in and out of clocks. Every second of your life's only worth (it will never be enough). Keystrokes and symbols to author binary poetry. Our technological advances turned technological dependencies.
We are the well oiled eyesores. We are the pieces made to fit. We are the interchangeable parts. We are the broken spirits.
A virus plagues a computer. A human mind is reprogramming. Juxtaposition in the mechanical heart of our new American dream. A post-modern world. A calibrated, standardized society. We are the coal that keeps this engine burning. We are combustible energy
Counting restless nights of hiding my head under these pale white sheets and I know I'm not the only ghost still tracing sidewalk on these dead end streets. I'm not the only man hiding in the populous of this overcrowded city. I'm not the only man scared to death of being a lone with my humanity.

One Twenty Two
(Written For Matthew William Miller and Preston Ryan Gillespie.)
I was thrown into this nightmare. Rewinding days that lead to this morning. This is not reality it's just a bad dream that I'll relive daily.
Something is in the way... and I'll never make sense of the way that life just kept pressing on without you, each day with it's endless fucking nights of searching for something to hold onto. Hours spent fighting with the truth and still only questions, like if death has taken your body what the fuck did it do to our friendship?
And still, I can't sleep this off. This day was a curse from the start. The 22nd of January tore me apart, when it broke the spell of your hearts steady beat and cast its shadow onto these same old streets. The same old streets we frequently toured hot summer afternoons on beat up skateboards and now, looking back, all I can truly say is, "buried with you are our better days." Days before we got so disconnected. Days when school and jobs weren't first to friendship. Sometimes I think of our last conversation. I didn't say, "goodbye." I just walked away. And I watched them close your casket in that sanctuary and I opened two blood shot eyes to all the life that I'd been wasting.
Now you, you're just a ghost story. And me, I'm living on a handful of cherished memories. You know I never thought I'd run out of time to make it back. I told you that I was busy but now I'll never remember what the fuck with.
I'm so sorry that it took this for me to see what was truly important and I'd give anything to be back to the 21st again.
I can't sleep this off. Restless nights are all I've got...ceaseless thoughts are all I've got.
Why did it ever come to this? The end is never what you want it to be.
I can't change our last years and for that I'll never be more fucking sorry.

Cold Sweat
"And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,None knew so well as I:
For he who lives more lives than one, More deaths than one must die." -Oscar Wilde


Nineteen years old and already tracing back to see a life pushed past the line,We, once so young and hopeful, are now more bitter than angry from sorting through the crowded years of empty words—those stolen days—reading  the palms of liar's hands,while eyes and mouth converge to memorize each verse... so heartlessly.Am I a product of my environment? Am I paying for my father's sins? Was I cursed from birth? Meant to live a life of constant questioning and doubt? I've heard so many holy words in the sales pitches dripping from their filthy mouths. Yesterday when my phone rang I passed the conversation off to the dial tone.I don't care about what they've got to sell. My time is all I've ever owned.I may improvise the rhythm or blues but I carefully pick each word I use.If this is Armageddon I'll admit I've played my part,but don't tell me this is heaven on earth when I know there's only hell in your heart. We used to dream big and every breath came with a silver lining,but there comes a point in life when you realize that every time you wake up you're just a day closer to dying. My heart is harder than a diamond, to anything that can be bought or sold. I know there's nothing I could take past the grave that my trembling hands could hold. Yeah, I know I've wasted so much life on nothing. And the days aren't adding up. They're counting down. And we're not getting any younger are we?