Get all 6 Chilled Monkey Brains releases available on Bandcamp and save 15%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Back To The Mud, The Great Distortion, APEocalypse, We're All In This Together, Chilled Monkey Brains, and Origins.
1. |
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It's been said. It's been done.
It's been played. It's been sung.
Times and friends go and come,
but we drink to the memories
we made singin’ these songs when we were young.
So the story goes,
and though we
may have lost touch
I never lost sight of what
made it all worth
fighting for,
but you can't
fight the changing tide.
Waves will come and go
like fireflies glow
in the night.
Wrong or right,
you'll never convince me
that just cause
it's been said. It's been done.
It's been played. It's been sung.
Times and friends go and come,
but we cling to the memories
We made singin’ these songs when we sang
Built up from something.
I tried to forget and singin'.
Fa la la laa laa la la la la la laa laa la
la la la la laa laa la laaa.
Hit It!
Whoa-whoa-whoa, yeah-ah noo-no-nooo.
Naaa naa na naaa.
Don't let em' take it away!
Don't be a cynic like me.
It took me ten long years to realize
you never have to
justify the things you love.
I'm telling you
lay your burdens down.
Why waste all that energy?
When the reality is that just cause
it's been said. It's been done.
It's been played. It's been sung.
Times and friends go and come,
but we cherish the memories
we made singin’ these songs when we were young.
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2. |
Tired of Winning
03:01
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I can't take it anymore!
This incessant and depressing,
irrepressible, obsession
with mediocrity.
Are we so deaf we cannot hear?
Are we so blind that we all simply
cannot see?
That you get tired of winning
when you've never had to try?
Who gives a shit about peace
when you've got the whole fuckin' pie?
Can you not see
the hypocrisy?
There's no seeming separation
from the self-imposed neuroses
that have set upon my psyche
to slacken my pace.
Still, I can't escape the feeling that
a single, solitary soul
could save this place.
And it's not hard to see why.
We've seen the damage one can do.
The obligation's our's
to see this progress through.
Shall we claw out our eyes, (claw out our eyes)
pull out our tongues, (pull out our tongues)
cut off our hands, (cut off our hands)
and say we never saw it coming? (we couldn’t see)
Nothing could be said? (we couldn’t speak)
Nothing could be done? (nothing could be done)
The war had already been won?
I've kept my mouth shut for too long
and I can no longer be silent.
If I want to see change,
I put the onus on me.
Those who
represent us, resent us
in reality.
Cause it's not hard to succeed
when your goal is to impede.
No lack of progress could
ever sate their insatiable greed.
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3. |
The Great Distortion
02:16
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Why does a river
flow into the ocean?
What makes a mountain
climb up to the sky?
And why should a flower
grace us with its beauty,
then, wither away and die?
Why do we fight for this?
To crack and break and bruise?
Something we must all
ourselves some day conclude.
There's no alternative.
Now, tell me why you live.
Our blood, our sweat, our tears,
are all we have to give.
Why does an asteroid
smash into a planet?
To what end is a planet
engulfed by its sun?
And why must we all,
someday, fade from the earth,
back to dust?
Why do we fight for this?
There's a reason that we do,
and it's as simple as these
riddles posed to you.
There's no alternative.
This IS why we live!
Our blood, our sweat, our tears,
are all we have to give.
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4. |
MAGAdeth
00:32
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5. |
Urborg, FL
02:55
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Down west Pensacola Street
where the sun is warm,
the air is sweet,
and the people you may
chance to meet
sing songs to pass the day.
There's not a cloud in the
pale blue sky,
and the way the sun beams
bend to catch the eye
call to mind a time gone by,
when the world was a simpler place
Before the antigen spread
and began to claim
what many of us had,
for so long, sought in vain.
A deadly combination of virality,
stupidity, extended incubation
and spontaneous mutations.
The human brain
can be distorted to the point
where no humanity remains.
Get down! To them we are but sheep.
Animated cadavers
prowl the city streets.
No recollection of the
lives they left in pain.
The night the peasants from their
kingdoms were estranged.
Had humankind become
irreparably deranged?
Or were the viral inner workings
more nefarious and strange
than we could ever have imagined,
much more than man could
manage to maintain,
much less contain?
And as muscle tears from bone,
take some solace knowing that
you're not alone, and
everyone you've ever met or known
will suffer the same fate,
as you begin to suffocate.
Down West Pensacola Street
Where it smells like rotting
human meat
and walking corpses line the streets
and they're comin' after your
BRAINZZ!!!
There's not a chance that you'll survive,
that is, unless you're willing
to be zombified.
In which case, you'll be just fine
at least until you disintegrate,
and your (reportedly) immortal
soul can not be saved.
It evaporated when your
frontal lobe decayed.
Now your husk of a body
stalks the mortal realm searching for
living flesh to feast on,
but, this hunger, you can’t ever satiate.
Too late! Farewell, human race.
What a waste...
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6. |
Back To The Mud
02:33
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War is a game
the powerful wage,
Whose wages are paid
in innocent blood.
Their ivory towers
rise, safe from the fray.
Ask yourself "Why do I do this?"
And go Back To The Mud!
Say one thing for The Land of the Free,
say it gives no quarter.
Unless, of course, you find yourself
within arbitrary borders.
I think that we all get it now.
They choose why, we show how.
You feel the sweat fall from your brow.
Armed forces are toys
for misbehaved boys,
to draw lines on a map
of their favorite colour.
Should you dare try and squelch
their petulant yelps
they'll damn well let you know
what it means to be "other."
Say one thing for The Home of the Brave,
say it loves its prisms.
A single beam refracted out
into manufactured schisms.
I think that we all know the rest.
Destiny manifests.
You feel the bile rising in your chest
War is a game
the powerful wage.
War is a game.
War is nothing but a fucking game.
Say one thing for Amerik-k-ka,
say that it's been poisoned.
The antidote is nothing short of
Pure Annihilation.
I think that we've all had enough.
You play your hand, I'll call your bluff.
Suddenly you don't look so tough.
We'll sac the diamonds in this rough.
Your mate is checked.
Your wrists are cuffed.
War is a Game!
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7. |
Butcher's Block
01:29
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I got Butcher's Block!
Can't seem to make a stock.
Don't hand me that ham hock,
I'm puttin’ my cleaver down.
I've had enough of hacking up
cow and pig and chicken guts.
I'm calling it quits and thinkin'
bout' goin' vegan.
I just can’t hack it.
Eh, maybe just one more bite.
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8. |
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9. |
The Third Silence
07:00
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Sweep in gently, layer harmony against me.
Rest and try not to resent me.
My intentions, they were only to see.
How could we end in silent harmony?
Intertwining silently, we defiantly defined our destinies.
As the mind sleeps, the heart weeps.
Turns to stone, the flesh and bone
and soul make peace, and slowly atrophy.
Yet most will fail to see while
It is so blatantly obvious to me.
Born to wander endlessly, but forced into
a stagnant state of mind numbing apathy
Patient, Violent, Vibrant, Silence
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10. |
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Sit a spell sailors, and I'll spin you a tale
of a steadfast ship, and the beast we tailed
This ain't another story bout' an
old white whale, boys,
the fish we fought was the size of a full rigged sail.
"We've heard it all before old salt!"
This one's been locked up in my vault!
"Next round says it's old news to me."
Then tip em' back and I'll tell you bout the day that we
beheld his majesty.
This fearsome entity.
A visage human eyes glimpse
just beyond insanity.
My crew, brave as they be,
that day, would take the knee.
The first to see
the latent power resting deep inside of me.
10 years alone, lost out at sea.
A tentative catastrophe.
10 tentacles intent on me,
with murderous tenacity,
"You'd never make it back to shore!"
Furl those sails my lads, there's more!
"But how could anyone survive?"
Who ever said I was alive?
Recall its majesty.
The vast and endless sea.
The battleground on which the
Kraken's immobility
met unstoppability.
Lost to eternity,
alone at sea,
a hidden power gestated inside of me
The captain, brave and bold,
alone, the foul beast feared.
The legends had foretold
the end was drawing near.
We'd come to pay the debt he owed.
No cargo had been stowed…
All hands on deck!
Cannon Balls!
Beware this travesty.
The tyrant of the sea.
The transmutation was complete,
as it lay in defeat
"Accursed" to roam, it seems,
as a ghastly entity?
A modest fee,
for endless power raging deep inside of me!
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11. |
Hopeless Semantic
02:00
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Don't try to tell me what punk is,
I'll gladly fail your trivial gatekeeping quiz.
Don't try to tell me what's not punk, (“Those guys aren’t punk!”)
it's a test I'm proud to flunk.
Cuz if there's one thing that I'm sure of
it's that this conversation's one I'm bored of,
and I doubt there's any
lost love between us.
Hypocrite to hypocrite I think, deep down,
they all know they're full of shit,
but, for some reason, can't seem to quit
bein’ so goddam elementary.
Cause even Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven
will someday be forgotten.
Much less GG, Strummer, or the Johnnie's,
when most of em’ are already Rottin'.
And just like their stage names, your
fake personas are so obvious it pains
me to tell ya,
but it feels like I gotta.
Taste in music don't mean shit,
our ears ain't your fuckin' toilet
Do us all a favor and hold it in
Even if it kills ya.
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12. |
Suburban Home
01:44
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I want to be stereotyped.
I want to be classified.
I wanna be a clone.
I want a Suburban Home.
I want to be masochistic.
I want to be a statistic.
I wanna be a clone.
I want a Suburban Home
I don't want no hippy pad,
I want a house just like mom and dad!
“Eh, not that bad”
I want to be stereotyped.
I want to be classified.
I want to be masochistic.
I want to be a statistic.
I wanna be a clone.
I want a Ska Bourbon Gnome.
Mah Nà Muh Nah!
Manah Mono!
Mana mn!
I want to be sedated.
I want to be in anarchy.
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13. |
The First Note
01:59
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I could sing a single song
to a thousand lonely people
and each one would hear their own
version of the tale.
We so easily misjudge
and contort our human sameness.
We're all looking for the
same things here.
What are we searching for?
A way to interact, relate,
or make a connection,
but it seems we're
headed for a future where
instead of spreading love
we love ourselves solely,
so the only goal in mind is to
build and horde a fortune
so we can say
"Our means were justified!"
I could sing a single song
to a thousand open listeners
and I'd love to hear each one
tell me what they thought was meant.
And each story would be true,
but, at the same time, somewhat telling.
My only hope? That they'd all
reek of discontent.
What are we living for?
A way to interact, relate,
or make a connection,
but it seems we're
headed for a future where
instead of spreading love
we love ourselves.
Why do we do this?
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14. |
The Note Itself
00:42
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Chilled Monkey Brains
Ska-slinging Punkrock Lords of the fetid mires of Urborg, FL.
Ridin' the 7th Wave
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