This song is about paranoia and feeling like you're constantly being monitored/watched.
lyrics
I stand mighty high, but I can't feel my feet
I don't need to walk, I just need to sleep
The light is spilling quick, so I tell everyone
What's real seems to feel controlled by a gun
Head is dead, hands are cold, dripping sick, getting old
I am feasible and not one to understand
Play dead in his grip, mechanical hand
The aches remind me when I left unopened eyes
But patience in the fog, and I've become the fly
The walls are closing in, a chance to prove you float
I think I am so tired of sour to sugarcoat
Play dead in my grip, mechanical hand...
credits
from To The Edge of The Woods,
released April 22, 2016
Guitars/Lyrics: Brandt Parke
Drums: Mark Christensen
Bass: Eric Phinney
Vocals: Ian Lowery
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