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Dust Mite Paradiso

The record leads the flock to the floor, can you feel the rapport, is it there? I’m not sure but it's stagnant and we cannot move. I’ve seen this before; it's past life regression for Neanderthals. it's classical; we've got to rip the pictures off the wall, if we don't we're doomed to a life watching repeats, the word's back on the streets again "go against the flow". Go against the flow. Could this be the soundtrack to ignorance? Don’t blame vibrations, the turbulence lies the hearts of all who now feed off the dust that we left undisturbed. It’s classical, the rise and fall of the decadent moves. Here we are the people defiant of the 'decadance', the kind that gathers dust and makes us realise we need to... know we've got the flow. What used to be so fresh and so new is a stagnant resurgence of old we must advance and see this through and keep the groove alive. I implore you to recognise this, I implore you to scream. Here we are the people defiant of the 'decadance' the kind that gathers dust and makes us realise we must... advance.

Oeuvre Manoeuvre

Singing that tune has made us come to, we see for the first time that you bring about a 'neverlution'. Defeat, defy, repeat, manoeuvre. Can you feel it coming around? (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) The decimation of pedestrian sounds. Sinking fast, soon you'll all be screwed. Defeat, defy, repeat, manoeuvre. Keep on moving till you align (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) with the target, if you cannot see yourself it's ours. What you singing about, you? Join the revolution; get your dancing shoes on. What you singing about, you singing about, you? This is the solution; get your good time groove on. Defeat, defy, repeat, manoeuvre. What you sing about, you?

Keane Aer (Our Renaissance)

(Hey) it's midnight, (hey) it's our renaissance in the darkened streets. We walk/fly all the time with a kick in our steps and a smile so fine, (hey) it's our renaissance. (Hey) I see (hey) uptown potential in a closet of populist. Let this be the time that we light the fuse and refuse to shine, (hey) it's our renaissance.

Keane Aer (our logistics)

Hold sway, out on the streets (hey). Our logistics; see the dances, see the dances (now), hold sway, out on the streets (hey). Disco roots will not be downsized to the dance floor now. see the city come alive, we acclimatize to see the lights, (hold sway out on the streets) spread a secret through the wire, start a fire out of sight (hold sway in the city). Tear up the dance, fight if you believe in something. See the spray cans tell the future in a disused part of town, (hold sway out on the streets) we can use this to confuse fists, realign it through the sound (hold sway in the city). Tear up the dance; fight if you believe in something. "We have your senses surrounded; I repeat we have your senses surrounded! Every person on this plateau of bright lights and rhythm will soon be caught up in the renaissance and then you will know you've got the power to ignite!" tear up the dance; fight if you believe in something, tear up the dance; fight if you believe in something more. The opposite won't admit the crowd consists of populists. So tell me how you plan to recite every word you just made up now, tell me how you plan to recite and tell me how you plan to take, take back crowd.

Any Time Soon

Won’t you come and wash away what's here, an appetite for 'out of sight'. It’s funny how the new styles got so old in waiting for the wave. Yeah, why won't you get up and sing this with us? We’re waiting for the wave. Well, if you don't get up and sing this with us we'll have to make up our own styles. Sounds that may have once defined a time have started to lose their groove. I heard a shout around the world today guess what it said "we're waiting for the wave". So listen too close (time to make up the bold new styles) to all the classical ghosts (time to make up the bold new styles) that haunt that stereo now, (time to make up the bold new styles) drink to all the haunted sounds. now's the time, it's our time, our time to knock all the cards stacked up to the ceiling, flip the script, the one you've been reading all along, write a song and drink to all the haunted sounds of old. Sounds that move a modern day Motown crowd, where's the Motown now, where's the Motown now, now.

Butterfly Funk

So they told you that you're devoid of chi and if you take this in doses you'll be, be on far different frequency, you shouldn't let the assumption insult you. Elevate. (They’ll never tone you down because you're just too loud). A funky butterfly in the wind, you fly against it you don't get sucked in. you're on a far different frequency and you don't let the assumptions insult you. you've got one hell of a unique groove; just take a look at the style that you ooze, don't ever let it escape your sight, you'd better pucker up, kiss the sky as if you have to try. Elevate. (They’ll never tone you down because you're just too loud). You make me feel like dancing. They’ll never tone you down.

Post Crash Cigarette

Focus came like a locust and brought about the destruction; see the shock on their faces. Won’t you shout, won't you shout "wake up now"? Give me praise my deduction seems to be what we foresaw, the bubble bursts and you realise. Won’t you shout, won't you shout "wake up now"? Is this all just a bad case of de jai vu now or this part of a recurring dream? There’s never time to (run) run for your life when you know its coming. Is this part of a dream? I woke up and the locust left me bound to the carcass. Now this voice is much louder, hear it shout, hear it shout "wake up now". Now we can sleep with the widest smiles on our face cause focus came and it showed us.

Some Animals Can Strut

The life of twist, we can't resist the rhythm that takes our hearts away. A calculated risk is always likely to turn our sparks to flame. if dancing near the speakers means we're likely to loose a sense or worse , we'll hold it close; right now we can the make the most of all these sounds we found. These sounds won't ever change if we don't partake. The source of all our confidence is bringing us to our knees again, every time we hear the sounds they echo around the room for days. Dance it near the speakers (go deaf), you won't need your ears when they say; "it's time to sleep", right now we can turn our steps to leaps, we're bound to the sounds. These sounds won't ever change if we don't partake. And so when these sounds are resurrected will they be placed behind glass for all to see? Who cares? Through broken instruments, heavy with history, we'll open doors we never knew existed because we are the brothers and sisters of volition, and we know these sounds won't ever change if we don't partake.

The Moon on a Stick

This night's only as old as you want it to be, so hold tight as I pour the glass, with fingers crossed it won't get lost again, because it's heavy with a style and it's the kind you can't ignore, it's like we jumped to kiss the sky and landed on elastic taut. if you write it down it won't sound the same but only, only if you're smart and you rearrange the verbs if you write it down it won't sound the same but only, only if you're smart (hey, if you're smart). You want the moon on a stick; do you think it would bode well if you walked into a former self only to find you'd blown that pretty little load? You’ve got to cure that total lack of temporal rhythm, it's not right to click out of time; it casts a frost on possibilities. we tried to bring it back to life when we should have left it dead, instead we kept it in formaldehyde until we tried it all again. If you can find a suitable word to describe our times you'd better speak, be heard, if we're not heard then we will cease, cease to be us. Pick up the telephone there's anyone there.

Momento

We stayed awake until the sun appeared, the sky was clear; the air was thick with all the music that we made. We had a conversation in the dark about the start of our own revolution. We talk about the kind of lives we lead and how we'll be preceded by philistines who wait in line to take our niche beneath the underground and make this sound their own and trash our revolution. Turn it up, come alive, turn it up. When we stepped out on the streets again a silence fell and I heard this whisper in the crowd: speak now while you can.

Reclaim the Floor

The sound you can't defeat, it gets you in your sleep, it's imprinted on the walls. Can you hear the calls (we can hear the calls) of the disco spirits? Build it up, burn it down, reclaim the floor now. We dance on through the night; the words that we recite etch onto the walls. If we all unite (if we all unite) we'll be disco spirits. If these four walls could speak they would whisper and repeat. (Dance) people keep on dancing, dancing. (Move) people keep on. Build it up to burn it down, burn it down to feel the heat, feel the heat and move your dormant feet.

A Future Rendition

This modern thesis on our kinesis, reads like dream I dreamt whilst the others stayed awake and got blown to pieces to keep the peace. Is this just what we need to make our own renditions heard? Looking back at a mould you tried to break, a symbol of a profound and lasting mistake. We could forgive all your scientific ways but just remember that science always frays. I know (this is a far cry from your own) future rendition. But know I (I realise you've got substance now) it's the future rendition. Science falters. This modern thesis on our kinesis, reads like dream I dreamt whilst the others stayed awake. This cross examination of events has brought you inconclusive evidence. Create the ripples in water from the haze and just remember that science always frays. I know (this is a far cry from your own) future rendition. But know that I (I realise you've got substance now) it's the future rendition. This news just in: that thing you've been searching for, you had all along. Defy, defy complexity yeah (use that diction, use that diction). I want to defy, defy complexity yeah (use that diction, use that diction) wisely (use that diction, use that diction). So forget about the science, all you really need is sunshine, moonlight, good times, boogie.

All Lyrics © 2004/05 EVENFLOWERSKILL

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