Brad Treeby Lyrics

A Storm is Coming
Paper Junkie
Please Disengage
Smokescreen
Sunday Living
The Ordering
The Palm of her Hand
Wake Your Soul

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A Storm is Coming
The sovereign birth is from the east, now we can't tame the beast and all it says onto the world. But you won't wash over minds with a strange tongue or a trust in a different set of blurred lines, that are foreign but the same. And so you're born into these lands, but you put down the book to hold the gun in both your hands. As you can't give up on pride, so you strike out at the foes that are telling you it's all a lie, and the hole is still inside. So you you've got a reason to hide; a storm is coming, and you're digging about the verses to find, a place to feel right. So you've got a reason to change; a storm is coming, go digging about the verses again, for a place that feels right. Now the blood is pumping to the west, where the viscous fluid is kept to save the faces in the stone. But they won't watch over you, or fortify the cause in a place where the courts don't read the news, or suffer your abuse. You're washing mud upon your face, as you try to keep your place and all the shepherds do the same. But pretence won't heal a knife, or the marks left in the past in their hues of black and white, a sentence to the tide.

Paper Junkie
Only a fool won't change, to live off the sands, and leave all this waste. As all of the seas will fill, up with all our cans, as we throw them away. I'm not here to complain, but I've waited for so long to see nothing change. And I'm not asking for souls, I'm waiting guessing how long the world can go. I'm not going to wait, I will cause a change, slow the impending dive. In spite of what has occurred, in harmony with the earth is how we're going to survive. Only a fool would say, "It's too much to change, I've got enough on my plate." Back from the sordid ties, the green gives us life, and we're cleaning the slate.

Please Disengage
Well my heart feels the same, it looks inside the colours that you wear to tackle all the big game. As your soul, it lights a ghost that drives inside the ancient fear of the path that's unlike most. If only minds would turn aside and let the olden fear away, it could build a bridge to join the page. If only life was blind to skin as liking out can start a war. Imagine if the lights begin to fade? Please disengage. Taking the bona fide onside to try and build yourself onto another level is a way for you to show that you're afraid. Taking upon the fear of voices on the television, forcing you to shield your vision and building on the consequence of hate. Who's tying them? Who's holding them down? Well I say that it's you every time that you point and you run from someone in a colour that's not just like another.

Smokescreen
Hypocrisy and camouflage, they wear just like a glove. We stand aside but if the truth be told, they fit us well enough. Many sympathise but complacency is not the road to change. It's not hard to make a difference, just start with day to day. And force in a change, learn and educate, query the facade, and go your own way. You've got to get up, and shed your ties, use energy take control of your life. Don't think you're not affected by choices made on your behalf. Do you really think those on the front line pray for war to start? So his eyes you've never seen, but we're all human kind. We all still bleed still love still sleep and people mourn us when we're gone.

Sunday Living
Lifetimes ago there was a man in me, he was strong he was all heart and fire. He could tackle the world, stand on shoulders to see, so he could build up his fortress higher. And now he's going away to find himself in the world, it's going to take him oh the longest time. He's looking for space, I feel like a dove, as we soar and search for landing signs. Sunday living has given him the position for making it through the battles and fighting off indecision, and now he's on your side, he's going to make sure he gets things right. Two years aside, he's still looking for cause, to help him focus on the greater goal. But what happened to heart, whatever happened to sure? And a passionate and honest driven inner soul. But a minute aside with nothing else on his mind, he seems enlightened by the Sunday life. Now he's back on board I feel like a dove, as we soar and leave the world behind.

The Ordering
I take upon your eyes they cloud the waves, inside is languid, listless, loveless, selfish hate and shame. You take the time to realign; you're dressed in silver and despite the lack of overcast you close your mind. Oh you're getting down, but before you find the words to air take a good hard look around. Oh when you're sitting tight, look around at the ordering until we get it right. Don't feel sorry for yourself in life, when you've got it fine. Don't you sigh to me with your idle toes in shoes and clothes. You forget the ones; unblemished sons save for a foreign chain that yields fading light, a borrowed fight, and a cause to loathe. I take upon his eyes they look the same, inside is hope for, seeing his father and trying to fight the colours imposed. He takes the time to realise that life is cruel and those inside the nations with dollars and education are closed. Oh he's getting down; he thinks and dreams as anyone except born on different ground. Oh when you're sitting tight, look around at the ordering, until we get it right.

The Palm of her Hand
Taking on the morning, she's taking on the night. She's taking on the duty-card with disregard to systematic changes in light. But if the mountain is her domain, then the focus needs to change or she'll be taking on the world. For now she's taking on herself. With a conscience and a goal, that hide the questions in her soul. Too much of life well it slips through her hands, she's searching for the truth and trying to understand - why does the mystery fall from her eyes? Where is the calm to come and set it right? Well too much is finite and can't ever change, she's lacking faith to leave it all and start again. But I'm going to take everything that I can, and place it in the palm of her hand. She's reading now by torchlight, she's trying to make it through the night. She's trying to cut the cords and open doors to lead her to the better things in life. But if the mountain is on the way, then her focus needs to change, or she'll be taking on the world.

Wake Your Soul
One afternoon you're caught out kicking back, look at the time it comes to quarter past. It's like who put the light on? You sit with your idle hands but I won't stand for it, no I won't stand, for you failing to fight on. You're holding all your stances, and now your chances, they're starting to slide. Caught in the mould you battle, but time won't settle and in the end you will find... It doesn't take much time, just an hour to right wrong. But before you forget, write it on the back of your hand, and please don't speak out loud cause it might wake your soul, and it just don't know. You're thinking about the fall out of kicking back to call out for reason and change your alibi, but you never go there. You're caught in the zealots hands, but I won't stand for it, no I won't stand, for rhetoric and false scares. You're cutting goals for chances, but they're not the answers you're looking to find. Until you change your saddle, you won't win battles and in the end you will find...

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