LYNX & KEMO – Apocalypse (feat. Bango Collective & Dennis Jones)

Dennis Jones:
Looking up, looking up, looking up, looking up….

I can’t keep count of every one and each,
The stars the grains of sand on every beach
A handful of sand contains a million grains,
One thousand handfuls makes one billion,
There are one hundred billion stars in the sky,
At least 50 billion galaxies in the universe.

KEMO:
Optical blur – falling down at rush hour
Under the stars, clouds, moon and watchtower.
Gray dust particles and dark brown stone
Merge into the buildings that we call our homes.

Streetlights have these leaning, chasing their shadows
Seek meaning in this puppet show.
Dusty walls look like foam but feel like thick rocks
Sparks – industrial clouds – electric shocks

The mask muffles my lung; I fill the room with steam,
Unsung – feeding off the devil’s tongue – per diem.
Guerrilla radio transmission as the spider webs glisten,
Listen – cloaked dash past the mission shhhh.

March of the pigs, top-secret militia,
Shadowboxing techniques split in juxtaposition.
Gray men stealing time – getting high off the system
Everything Zen, spiral, time and again.

Dennis Jones: Refrain

KEMO:
Stone cold drones scan heat in the mist,
Camouflage expertise – transform the size of a fist.
Dead metal birds chase circles of light,
Detection by the sound of flight, avoiding sight.

Backpacked savages blaze trails through urban alleys,
Through the valley of the sun – scheme the grand finale.
Lenses flare and float, literally flooding the scene,
Transmitting through screens of this pretty hate machine.

Passing streetlights burn holes in the sky,
Orbital pollution, constellation Gemini.
Phantoms on masse, backing the wicked system,
Monitors flashing virtual, reality twisted.

Numbers replace letters in bright neon shades,
Seven signs symbolize last days in the maze.
People are puppets, racing rats to a master,
Blind slaves, dancing naked towards disaster…

© KEMO
© Dennis Jones

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