by VJ Kapur

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Vertically manufactured.


released May 5, 2010

All songs/parts written, performed, and (sorta) produced by VJ Kapur.




VJ Kapur Washington

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Track Name: Concede
No stranger to torture,
I'll lay down the blindfold to see
the blades that she's wielding.

They'll cut me, I'll hold my breath,
stay down and stare patiently;
still as the doormat she's made me.

We count down the seconds
and simultaneously agree
it's stalemate and relatively

fated so shut the door,
whisper "it'll be okay,
the cries are just a game."

These moments of anguish;
they flash and fade away

We'll bleed
until we breathe
our surrender,
but we
cannot concede.

A light in the distance,
it flickers and fades out and in
some alien rhythms.

You stare and are hypnotized,
numbed but the pain pierces through
'til it's deep inside you.

A noble decision and thoughtful omissions aside,
you're simply in search of a guide
or luck in this aimless excursion.
Just burn the map, listen:
it's useless anyway.
Track Name: Cryonics
An awkward moment fading into comfort
with sighs of relief heaved so deeply down.
I promised I'd be there where you last left me:
patiently on call in case you need me, finally.

On ash-toned leaves off ember-frosted trees (under our feet)
with pumpkin faces (carved sarcastically) in boastful revelry.
We'll watch the weather as it prematurely darkens.
We could stall forever and defer declaring anything.

And I was frozen in place 'til your return.

With a routine embrace breaking any tension.
We ran out of words so many years ago.
It figures we'd be better off in silence.
A broken record's cycling can grow old, instantly.

So fall always took you so far away from here
leaving me joining all of DC in missing you.
You hated the cold cuz I couldn't keep you warm
and I was frozen in place 'til your return.

I was frozen in place 'til your return.

(Locked in a space in case you needed me,
memorized this face that you see,
in spite of all the resulting misery.
And I wonder if you even noticed.
Did you notice?)
Track Name: Muted Screams
Ninety minutes,
one sleep cycle spent
questioning why
he's been hostile.
He took the pills and
heard the lectures
as they lead-restrained his
wrists and ankles.

It came to him in a fever dream;
a chorus line of muted screams
reminding him that
his wounds are eternal.
They told him to avert his eyes
as he paves escape with selfish lies.
He woke to find her hands inside his,
cold and unresponsive.

Laid them down and
saw the mirrors;
knew he'd never unlearn
that faint reflection
of steam and shadows over
pain and torment under
swollen eyelids
holding back the tears.

Should sickness burden
any inch of us
with no elixir
in our isolation,
we'll pull the threads and trace them
to a source and strip it
of protection.
Or so we tell ourselves.

Inhibited no longer,
he knew that it would come to this.

And he cries
make the pain stop.

Make the pain stop.

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