Punch-Drunk Punk Rock Romance

Every Time I DieEvery Time I Die 

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Every Time I Die

Every Time I Die is a hardcore punk band from Buffalo, New York, formed in 1998. Their musical style is rooted in technical hardcore with strong southern metal and mathcore elements, and is also characterised by their cryptic, bitingly sarcastic lyrics. They have also garnered much critical and fan acclaim for their high energy, intense live shows. The band announced on July 14, 2008 that they had left Ferret Music and signed with Epitaph. Their sixth studio album, Ex Lives, was released March 6, 2012. more »

Year:

2001

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Pressed the seven sequenced silver panic buttons,
The distress calls that fall on a distracted short-wave signal.
A metronome timed to my panic stricken breathing
And a pulse conducted by our dying lines.

You said my heart sounded like a payphone in the rain.
Distorted, distant, scrambled and desperate.
Baby, I swear to god tonight I am sober.
It's the reception between us that's failing.

Everything's coming out all frenzied and confused.
She's got what it takes to make collapsing a habit
And a dance out of a tantrum fit (it's tragic but I am sobering up).
Pick up the phone.

Tonight I feel like the hero of a rusting war.
My touch has the timing and precision of a car wreck.
No use translating the trembles.
They're symptoms of repetitive testing for fluctuation.

If I come back home, I am bringing back the bends.
So give me a kiss. let me taste the reptilian appeal.
Say it again baby. does it turn you on? does it get you hot?
I get a little hysterical sometimes.

The panic you shouldn't have been so sentimental.
All that kicking and screaming.
Everything I touch starts peeling.
We malfunction like machines.

Get up off the floor and answer the phone.
I want to be a big star.
Didn't want to touch so hard.
Open the door.

I am your deviant satellite, an orbit defected by the ballast of words.
You're the reason for collisions.
I am face down like a sailor washed up under your window.
Tonight is a shipwreck.

Navigating through disorder.
Now every electric star hums like a telecaster.
How punk rock is that?
You're so oblivious.

Baby, you're my oblivion.

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