by Hot Cross

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1st full length LP and 3rd release overall. Full album download includes "Tacoma" off of the split with the Holy Shroud as well as an alternate take of "Fortune Teller"


released May 20, 2003

Recorded by Eric Kvortek at Trax East Studios
Mastered by Alan Douches at WWSide Music
Layout and design by Matt Smith
Inner photos by Rob Dobi



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Hot Cross Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

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Track Name: Fortune Teller
Caught cutting through the running tide.
Bleeding out; portrayed way past a prime tripping over words and playing tricks on time.
Eastern standard time of the dead.
Wear clocks round our necks like tombstone.
Fuck not lest ye be fucked.
A point invariably moot when you've outgrown smarts and frustration is your strongest suit.
Keep in mind, it's the wisest man that will always be told to forget his ego for a minute and realize that he can't replace his ass just because he found a crack in it.
How can we sit so still when its so hard to look passed the last one you loved; so hard to find what you felt in that touch?
How can I go on searching for these days when I'm standing among them?
I've found my way back there.
Rhetorical wisdom will always prove to be a locked door a lost chance and all you'll never see a statement betrayed like your worst enemy.
26 years past my prime as if minutes made a difference.
You can't change a mind lost to the hours held so dear, Like ostriches with head in sand we fear our desires.
Breathe every breath like it wasn't a count-down can't force your way out of a dream purchased with fear.
Track Name: A Weekend Spent Askance
Running in circles is the easiest way to lose track of where you're going or where you've been.
We can scream for sin or for days about what we lose and what we've won, but in the end you're only as good as what you've done.
Forget the phony fuck that thinks with an ass instead of a head; it's a game left for losers in a scene they're already fled.
I can't believe for you, I've already left so much behind.
Eleven years of fists and words to keep the right state of mind, and its easy to lose when you've forgotten the game.
Whether it's sanity or love you've lost it all amounts to the same.
Patchwork existence.
A button martyr matrimony.
Scene screen survival.
An exodus assumed.
Who's got the monopoly on sincerity?
It's the same color with a different face.
Self-selected exiled running in the same old race.
Track Name: Pretty Picture of a Broken Face
What have you become?
Just the prettiest picture of a broken face with a third of the appeal and never worth the chase.
No sense in steering now, the brakes are out and the search for interests or boy meets girl is the counterculture clock ticking out a song that paints the shadow of this world.
The lights are brighter when the game is new, and though I've tried, I wish I could say the same for you.
Don't forget that when you cease to see things the way you want to, it's the least important people that come back to haunt you.
If the past were photographs, I'd tear them all up into shreds.
If our exchange of words was free I'd type another to the wind.
One last wish for one lasting good-bye.
No one here will miss you when you're gone.
Make your selection.
Another one will come along.
Track Name: A Tale For the Ages
Give me back one last chance to drink from the sky.
I'm sick of chasing echoes and fighting a lost cause just to let words fly.
Once there was so much left to what was real but these days I'll never bet my hand on the first thing you feel.
Eight generations passed on one last curse one last chance to shake free one million nights passed losing sense once so easy to see.
Fell short of real.
Stuck in a world, with no ins or outs.
"I've left to many lives behind," she cries.
Stronger words for a fading will when a new language only serves to cut even deeper still, and pennies for your thoughts are simply wasted on chance, and we are twisting through years without looking ahead.
Track Name: Dissertation: 14
The silence we've found always prouder than the voice you lost.
Clawing through words dropped from lips content with a last breath like a heretic.
Finding a dream of salvation; a hint of reality too involved for imagination.
This will be a tribute to the years we've spent building so much nothing, a homage to our hands lost to empty sounds.
The loudest days hiding hopeless eyes; looking for a lifeline but only breaking ties.
We are so many lifetimes away from the one we want to be.
Take your place and play the part.
Wear your make-up like a weapon.
Track Name: In Memory Of Morvern
Look ahead with forward eyes.
And it all stood still for us.
It's either that or run and hide.
So still in fact, that our planted feet coasted back towards a circumstance you'd never fathom.
I've taken my cue, passed through countless masks, spit years of plans and watched them all fall through.
Your eyes like mortar, made of looks that can kill.
Reborn, but not alive.
A want for strength we lacked in former lives.
Put it on. Look away, we look the same.
A calendar has less time then I do.
This was all due to expire in a past life, and funny how it followed me here with all the same voices, cautions, smiles and fears.
I've spread myself to thin again.
I've hollowed out logic looking for explanations and found nothing but my own universe to dwell in again, and I'm not so sure I've goteen any wiser with age.
Track Name: Patience and Prudence
These are new days with old stories so let's wash the same denial in similar patterns, because the emotions have become mere background noise. Please take the apple from your eye.
We're blinded by desire.
Hey, when were you this tall?
Memory serves us not at all.
"To understand me, you'll have to swallow a world."
Or maybe your words.
Either way we're up to no good, rewriting our lives way more than we should, and only loving each other cause we've never been sure that we could.
You can't control our hearts.
You can't console a heart that's impossible to touch and as such I've thrown out regret, yet may have thought about it a little too much.
You find that setting standards is less like revision and more like preparation.
So much like what we've heard and what we've seen.
So far from what we want and what we mean.
Track Name: Frozen By Tragedy
Track Name: Figure Eight
I'll gladly force my hands through hearts on nights like this when I've talked my way out of time and spent my life sleeping on idle threats.
Catch as catch can't.
For a target covers more than a few lost hours and some more small debts.
Forward thinking through bad dreams of worse names and months of entertaining childish games.
Act your age or act alone.
Too many scars to put up with another glass house and toss errant stones.
Leaving one staisfies another.
A key in lock mentality kills another history.
Track Name: Requiescat
A blessed hand to cover the cursed mouth born of faith when tiptoeing around flights of fancy informs sonic acrobatics.
An esoteric words for what never held true;
a complicated rite forcing an answer through.
These are prayers for a sense left for dead or an elegy on the end of a life I once led.
Learning that we inhabit a bedtime story,
prophets whisper to fools.
Footbound and adrift and losing a game for which we've written the rules.
Rip my heart to pieces.
Scatter them all to the wind.
And it's an ironic twist of fate,
this bit of hypocritical fare,
when we're taught to look passed the suitable answers,
watch them dissolve and not even care.
Track Name: Tacoma
I have better memories of you during worse times
days you planned
with your head in your hands
and your feet benath your thighs
I'm sure you'd recall
that stretch of mills wrapped around
rockier peaks
back home where your diary leaks
the names of those you forgot to possess
the wretched figures that youve never sewn to your dress
you are much more
than I'll resign myself to
you are much more
than I'll assign to myself
our hands are wrapped around
tongues youve bit
and its easy to reword failures
that no longer fit
I forgot your name on that very same day
I wrote away the symptoms youd have me betray
and I'll never invest a sick sense in anything this immense
minds that turn pale
from conversations and innuendos you struggle to find
they grow out of themselves on their own
through words we find
pills that are easier lost than swallowed
when we've buried all the roads we had left to follow
over and over and over and over again