Art Star

by Market

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    debut album Art Star on vinyl. surprise included.

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1.
03:51
2.
02:47
3.
04:05
4.
03:28
5.
02:29
6.
7.
04:54
8.
03:22
9.

credits

released May 30, 2018

All songs composed, performed, produced and mixed by Market.

VerifyYrAge

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all rights reserved

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Market Prague, Czechia

1.6. Vrbno pod Pradědem
13.6. PQ S Praha

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Track Name: Pilgrimage
All high and mighty got smashed on a tennis court,
but stays busy healing certain wounds from a local source.
If that’s where the pain is based and her feelings nest.
Her arms felt like a crib, but she has always been a lot like a spectre,
a ball lightning that slithers in,
spins faster than a top and she’s off again.

Role modeling, try-hards and following the taste,
but after all, I’m the way that I am,
years flew as I was crawling backwards for your attention.
Trough bed times and afternoon brunches and everything,
each schism and particular hate is the reason I’m laughing.

We’re all trade-off’s and promises and the waltz we take is
closer to a mosh pit than a decent ballet,
but I’m convinced, I loved twice to the core,
you share the same with a kid and you’re still not sure?

But in the end I just go for easier of sensations.
Yeah, we all have the faces of lust and soft provocation,
to keep me informed it is a sin to wear the past
like a sweatshirt with holes burned in.

From now on I’m laughing.

I’m always laughing.
Track Name: Typo Valley
Sculptors provide
the sight from the attic
and claim the pride
based on aesthetics
suffocates the soul.

The sphere was the boldest idea this evening.
Always one foot on a fence, yet your life’s hit a ceiling.
It once was concrete what’s ground to start grievin’.
This brain rests in hills, where her life’s hit a ceiling.

Maintain the glass,
the proof I’ve been trough all of this.
Such souvenirs
were painful but honest,
so we kept them for good.

A friend of mine said geese once left yard to see things.
At last crossed the gates, yet your life’s hit a ceiling.
Ancestors dug fox holes you searched in for reasons.
This brain rests in hills, where her life’s hit the ceiling.
Track Name: Son
I crawled for coins and most of all the tricks to perform—now you see me.
Couldn’t wait to see myself go so I apologize—should have praised the kin and rest is gold,
The roots stay bold.

My child’s off to rapture, but where did he go. Where did he go, where did he go, and there he goes—outta amuse by telling news from where did he go. At first too much of a skiver to go, but five years ain’t a fiber.

Stone cold went down the vein and most of all implied there’s blood in marble.
Can live with a hard grip just a beast of pray can live in a zoo, the loose cuffs I abused to hide the feels in a years-long fiber, so still missing half the shit, but I’m always glad to see my brother is passionate.

The roots stay bold.

Will you?

My child’s off to rapture, but where did he go. Where did he go, where did he go, and there he goes—outta amuse by telling news from where did he go. At first too much of a skiver to go, but five years ain’t a fiber.

My child’s off to rapture, but where did he go. Where did he go, where did he go, and there he goes—outta amuse by telling news from where did he go. At first too much of a skiver to go, but five years ain’t a fiber.
Track Name: Fortune
I see my vibe getting cold, they call it often a grief,
what’s my attention went just off for a weekend
and them guts remain silent.
Behold, such a life you live and goals you achieve,
catching up has always been a disease,
so our progress is violent.

I knock on her door with an impressive form
and she’s outta go to bed, but tired and dormant and for me,
she won’t spare her trunk a pillow, next time,
I’ll try to keep my head down and my emotions silent,
the vibes survive.

The boys survive, heard the crashes were enough to call it,
so I spread the focus on the doors I knocked were for me and
no man will approach your hide the same way I did,
I’ll keep my aspirations high, and our next bars violent,
the vibes survive.

The boys survive.
Track Name: Gondola
I can no longer sleep properly. In my bed there’s more than me—nightmare fuel.

Future. Life. Success. Life. Happy ever more.
Track Name: (Brown Sugar)
Repay the sleeplessness with a toast of an ice cold wine.
Endure the silence, for a moment, no precautions, not this time.
The flat to a Shodhan villa, with areca in a minute,
when the light does fine, it folds the covers,
the quilt to a lover with a tolerance for nocturnal thoughts
and the breath in sync with an artery, the stock-still drummer,
daybreaks tend to bathe in drama.
Track Name: Cum Dust
Cherish a talking head with a look of a tormented prophet learned from a book, it’s lost in world and so obsessed with keeping off from what could be the best. Now look at that face of a model, it’s a pointless fraud. Bitches rave to shake their cares away, we laugh ’em off.

To learn the boundaries lay somewhere else than possibilities to learn the culture, I acknowledge everything. In the field of heavy preferences, come tell me what the difference is between the pose and genuine belief in anything. Find the nest—maintain your health—get some rest—save yourself, stay inside, the mob looks fishy, boy, it’s all just finishes and nothing less than dressed to spit the doctrines you’re all padded with, anxiety, it’s scented with recesses as he sentences your life and yet he spends his time on a random bin, mistaking her for a well to toss coins in, church/Berghain, twitches on a medicine to get to the god or back to when he was a freelancer and lit up to hit the dream and now he dreams of being hit with fucking miracle, oh please. Long live who’s told to die a martyr, but hold on, there’s no credit on a corner and his motive’s as dim as it gets when it comes to apparel, rent, family, kids.

Look at that face—of a model.

Praise be the talking head with a look of a tormented prophet learned from a book ’cause it’s always right and it’s both the streets and palaces. Our master, feed them ears who came to hear what’s next, can you guide us through the mall?
Track Name: CBT
Garnish your sautéed air,
telly tray for Wedgwood plate and get full, boy.
Full of pride.
Plaster seal of a man on me

This is a third hella base,
a strobe lights tide, a new riverside
like red wine stains I am stained forever
and didn’t even get to wave hi.
The same inner beef in a different scenery,
kill me with awful lot of talking of the Wonderland articles
I’m here to kill time.

Count to ten ’fore he pokes H-A-T-E to another blank spot,
count again.

Warm new bread—a cure for my stale indifference,
taps—the gloss in my ways.
Yogis in a park seemed to feel, but only strayed
on a hunt for a doobie to blaze
—what a belezza for a warm new grave.
Yet a third hella trade
to avoid the sores from an itchy state.
For every jersey I get a penny,
but the fleas get used to me.

If tired—I’d propose,
to lay me down and overdose
with the ones I adore the most.
Brush the salt of my clothes
and then garnish my sautéed air,
telly tray for Wedgwood plate and get full, boy.
Full of pride.
It’s such a luck my mentor’s passed before I joined her club
of those who had built this.

Plaster seal of a man on me.
Track Name: You're Welcome
Let them be stunned by ostrich’s flight,
let them expose and see this promising creature for what it is,
tho it’s flight was a torture.
There’s art in it’s ways, can see it pulse and god,
it’s four am and your room is pulsin’,
witnessing serpent tales, drowned in a pose of purple and on top of this,
the love’s real kids, call you a villain,
a cunt, they will call you worse, for your tongue is a curse.
Your love is all good.
But your verse is a torture.

Art star, it’s our time and
I’m possessed which I can’t will,
yet you run for me.
Tho there are fields to run for.

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