Track By Tracks: Pulpit Vomit - Hospital Lens (2025)
1. Razor Jaw:
This one is about Miles during one of his better days… meaning he was only mildly fractured. He kept returning to memories of an old piano, was it real? And he couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Gideon Fell, or “Razor Jaw,” a fellow inmate who used to be a dental surgeon. Some of the surgeries worked. Others... left a mark. The teeth still talk sometimes.
2. Ghost in the Bedroom Closet:
Childhood terror, grown up into an adult ritual. A ghost lived in Miles’ closet. Not metaphorically. Just... there. Watching with his blanket. It still visits him, especially when the door creaks open too slowly.
3. The Filth:
There’s a voice that calls from the void. A voice unseen, reaching out. Can that voice save us from our filthy souls?
4. No Place in Power:
When Miles tried to speak out, the powerful made sure his voice was labeled as madness. This song reflects that sensation, like trying to shout underwater. Abuse of authority isn’t new. But it always finds a new face.
5. Blank Stares in Fluorescent Lights:
Instrumental. This is the sound of drool violently hitting tiles. The nurses come in with their tiny medication cups. Everyone lines up. Eyes glaze. Lights hum.
6. Skin Collector:
Miles remembers a woman who looked like someone else entirely, and her eyes were voids pretending to reflect stars. She peeled identities like old wallpaper, searching for something.
7. Midnight Nun:
Miles used to see a beautiful nun standing across the street, late at night. Black and white in the moonlight, cigarette smoke curling like incense. She never spoke. Never waved. But she knew he was watching. He wonders if she thinks of him, too.
8. Spewing Vomit from the Pulpit:
Everyone’s preaching something. The poison drips from pulpits of all shapes. And Miles… well, he’s not innocent either.
Hospital Lens isn’t meant to be understood in a traditional sense. It’s meant to be felt, endured, and maybe even survived. It’s a distorted mirror reflecting a fractured soul, and the songs are scattered shards. Some sharp, some strangely beautiful. Miles was raised in a strict Protestant Christian household, where the line between salvation and damnation was razor-thin and ever-shifting. That spiritual scaffolding still haunts him. He prays sometimes, though he’s not sure exactly what is "real" anymore. Whether you hear the voice of Miles or your own thoughts echoing back at you… well, that’s between you and the hallway.
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