Exhumed Songs EP

by Haldol

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Recorded in August 2012 in Nashville, TN, before Geoff relocated to Philadelphia, PA.

Still to be released on a tangible copy.

Artwork by Geoff Smith


released April 30, 2014

Sean Flint: Bass, vocals
Geoff Smith- Guitar, vocals
Trey Stallings- Drums

Recorded by Shibby Poole at Cirith Ungol
Mastered by Mike Walls



all rights reserved


Haldol Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

AUG. 5-20th 2017
8/8- Denver
8/12-San Antonio

Current members:
Aaron M- drums
Geoff S- guitar, vocals
Tiff C- bass

Past members:
Matt Martin
Joey Cantrell
Ryan Saito
Trey Stallings
Sean Flint
... more


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Track Name: Façade
He prays to God with fervent hands
To quickly quell his passion for a man,
He comes home to his wife with invented desire;
Their fake climax pleases God― enough friction causes fire.

Too ashamed to tell her of his temptation;
She confides in a priest of her suspicion;
Jesus did not steer him from the Y chromosome
In that camp at fifteen― heterosexuality was not on loan.

His church and family demanded him to pray himself away
Into oblivion, to become a vehicle for nonsense,
And a fictitious god couldn't offer a reason
To harms of homosexuality and why to take offense.
Track Name: Symptoms in Democracy
What I "freely" give is not so voluntary―
A revelation to the shortcomings of democracy.
Our democratic means have brought plutocratic ends
Under the weight of the capitalist, our freedom bends.

The fragile glass of democracy shatters at the hammers of self-interest,
Left to itself freedom is under duress.

Using seizure as a safeguard to defend revolution;
A spark has to birth a flame or meet annihilation.
Like a naive child's attraction to strangers,
No protection from predators brings danger.
Capitalist democracy means nothing to the worker―
Here, freedom has a price by those that live in comfort.

Capitalism suffers constant revolutions― to maintain balance,
Adjusting itself out of Death's gripping,
And as it lies, licking wounds it acquires,
Everyone around is bitten.
Track Name: Anne
In a sweating bed, they both turn over to avoid conversation,
This passion does not take long before it meets frustration,
He only knows her as a figure for amusement:
A pair of breasts; he summons up the elements for resentment.

As her youth dies in the fields,
Strong, young hands to serve and yield.

Yet, she wants him and hates it; he's just a stranger that kept to himself,
Not minding her needs, and her desire does not linger;
She only knew him for what's between his legs
He offered nothing further; she becomes a factory to a legacy,

Their child will know these fields
And nothing of his father.
Track Name: Invisible Man
Words equipped for empowerment by bourgeois bedfellows
Lose ears― the city shuts their doors and windows;
Decadence shields eyes from those that they watch over,
An eagle's prey in a field without cover.
Dining with mad men: drunk with their tales,
They forgot their names as they sipped on wild ales.
The world that they see is now void―
Within the armchair, reality's easy to avoid.

Life's an illusion to those who do not live,
Absconding from human pressure;
As the bourgeois bohemians hide behind lifestyles,
Oppression and exploitation still endure.
Track Name: Desire as a Target
You told me that eliminating desire brings wisdom
Or happiness; I could transcend immorality,
By a narrow concept of longing;
Transcendence translates to lobotomy.

To yearn for nothing amidst exploitation
Allows contradictions that kill.
Causation to complacency,
Desire does not mean avarice.
Exalted laziness―
Short-sighted emotion on a concept warrants destruction nonetheless.

No chance for disappointment.
No chance for enjoyment.
No chance for change.
No chance for purpose.
No chance for identity.
Control your life!
Track Name: Hands
Bony brutish bastard hands
Wrinkled withered weakling hands
Frozen fragile fallow hands
Ugly fucked arthritic hands
Hands that hold nothing
Hands that make nothing
Hands that break nothing
And create nothing

Take these offensive hands
Cast them in the fire
All our limbs
Kindle the world's funeral pyre

Idle hands keep jerking off these demons
Unclean hands awash in demon semen