The Death Drive

by Haldol

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First record!


released December 27, 2012

Geoff Smith- guitar, bass, vocals
Trey Stallings- drums, vocals



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: Literal Opiates of the Masses
He sinks back
While the substance reassures
New reality
For the day he must endure.

A chance to be distracted from the routine,
From life. Struggle is only obscene.

And missing a fundamental element,
Banality comes in place of struggle.
Track Name: Conversations with Holy Men
I spoke with a priest about the holes in his hands
Which he had gotten from prayer.
And how his holiness bleeds on everything he touches
Leaving his blessed in terror.
He longs to understand humanity in his holy castle,
Diligent in praise;
Fortified from the world, receiving horrifying wounds
That disturbs his congregation's gaze.

So many holy men take numerous paths
To hide from their species;
Maybe God is hiding, too, in cathedrals or mountains
To only exist in mystery,
Pondering human condition far from humanity
In microscopic studying,
Stepping back so far, human life becomes like an impressionist painting;

Life Father, like son.
Track Name: Life and Death-Worshippers
The choice between freedom and shackles
Is not always clear―
Especially when the choice is
More what we do with what is given;

An infant never chooses its hospital―
Much less a foul apartment or a mansion.
He can only gauge the tension.

I cannot say what or who
Threw me into life;
I have little time for God― or whoever
To understand a trifle.
Algebra brought us the elements
To find the indeterminate x,
Oblivious― life has no path,
That gives us any result to expect.

So the death-worshippers shoot arrows in the sky
Or look for the god in their minds― I'll move along as life goes by.
Track Name: Killing
I held onto that feeling, so tight
That I cut off its breathing― cut off its life;
Terrified by my action, gently placing it down―
Hoping that it'll move again and resonate sound.

Like the frog I almost killed as a child,
I stand back in anticipation:
For signs of life― for signs of breathing― for signs of movement.
Relief comes with its escape
But I know that death is near,
Waiting to hold― to consume, quietly thankful.
Track Name: Vanishing Mediator
To be of use
Is what I'm worth—
An honest attempt
To maintain her affection;
Dog so willing to please,
I'll make our bed
So full of comfort
To fit another's satisfaction.

If you were God I could be your Abraxas to bridge you with your Devil,
And my hysteria will make you well— a Purgatory for your Hell,
With your newfound strength you will be prepared—
Abandon this location; strip it bare.

A transition for your deadlock.

Martyrdom without the stench of death:
A spectre won't rot in your bed,
I'll become an abstraction
And hold you by proxy.
Track Name: Idiot
The "idiot" finds herself as entertainment
And keeps her words under containment,
While her audience indulges in simplicity―
Her words are beyond their capacity;
Ignorance often begets confidence
And intelligent people receive condescension,
Frivolous friends leave her to sensation;
Subject to ridicule and elation.

They never disappear,
And they regurgitate her ideas;

After the laughter subsides, she could laugh in their faces
Knowing that they will repeat her.
Track Name: Morning Sun
Primitive urges of passion deprive us of control,
In the ecstatic moments we ignore what they stole;
The light caught your skin— it made my image whole.

Cigarette smoke met the rays from the windows as you exhaled.
The morning sun left our skin overexposed and pale.

You closed the blinds to ignore the threats
That the sun made to burn the bed.

Bathed in each other's sweat as the newborn darkness drew shadows
Upon your body— the sun could not share— it could not know.

You closed the blinds to ignore the threats
That the sun made to burn the bed.
Track Name: Boredom on All Fronts
Among bourgeois and alternates—
The boredom tinges all lifestyle incarnates,
Rebellion without substance—
Replace repression with angry ignorance;

Long live Liberty! Long live drunkeness!
Help me out of this subcultural blindness.

Books collected dust while slogans wore out their voices
And printed themselves on stickers and shirts— and made themselves foundations,
A sneer for the intellectual while the finger on the trigger's too tight,
For "revolutionary elite" and sardonic celebrations;

Embrace the anger— ignore education.
Revolution not bohemian evasion.
Track Name: A Room in Siberia
The pale blue screen shone against your body
As you ached— you groaned in the sensation,
For pain and fear, engulfed in desperation.

I'll stay near so you feel the warmth
And not freeze to death.
Track Name: A Spectre Haunts the Americas
Contradictions and crisis bring us to reevalutate
That the "end of history" never really came;
Tied to a wheel that takes us underwater,
Prosperity always falls to depression and our bodies are restrained.

Never leave the instinct of survival— gain with misperception,
Never take heed to evolution— society run on improper distribution,
But there is an option:

Means of production to those who produce,
Flourish in social relations— humans won't be reduced;
The spectre's hand caresses the streets
And the powers that be refuse to sleep.
Track Name: The Real Apocalypse
Before the sun could die,
Or the Earth drown in tide—

People worship what they fear when history's in a graveyard,
And make worthless idols out of its shards.

The vague image misrepresented
By postmodern kids on the sidewalk,
An era that they misunderstood—
Empty gestures: a city without thought;

And while disgruntled youth dream
Of sticking flowers down gun barrels,
Or sniffing glue in tattered jackets,
They attempt to revolutionize an apparition— its errors
Of our advanced system works as an eraser:
Leaving the past in small, black shavings— eliminating clarity,
Our identities abandoned to romantic notions
Of what sounds good, despite all parody.

And their time slips by
While they enjoy "the power of now".