Lyrics

House show, late December Three noise acts Mixer feedback Busted four tracks Clusters of cables on card tables IPod DJ standing in the corner Playing the best tracks Chandra, The Make Up, and Silk Flowers The dirty coat congregation comes together For a short talk session that feels like confession For tall-boy communion Gathered to bemoan the bad year Gathered to bemoan the bad year Gathered to bemoan the bad year And the deep freeze outside just punctuates how markedly miserable These last months have been This year can't end soon enough Let the new one in Let the new one in January 1st No one's waiting for a shift in eras No one's waiting for the anxiety to dissipate Because we all feel it daily I feel it mostly when I'm dazed and wandering around at Target Or at the airport Always two hours early Worried about security I get the impulse to curl up in the fetal position Lie down next to the drug dog And say, "Help me, help me get through this I know we can do this, you and me" 23 years old On my first tour that really made it out of the neighborhood Lovesick and aloha 28 shows in 31 days Three hundred one dollar bills in the band fund U-Haul trailer dragging up hill Disposable camera that never left my hand And every picture I took Was a vacant storefront Telephone wires, a cloud, no people I was searching for meaning in everything I was chasing some kind of feeling I couldn't describe I couldn't talk about I could only reach for Seventeen years later, I'm still in the same jail Sending out these cassette tapes in the mail Still dreaming in scenes Of high fructose corn syrup corner stores Blunt wrap bodegas and now [?] A 3,000 page manuscript For a master class In colloquialisms of the working poor I see murders in the vape shop Yellow tape marks the scene off I got in a car with a stranger and he drove off the side of a mountain As we fell I just saw Emily's face And I felt my head smash in Before I woke up To piles of the same stuff Crushed cans Recycled psychic life spans Personal brands And fate love, made of Waxy chocolate Bags of dog shit Backseat nauseous Taxi vomit Bathroom carpet Nasty apartment With a mattress In that tiny closet Casket coffin Sophomore drama Takes a grave to make the language soften Small town. Toxic So angry, so awesome It's fucking nonsense Non-stop talking The extraction tax And the added cost Fully lossless in the rawness The moldy ceiling and the leaky faucet And that dismissive pause Before you tell me there's nothing wrong with this All those things you say there's nothing wrong with There's something wrong with All those things you say there's nothing wrong with There's something wrong with Everything you say there's nothing wrong with Something...