1. |
So Few Songs
02:55
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Forming questions in my head: Is this fair? Is it it even? Is it valuable?
These are all fallible.
But when they nerve to come out they're quiet, they're indiscernible — whispered near your ear.
You say I have nothing, I have everything to lose.
So few songs, I'm already done.
I don't like when my cat attacks my face, I don't like artificial grape flavors. I don't like pre-choruses — I think they slow the song down.
Just get right into that shit.
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2. |
Ikea
01:54
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A bee trapped between my window and my screen.
I leave the room I do not want to be seen.
April passed, it was the worst damn month I knew.
Tryna swallow something I could not chew.
Try as I may I cannot improve myself.
All I can do is hope that somebody helps,
sort out the details, the kinks, the bad ideas:
like getting high and lost inside of an Ikea.
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3. |
Hamlet
02:48
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I never look the right age, it bothers me everyday.
Checking my ID — you really twenty-one, sí?
You say I got young genes — red face, embarrass me
I want to be old and gray I want to be old and grey I want to be old and grey I want to want to die.
Old men don't go out at night.
I woke up feeling 1/8 wrong,
skipped class, wrote a song.
Watched some videos,
my baby cousin on the phone.
He picks his tiny self up,
stumbles slightly — it's tough.
Now he's walking on his own, now he's walking on his own, now he's walking on his own, now he's walking slow.
I hope he never knows.
I wait for things to get easier.
The real world bites, it stings, it hurts.
And nothing could prepare me for the way I feel things.
If I re-read Shakespeare I'll find the truth, or bullshit interpretations thru and thru.
Hamlet can't prepare me for the way I feel things.
Feeling disorganized,
I am fearful all the time.
Certainty, I need the known.
Life says you're on your own.
It is capable of mass death
It's capable of love and rest
Art and the holocaust, Art and the holocaust, Art and the holocaust. Which one, which one won?
It's not as clear as you think.
Public opinion's wrong
Fuck the flag, write a song.
Honey-nut cheerios,
taste the milk — drink it slow
Go to be without a plan.
Call your damn congressman.
Tripping on my words again. Tripping on my words again. Tripping on my words again. I'm trash, I'm a garbage can.
At least I'm cleaner than the Klan.
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4. |
Cormac McCarthy
03:03
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So hold. Look into my waiting eyes. I always use that stupid line. I'm scared I'm all out of surprise.
The wheel. I think I'm coming down too quick. McCarthy doesn't do the trick. The Orchard Keeper left now.
He left now, he left now, the Orchard Keeper left now, he left now, he left now.
I will never share my baggage. Never let go, never hand it. Off to someone better than me. One more week.
The mold. I feel it seep into my lungs, this basement is an open gun — hit the brain, continuum. The words. Still Life With Woodpecker — hard to say in front of her, she doesn't give a damn yeah.
A damn yeah, a damn yeah, she doesn't give a dam yea, a damn yeah a damn yeah.
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5. |
Oh You
03:55
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I wake up with my life together. I hope this love lasts forever. Look how stable I am, look how stable I am. There's vomit in the back room, my thought process is confused. My girlfriend just got off the phone — I need a clean place to go.
Banana pancakes do taste awesome. Ellie sings Jack Johnson. I don't prefer his surf pop, but I still hum along. Sunday mornings in this kitchen, I burnt the coffee — shit man. My excuse? I'm lost in your eyes. Your say yeah right.
Needing you, doesn't scare me like it used to.
In my head, your delicate frame stays in bed.
And we will waste the afternoon on Game of Thrones and bad cartoons.
And we will dance the tango soon, yeah we will dance the tango soon.
Oh you.
The exercise I don't miss. You say if I don't I'll die quick. Rock climbing is your favorite, I think it is dangerous. We run I feel my heart press, blood right into my chest, I run and feel a pain, you know, you press ahead and go.
I have too many songs, I cannot organize them. I get tired after writing for fifteen minutes. These verses are disjunctive, I won't comment — I'm an artist. Bring your own baggage, interpretations all I got.
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6. |
Hot-Headed
01:12
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Let your blood boil, and light your soul. Be careful not to scald your skin.
Let your passion be violent. Turn your passion into art. Let your art spill my blood on the floor, where you fell in love, where we opened up, where I slit your throat and honeyed words turned to mead. Vile rot that we deem food, that we may nourish our sin.
Can you feel the heat? Is it moving to your head?
Let it light a fire and burn my skin.
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7. |
François Truffaut
03:54
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I'm so young.
And youth ain't fun.
I know I do not belong.
And teachers don't know,
my soul and its woes,
they don't know how it glows.
So raise some Hell.
Yeah, live it well.
Before that foundry job.
And streets dirty,
but Paris so clean.
She takes me in her arms.
You'll never see that I'm capable.
On the streets I let it go —
I spin quick like the end of a record.
I'll find solace in others,
drink milk from the street — it is my mother yeah.
Zoom into my face so close.
Mother's legs
pinup girls waist.
Where does this energy go?
I do not know.
But a big bright screen,
redemption so clean,
I stare so far away.
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8. |
Up All Night
03:34
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I come home — sad, dismayed.
You're how I face the light of day.
Songs at night, you're with me the whole damn time.
This year has been so kind.
We have our whole lives to learn about time.
And I will read Samuel Beckett, I will understand death.
It's scary and rushing, but it's the next step.
And I need you there by my side.
So open your eyes.
These songs feel morbid and small.
But to you they're the best of all.
I don't need sad songs,
I'll describe thoughts big and small.
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9. |
Favorite Things
03:03
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Shenandoah valley driving
Gel pens on my paper gliding
Keats and coffee in the morning
My bed when the weather's pouring
Cooking while listening to music
Debating movies by Kubrick
First beer after a day on unrest
Watching you get slowly undressed
And I don't know how to appreciate the tiny things
I do not savor, I can't eat one piece at a time
I find that anger motivates me and my pride is shot
I give it all to you, a pile of the blues
The lighter shades go first so the darks don't soak through
Yelp reviews taken out of context
Good art that isn't overly complex
Camping trips for the first five minutes
Then coming home and soaking in it
Vibrant chords that haunt with their tone
Anyone who goes to a movie alone
Watching squirrels jump from my window
Helping someone not feel so low
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Attack Art, Hurt Art Richmond, Virginia
Love songs and existential folk from Richmond, VA.
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