LRC歌词
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 from Chandra, The Make*Up and Silk Flowers
The dirty coat congregation comes together
For a shit-talk session that feels like confession
For tallboy 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 first
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, 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 ** dog
And say “Help me. Help me get through this.
I know we can do this, you and me.”
Twenty three years old
On my first tour that really made it out of the neighborhood
Lovesick & Aloha
Twenty eight shows in thirty one days
Three hundred one dollar bills in the band fund
U-Haul trailer dragging uphill
Disposable camera that never left my hand
And every picture I took
Was of a vacant storefront, telephone wires, a cloud
No people
I was searching for meaning in everything
I was chasing some kind of feeling that I couldn’t describe
I couldn’t talk about
I could only reach for.
Seventeen years later I’m still in the same jail
I’m still sending out these cassette tapes in the mail
I’m still dreaming in scenes
Of high fructose corn syrup corner stores
Blunt wrap bodegas and now depanneurs
A 3,000 page manuscript
For a masterclass in colloquialisms of the working poor
I see murders in the vape shop
Yellow tape marks the scene offI got in a car with a stranger
And he drove off the side of a mountainAs 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 fake 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 ****ing nonsense
Nonstop talking
The extraction tax and the added cost
Fully lossless in their rawness
The moldy ceiling and the leaky faucet and that dismissive pause
Before you tell me there’s nothing wrong with this
All these things you say there’s nothing wrong with
There’s something wrong with
Everything you say there’s nothing wrong with
There’s something wrong with.
Three noise acts
Mixer feedback, busted four tracks
Clusters of cables on card tables
iPod DJ standing in the corner
Playing the best tracks from Chandra, The Make*Up and Silk Flowers
The dirty coat congregation comes together
For a shit-talk session that feels like confession
For tallboy 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 first
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, 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 ** dog
And say “Help me. Help me get through this.
I know we can do this, you and me.”
Twenty three years old
On my first tour that really made it out of the neighborhood
Lovesick & Aloha
Twenty eight shows in thirty one days
Three hundred one dollar bills in the band fund
U-Haul trailer dragging uphill
Disposable camera that never left my hand
And every picture I took
Was of a vacant storefront, telephone wires, a cloud
No people
I was searching for meaning in everything
I was chasing some kind of feeling that I couldn’t describe
I couldn’t talk about
I could only reach for.
Seventeen years later I’m still in the same jail
I’m still sending out these cassette tapes in the mail
I’m still dreaming in scenes
Of high fructose corn syrup corner stores
Blunt wrap bodegas and now depanneurs
A 3,000 page manuscript
For a masterclass in colloquialisms of the working poor
I see murders in the vape shop
Yellow tape marks the scene offI got in a car with a stranger
And he drove off the side of a mountainAs 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 fake 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 ****ing nonsense
Nonstop talking
The extraction tax and the added cost
Fully lossless in their rawness
The moldy ceiling and the leaky faucet and that dismissive pause
Before you tell me there’s nothing wrong with this
All these things you say there’s nothing wrong with
There’s something wrong with
Everything you say there’s nothing wrong with
There’s something wrong with.
文本歌词
House show, late DecemberThree noise actsMixer feedback, busted four tracksClusters of cables on card tablesiPod DJ standing in the cornerPlaying the best tracks from Chandra, The Make*Up and Silk FlowersThe dirty coat congregation comes togetherFor a shit-talk session that feels like confessionFor tallboy communionGathered to bemoan the bad yearGathered to bemoan the bad yearGathered to bemoan the bad yearAnd the deep freeze outside Just punctuates how markedly miserable these last months have beenThis year can’t end soon enoughLet the new one inLet the new one in.January firstNo one’s waiting for a shift in erasNo one’s waiting for the anxiety to dissipateBecause we all feel it dailyI feel it mostly when I’m dazed, wandering around at TargetOr at the airportAlways two hours earlyWorried about securityI get the impulse to curl up in the fetal positionLie down next to the ** dogAnd say “Help me. Help me get through this.I know we can do this, you and me.”Twenty three years oldOn my first tour that really made it out of the neighborhoodLovesick & AlohaTwenty eight shows in thirty one daysThree hundred one dollar bills in the band fundU-Haul trailer dragging uphillDisposable camera that never left my handAnd every picture I tookWas of a vacant storefront, telephone wires, a cloudNo peopleI was searching for meaning in everythingI was chasing some kind of feeling that I couldn’t describeI couldn’t talk aboutI could only reach for.Seventeen years later I’m still in the same jailI’m still sending out these cassette tapes in the mailI’m still dreaming in scenesOf high fructose corn syrup corner storesBlunt wrap bodegas and now depanneursA 3,000 page manuscriptFor a masterclass in colloquialisms of the working poorI see murders in the vape shopYellow tape marks the scene offI got in a car with a stranger And he drove off the side of a mountainAs we fell I just saw Emily’s faceAnd I felt my head smash in before I woke upTo piles of the same stuffCrushed cansRecycled psychic life spansPersonal brandsAnd fake love made of Waxy chocolateBags of dog shitBackseat nauseousTaxi vomitBathroom carpetNasty apartment with a mattress in that tiny closetCasket coffinSophomore dramaTakes a grave to make the language softenSmall town toxicSo angry'SO AWESOME!'It’s ****ing nonsenseNonstop talkingThe extraction tax and the added costFully lossless in their rawnessThe moldy ceiling and the leaky faucet and that dismissive pauseBefore you tell me there’s nothing wrong with thisAll these things you say there’s nothing wrong with There’s something wrong withEverything you say there’s nothing wrong withThere’s something wrong with.
