1. |
quiet empty head
02:49
|
|||
|
baby turns around in the morning
baby's skipping town with no warning
"miss me more don't miss me back"
letter stapled to my lap
baby digs their head straight through my chest (oh well)
baby says they ain't got no regrets (oh well)
and i wasn't myself man
it's such a long spell man
but nothing else helps so
i know you thought we'd be good to talk
lately i've been thinking we should stop
done some things i wish that we could drop
watch my favorite movie on the couch
colder air keeps me from coming out
quiet empty head gets kinda loud
i feel it in my ribcage
cutting from the inside out
which would explain all of the stomach pain
baby digs their head straight through my chest (oh well)
baby says they ain't got no regrets (oh well)
and i wasn't myself man
it's such a long spell man
but nothing else helps so
|
||||
2. |
it's best
02:59
|
|||
|
i don't want you around
to watch me imploding
emergency evacuations quickly
sing until you cant speak
swollen gums and ground teeth
i watched you sneeze
pulling on the steering wheel
bullet to the way that i feel
watching glass and bone suddenly thrown
onto the shoulder
we'll both be lying down and wishing we were older
but i can't correct
can't fall in line
can't do motions can't synchronize
or follow time
it's best to stay alone
in the house alone
we pulled apart like velcro
i never thought to let go
lost my hands
i held on the best i can
life gets better? i feel a busy death
ending this long sequence of next
and next and next and next and next
but one day we'll be comfortable
comb over what is left
thick-rimmed silent contact
and i'll try to move my hands
but i can't correct
can't fall in line
can't do motions can't synchronize
or follow time
it's best to stay alone
|
||||
3. |
in front of the TV
03:07
|
|||
|
now you're never sober when you go to sleep
a peripheral hating of everything
yeah we thought that we could hide in front of the TV
floating heads they never stopped insisting
that i was the one who was doing it wrong
i'd been buried in corduroy, lining the throngs
of basement grime and sonic detours
away from my psyche and out of the sewers
toward panic, toward suture
of ideas so uncomfortable
and my pre-frontal's love of loathing
manic scriptured text unfolding into
hands so numb can't tell they're holding on
to you
|
||||
zach attack Ypsilanti, Michigan
not a real band
ig: @__zachattack
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