Thursday, January 4, 2007

Lyrics to upcoming debut ep: "I lost my promise ring in math class"

I play bass in an avant noise rock conspiracy oft called Spurious Immolation. These are some of my songs or whatever…

Dionysian splendor. We forget much more than we remember. A record collection, I guess. And plenty of booze. I’ll race myself to the bottom of this bottle if you’ll race me to the bottom of the next. One line is much the same as any other. Sleeping isn’t the problem. Work isn’t either. No matter what I say. But I still don’t like you; please don’t talk to me. I’m going to hit on that blonde over there. Be my wingman. Another morning/what just happened last night?

Supposed nihilistic poetry. Stomp out the light. Don’t breathe in the fumes. If Dark Side of the Moon is playing. Fragment (consider revising). Keep correcting me in my carelessness so that I might exalt in my madness. Smile. Doubt. One can never be sure. Unless I’m dreaming or lying. And even then I might not know. Just another something or other to do while listening to music.

Purposefully inaccessible. It started out as a joke or an attempt to gain credibility I didn’t deserve by trying to be something I was not, I mean, I can’t say what I am with any certainty but I don’t think I am one of those self-righteous bastards. Look at me, please, as a middle child I must insist you give me more attention than everybody else even if I don’t deserve it / come watch Dumb and Dumber with me or I wish I had me one of those tuxedoes and just go, man, just go…

Just another drunken gate crasher. Even Peter forgot how to crow. Love is a wailing and desperate lie / crashing upon the rocks breaking into too many shards to count. To fall asleep (perchance to dream / dream of you / dream of you and me together): count backwards from three billion. The pull of emptiness can’t hold you back from … well, everyone’s got something to hold on to even when it’s just a stray clump of grass on the edge of a cliff with no root system to speak of. Hopefully the greatest lie ever told has at least some truth to it. Because if love is bullshit, what’s left?

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