1. |
Lake Michigan
03:42
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I could look north to the wasteland
or east to the lake.
It’s in my hands.
But I’ve botched easier things before.
I could still be at the Sugar Maple
alone; the everlasting wait.
Still could be clenching tight grip on a terminal, exhausting fate,
but something keeps my eyes locked
on the waves.
So I’m safe for now.
Even if it’s just one moment,
I can crack a smile goddammit.
Get my sight trained on something brighter than the darkness.
I’d gone ahead and stuck my hand down the devil’s jaw and built a house up with what my fingers found.
Settled in, tuned out, hung my pride upon the walls, and all but ignored the foundation’s flaws.
I felt alright til it hit me: I didn’t know what that meant.
I felt alright til I didn’t.
I didn’t want to live here anymore.
Let’s burn that fucker down and build it up on better ground.
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2. |
The Hospital
02:45
|
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Every year it’s a tap dance.
Toes pitter to the shifting blanket of sun.
This one clumsier than the last,
to the clinking glass of the eternal frozen.
Found defense I could hang my hat on
and a partner to share in the offense.
Found neither would satiate or abate
that hunger coming from my quaking chest.
It’d been a shit winter.
Felt warm as hell when I gave up hope.
I never thought it’d get better.
Thought I might as well die during my shit winter.
Another two months of rising to occasions.
Tripping over these imaginary cracks.
It’d been fine in the summer when I had it all together,
but thinking can be tricky when your brain’s set to “fucked”.
To sleep and never dream.
To wake and want to be sleeping.
To know the devil by name but still respond to his calling.
It’d been a shit winter.
It didn’t last forever; just waiting to surrender.
Think I’m starting to get better.
Think I’m finally getting over.
I’m feeling a bit warmer.
I’m still scared to death of that winter.
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3. |
Mound St.
04:18
|
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Paychecks to loans,
road dreams and pluck
don’t add up to a man,
but a kid, self-stuck.
We arranged a meeting spot,
walked the blocks near my house.
We traded tired, raised eyebrows
and started it off.
I’d spent a few years
treading water in stagnant pools.
You asked me where my head
had wandered off to.
“I’ve been lost.”
You trailed warmth and good health,
but stones built up around themselves.
I thought, “If these are the best days
of our lives, then we are fucked.”
I am fucked.
Stumbled my way home,
an earthquake took the block,
dogged by hypotheticals.
Oh, to chase and never stop.
On Mound Street,
I let my losses pile up.
Refused to claim stake in the rubble
and the sum of the stories
I told you and to myself:
that I’m alright and getting by.
So I coasted on hope
or the concept of having it.
Got myself dry as a bone
til mine were cracking,
but I couldn’t help but sink
into quicksand and pits.
A morass of “faultless” debt
I could never hope to pay back.
You knocked down your stones,
I tried to face my machinations.
Put plans in wet cement
we’ll spend all our lives changing.
On Mound Street,
we cleared our losses out.
I conceded my stake in the rubble
and the truth is the troubles
were stories I told myself.
Cause I’m alright and getting by.
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4. |
Wind Lake
02:37
|
|||
The week before.
A great escape from the driftless,
I made up my mind to do something
about the ceaseless panic.
It wasn’t you.
It wasn’t you or your absence.
It wasn’t this place,
but a stop-gap for my thought process.
Oh, those days we shared a bed.
We made an honest go at it,
but couldn’t place exactly what it meant without a shared context.
I’d turned my nose up at the locals, content on the lake,
and still I’m searching for a home.
There’s grace and aplomb in settling,
but not for us.
There’s safety in midwestern living,
but there’s also rot.
We nearly burned that fucker down,
and though it stood on frozen ground,
it took me. It took my resolve.
And I’m still searching for a home,
or at least somewhere else to go.
Another adventure. Another relapse.
Another goal.
And I’m still searching for a home,
or at least somewhere else to go.
We packed all our boxes, traded our blessings, and made for the road.
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5. |
King's Cross
01:45
|
|||
When I run away,
I run straight back to those days.
But I was barren, so afraid
that this city would swallow me.
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6. |
Washington
03:37
|
|||
Stitch slit apart as the sun sank
and our axis bent.
I never gave much worth to words
til they were spoken and spent.
Now they’re just fashioned out of pen
and I will be alone with them
as if they’d validate or heal.
I’d cracked the code and stamped it down.
I’d lit a match and snuffed it out.
We plow the snow, but all will melt.
Spin the blade of progress on
to salt the ice, but slip again
and grin against the blinding sun.
The push and pull of all our dreams against reality.
The dead-end weight of certainty
that all of this will end at our hands.
So let’s just make it through this winter; hold tight the sharp and jagged splinters.
We’ll pretend all of this is fine.
Apart we cracked against the wind,
but we can bind ourselves again,
if only we could hold it together
for one more month and hold out for sun, we’ll come alive and all of this will end at our hands.
Let’s just make it through this winter.
Toss off the sharp and jagged splinters.
No matter. All of this is fine.
So let’s just make it through this winter.
So let’s just make it through this.
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7. |
Hometown
03:29
|
|||
Always remember how you felt
at this moment, in this place.
Alone and inconsolable
in the house that you grew up in.
Always remember how you felt.
You stood in the yard with the dog
when it hit you.
Strung out. Catharsis with the shakes.
How you were born with a right to complain about your very own mistakes.
How you never second-guessed
this space to rest or forgiveness.
Sang loud those sad bastard songs, spiteful in their intent.
Always remember how you felt at this moment in this place.
Alone and inconsolable
in the house that you grew up in.
Always remember how you felt.
You wanted to burn that fucker down.
Erase twenty years on solid ground
you’d squandered and rendered fruitless.
Made a mess of the order in it.
Wanted to press mute on every sound
that came from your mouth
in your hometown.
Start anew with convictions.
Build resolve out of its ashes.
Always remember how you felt.
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8. |
South Milwaukee
01:23
|
|||
Overworked and underfed,
in need of rest,
I drove the twenty minutes
to South Milwaukee instead,
to you and your shitty friend.
Towards a beacon of light
in an otherwise meaningless night.
I felt a swell of pride.
“I’ll not isolate,
no, not this time”.
Selfish, I expected too much
of your company,
That just one night would help me.
It didn’t help me at all.
You and your best friend talking
My toes, mindlessly tapping.
I just want to be home.
I just want to be whole.
And when I woke up,
still stuck,
I drove home alone.
|
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9. |
Bedroom
03:50
|
|||
Still exhausted from the work,
from last night at yours.
Shaped excuses to stay indoors,
avoid old friends,
and the first floor.
Perhaps it’s sorrow or flowers
or underpaid hours
that made talking become a chore.
I used to wish for a wife
or settle for a night,
but I doubt I want either anymore.
I’ll just stay closed in,
tuned out for now.
I’ll just pretend I’m out.
Me and these ghosts, still talking
until I'm finally sleeping.
I just want to stay home,
stay in my bedroom alone.
Me and these ghosts, still talking
until I’m finally sleeping.
I just want to be whole.
Only to wake up still stuck in this role.
And I’ll repeat the cycle
and feign denial,
but know the truth:
that a shitty year
spent collapsing in fear
was never a valid excuse.
But the itch still exists
and it’s easier to scratch
than pay the dues.
(Easier) to collapse and retreat
in utter defeat in the safety of my room.
|
||||
10. |
Your Bedroom
03:28
|
|||
You’re no ghost, you’re a warmth.
A ringing in the ears. A reminder.
Stay in motion now.
Make the movement matter.
And this will freeze and crack,
Thawed only by the embers.
You’re twenty seven forever.
Twenty seven forever.
Always haunted by spirits.
Imbibed or abstract,
they’re still nipping at the heels.
Always hearing a step or two
come from your room;
the echo of a tomb.
To laugh at a joke you might crack
and to ask “have you heard this track?”
Oh what’s the use of this despondency?
There’s no doubt that you’d want us to be-
Dancing, sweating in some dive,
Singing along, fists raised high.
Not wasting so much goddamn time.
Dancing, sweating in some dive
Singing along, fists raised high.
It doesn’t feel right.
By the back door,
your old pair of blue Tiger shoes
we didn’t throw out,
as if after a day or two
like Lazarus you’d come from your room.
We’d get a sandwich at Lulu’s.
God, I’d do whatever you want to.
I’d get clean.
I’d sing loud.
Just come on out.
You’re no ghost, you’re a warmth.
A ringing in the ears. A reminder:
Stay in motion now.
Make the movement matter.
And it still fucking hurts
It’ll never be alright,
but we still got your embers.
Twenty seven forever.
|
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11. |
Everywhere
04:29
|
|||
A mind is the fulcrum,
the heart of these problems.
And leaving this place
ain’t going to solve them.
I want to take back this city
from dead memories, take back my body.
Call off the funeral procession
for all these loves that built me.
Level the pace of my labors
to appease the economy of time.
To slow down the time.
To sit still and just sink
into the seat for a moment.
Pull down from the clouds
my internal Icarus
and pause to stop these bullshit talks,
those catalysts of indifference.
now it feels different.
Those years searching
for something greater than these homes.
Well, I found it.
Found it in my bones.
Everywhere I have gone
now belongs to the ether.
Just let it stay out there.
Everything I have done is now done
and I’m building, forever.
Ran circles in finding
the heart of these problems
Just to stay in one place.
Work each day to solve them.
Those years searching for something
greater than these homes
Well, I found it.
Found it in my bones.
We were searching for
a place to call home.
And it’s here.
It’s right now.
It’s everywhere that we go.
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