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lyrics

Here
Here’s what I see
None of you interest me
You inspire apathy
Late
Lately I’ve thought
How much I bite my tongue
Keep words from anyone
It’s
It’s not just the state
That I find myself in
Revolving door of emotion
Trust
Trust is not kept
When keeping to yourself
When in fear of everyone else

He walks into a basement clutching at his hands, his face, pulling at clothing, tearing of nails, of skin
Eyes unable to direct, bouncing around the room like a cue ball, the give and pull of his malaise
His favorite activities, solitude, disappointing others, and thinking of how he is so broadly schemed against
In-between ritual self-abuse, drinking alone, and pondering heroes he will never amount to be

I’ve been dragged out again
With the best of intentions
Doesn’t matter very much when it feels all the same
Have you tried sleeping?
Have you lived in your dreams?
Have you ever wept at the thought of turning back?
Not a fan of attention
No need for such applause
Shrill sounds or cackling laughs

What a funny joke
What a cunning scheme
That you all have played on me

I
I have no
Such illusions now
I’m just merely counting down
Until
Until it seems
Damage will be minimal
In the absence of variables
I’d hate
To make you wait
I’m preparing as I speak
You’re in for a real treat
A laugh
Cuts through the dark
It’s time for the final act
I implore you all to clap

He walks into a basement, ears drowning in voices, his agitation more palpable than the rest
Amongst such a eccentric crowd, he spies, the punks, the snakes, the craven, and the meek
Introduced to a varied cast of characters, he never seems to remember any of them
He was never such a sucker for continuity, or at least he cannot be considering what is next

When they pull me down
Rope no longer taut
I wonder what expression we will both receive
That eternal grimace
Claw marks on both cheeks
Of little consequence at that point to me
Now here’s the punchline
Bet you’ll guess what it may be
Always hit ‘em with that slapstick comedy

What a funny joke
It’ll truly be
When you find me affixed to the ceiling

It was these hands, these hands
The same hands playing this song
These hands, they cling for life
Under a chair, felt in absence of

You can stop laughing now

credits

from the grackly glare of interference broadcast on every station - why bother having stations? why bother bragging to people that they've reached another dead end?, released January 30, 2024

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Sex, Fear Madison, Wisconsin

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