The keys and gloves sleep with spare change in the living room,
The church next door pretends to praise something bigger than you,
A mix of light and dark collide, it’s roughly 12pm,
The worst Sunday affirms all the rest.
Colloquial you starts to think about, the past again.
500 miles a mish-mash of boxes and gifts.
That got you to elicit this, forced circumstance,
But that doesn’t keep you going, no no no.
And hopefully you will change, and hopefully you configure it,
and you now know distance doesn’t serve in exchange for repentance.
The lush chords from these perfect fifths leave reminder notes,
But you to just watch old TV shows in lieu of silencing them.
Raise hell till you can’t lift the weight, on your shoulders,
The face that stares back at you looks like an asshole.
Consistently lagging behind, trying your best just to define what you are.
With an ounce of insult you will make, something better in the next year, with patience you’ll transcend, but for now the fact remains:
All you know is that you’re something else.
All you know is that you’ll won’t be the same.
Just be grateful for that anyway.
supported by 8 fans who also own “Don't Make This Weird”
I have heard many talented Chicago punk bands over the years and your band is a legit punk band! I had to buy all the songs. Very well done fellows!
Perry
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