No, we aren’t ghosts. Even ghosts have a home to haunt. No, we aren’t ghosts. We open doors and we shed our skin. No, we aren’t ghosts. Open your windows and let us in. Still and freezing we can see our breath. Tom told me that the drive was short but the tank is empty. (Cold concrete and basements.) We echo in our haunted words. The strings are fire, the bass is roaring, the beat carries us on. If our bodies weave into the ground that they stand on they cannot fall down. As we slowly push the earth into itself it collapses us and we take photos to remember how great it was to be children or forgotten faces in the backgrounds of your lives. We’ve all been relatives or coworkers. We’ve all been forgiven. As we slowly push the earth into itself, it collapses us and we take photos. The song plays on but the record is cracking. The house is dark, all of the floors are creaking.
Track Name: Mega Steve
We are ageless, holding our breath and waiting. (We connect in separate places) We paint our bodies and we are graceless in our decision making. They’ll hear us through the walls. I’m just trying to make some good decisions. Trying to prove that I am different than the other ones you’ve met. I want to be your best friend. We’re all aware of our own purpose. We all know what makes us nervous. Just hold my hand and be my best friend. We’re dressed in blue & grey. It’s as ordinary as we are anxious. We agree we’re in the same place. We agree that we can’t relate unless we could stay the same age. (We agree we could stay the same age). Remember when you were young and you will be.
Track Name: Bread For Brett
Where do you come from? Do the children break the windows of the houses that no one lives in? Do you have bad days? The trees, the leaves, the late nights. The cold, the dark, the night time. The streets that breathe in our names are shameless places. Fingernails all filled with soil and sorrow. We will break the fence or we will climb it. (New apartment complexes rising). Tear down your billboards and all your street lights. Were standing up on stilts while the ground below is shaking and we can see the skin from our sunburn flake away. And we’d never have bad days. They’d move like months. We’re keeping these years tucked away. Like celebrated zip codes. Like a neighbor with a shortcut through their backyard. Holding onto something whether it be a postcard or a purpose. Where are you, and where have you run to? Why don’t you just come home?
Track Name: Wait...What?
Back roads brake lights light up back home. Calm, cold, or windy nights we still drive. Eyes open wide as space. Slide across the interstate. Missing exits, missing people, recognizing geometric shapes. We always stay out late. I have this theory that waking up in a car means that you’re still dreaming. So if you ever change your mind and decide that it might be worth the drive, then just drive. So we just drive, careless and full of smiles while the radio plays on the way to some basement. We do it for the sentiment. It started as a self-asserted promise. And now the moon hangs low over us as we travel to some new destination. I will be okay. Everything.