1. |
winterized
02:12
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surviving the winter in other beds,
and burning myself out of my own head.
sweating through layers, frantic calls to friends,
wake up and promise, I won't do that again.
cracking on New Year's and Valentine's.
breaking down every Sunday night.
sleep through the whole year and waste my life,
wake up and repeat, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine."
do they hear the shake in my voice?
do they know this was never a choice -
the way I've been, the way I am?
in this pale green sweatshirt, my olive drab.
it was my only safety net when everything collapsed.
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2. |
plain black suit
02:07
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I don't have the tools
to say goodbye to you
don't have the stories and photos for proof
or a plain black suit
so please don't die yet
wait for my next paycheck
just turn on the football game
turn on the nascar race
ignore the shaking in his hands
ignore the blank stare on his face
when I get time soon
I'll come home and sit with you
even our well-kept 1950s lawns don't mean nothing is wrong
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3. |
painter's tape
02:55
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|
keep a blue stripe for my blue eyes.
like some painter's tape, please stay in my lines.
and my own strife, a black hair tie
tied around my wrist, keeps me out of my sight
and I ate shit on the pavement
after a night I thought was well spent.
so meet me in the gallery,
because my sore eyes are a sight to see.
and you're probably not ignoring this, you're probably just asleep,
but I just wanted to call and tell you that it meant everything to me.
and I know that it's not healthy using people as a crutch,
but there will always be those days when I need some help standing up.
the same goes for building shelters out of someone's skin and bones.
I know that people are not made of doors and windows, but mine don't seem to close
and maybe you're still stealing glances while I'm staring at the ground,
and we're both still searching pockets in coat checks and lost and founds.
and I'll carry this torch until I burn my house down.
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4. |
rebuilding year
03:08
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I'm warming my hands, dragging them across
everything bent broken and lost.
I'm clearing my throat, choking on exhaust
and "the first stuff I ever bought."
You and me were wrecking balls around here.
Tried to build it back up, but it's taking all damn year.
I could be alone with you, or I could be alone alone,
but either way I will be spending almost every night at home.
Are you fading out? Are you fading away?
Stop fading out. Stop fading away.
I know some people live and die in New York City hotel bathrooms,
over dosed on drugs and dreams.
But I could live and die with you inside this New York City hotel room,
wrapped in sheets and secrecy and sleep.
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5. |
business as usual
04:03
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we're sitting in - cold drinks, cold conversation.
a news highlight barely heard over a sports station.
while they're sitting in - new signs, old conversations.
they hold their hands up, bringing traffic to a stand-still.
I've got my hands up signaling for the bill.
and it's not getting better, though we're told it is.
headlines made out of the heads of innocent kids.
we're keeping score. the good deeds that we've done, the loose change at the store.
a pint of blood versus the pint at the bar.
they're keeping score. the number dead versus the number held accountable for the crimes committed but the rules are always changing
a game we win even when we're not playing.
and it's not getting better, just open your eyes
open investigations, a situation doomed to repeat to no one's surprise.
and it's not getting better. we didn't leave it behind.
the same horrors every day, but we're used to this kind.
and I'll sit in this bar or I'll sit on your couch,
and I'll sit on my hands with my foot in my mouth,
with nothing to say to the parents whose kids get gunned down.
we're sitting in, but we're trying to quit.
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Patches and Pins Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Patches and Pins
isn't quite a band.
yells things in
rooms.
thank you for listening.
photo by Rob Mentzer
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