Songs
Words
Strings Paste Tape
I know I have to put it in my mouth. And I know I have to finish it. I'm pretty sure he's coming over to kill
me. And I'm pretty sure I have nothing to be afraid of -- a line to keep it out; strings, paste tape. Put it in
your mouth. Put something in your mouth. Drown in the saliva that keeps pouring out.
O-lec-tro-cute
O-lec-tro-cute
Bum Tizz
Sitting on wretchedness
Flailing flailing
Flailing
Every Morning I wake up and wonder if New York City's gone
I hope that New York City kills you
I hope that everything you hate about humanity confronts you in New York City
And I envy you
Every morning I wake up and wonder if New York City's gone
Is this the center of the world?
Is this the ideal?
To strive for the top and fall through the cracks in the subways of New York City
Or to fall from the Towers
When the bodies melt, they'll find the snow
If you were to die tonight
Could it kill me
If you were to die tonight
Could it bring me back to life
If you were to rise above
Dead Soliders only lie twice
Just don't feel much like singing
Just don't feel much like anything
So I guess I'll stay off the ground
Frozen shards of entropy
Stop fucking up
Stop following the pretty girl with the dog
Get on the mic
The mic cut out
You smashed its face in
It's about doing nothing and having
everything
Oh! the mediocrity that boredom produces
Info
Released September 2004 by No More Labels. Catalogue #: NML26.