1. |
Only Good
04:27
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there’s a patched-up pane of a bedroom window
coats of paint and masking tape, an overhead lamplight glow
call it a rebuilding year, a defensive stand or a list of wishes disguised as plans
tattooed on the insides of my eyes
through a loss felt deep and limbs left week
a depression-era house sinking sideways into 41st street
find foundation to dig into, cover waxen walls with vibrant hues
get your focus right and let the light in
only good can come of this
and i’m well aware that i should be asleep
i’ve been spinning out on coastal highways and grinding down my teeth
but all the drunken slurs, the freezing rain, the medicine tablets and coffee stains
will fade away as we count down ten to one
we danced to Sam Cooke in the living room
your feet kept time, your eyes met mine, you said “I think I might be leaving soon”
we watched snow fall from a friend’s back porch
while cheap fireworks served as tiny torches to light my way through my 24th
and i’ll come when you call, settle in here
and float through the fall into next year
only good can come of this
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2. |
The Spins
03:17
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seventeen in a parking lot somewhere
really needed no excuse for being out late. really needed to cut my hair
we went from kissing on your carpet with our wine stained teeth
to drinking straight from the faucet, noses running and knees weak
baby, i’ve got the spins again
and i’m pretty fucking sure you’re the cause of them
we turned a formal education into some fucked-up display
of over-qualification and a misplaced disdain
for all the versions of ourselves that we’re learning to be
so don’t look at me like that now. it’ll keep me from sleep.
cause i like how you curse like it’s the first time you used those words
who did you learn them from?
and sometimes you spit when you talk and you’re wise to point out my faults
baby, i’ve got a few
yeah, i know that i do
so don’t look at me like that
and years later, i would
fade out your front door. oh, what was i thinking?
snow drift to slow train. you’re floating. i’m sinking.
imprints i left, balled up in your spare bed sheets
but it’s not what it looks like. marks left from a restless sleep
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3. |
A Thicker Skin
03:12
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middle seats all the way home
unfold your note and read it to myself again
taste of stale pressurized air
“I know you’ll come back, I just wish that I knew when”
crackling intercom refrain
pre-recorded loops of safety warnings play too loud
paraphrase ‘em in my brain
“the door that’s located behind might be the best way out”
so grit your teeth and lace your fingers together
it only happens every so often
and they say that over time it gets better
but people only know what you tell them
I know you’re trying hard to put yourself out there
find a way to be someone you haven’t been
and not retreat to screens and one-word responses
they always said that you could use a thicker skin
they put you in a sterile room with microphones
to pick up on the ways you learned to be alone
but no medical theory could help explain
wildlife in a dying city, growing strong and strange
middle seats all the way home
at least i’ve got a place to go
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4. |
Summer Homes
05:30
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swore off the drink to start off the new year
my skin’s been soaking in solutions brown & clear
now it’s like someone turned the saturation up
and my friends are taking bets on if I can make it through the month
but i’ll do it cause you asked me
and i’ve got calls to make and texts to respond to
half-drafts of messages i can’t seem to push through
i sleep too late and haven’t seen the sun in months
so i’ll turn off my phone, try to just be here for once
so don’t wait up
you know i’ll be coming home just late enough
to catch you as you start to drift while i stay still
but every day is ours to fill and not a thing
could interrupt our summering
“you always fall asleep in towns i’ve never seen
so how could i compete with some unyielding dream?
your faraway communiques all leave me feeling cold
and i can’t relate cause you refuse to share the road
how long exactly do you plan to live like this?
the birthday cards, the inside jokes, the meetings that you’ll miss”
i’m relatively sure that one day i’ll slow down
it’s not forever but it’s what i need for now
so come on and hold me close
cover me in ink and code and smoke
my eyes pixelate, affix to screens
and ties of time rip at the seams
we’re drunk on what we should become
and freezing in our summer homes
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maxwell stern Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Hailing from the post-industrial shores of Cleveland, OH, Maxwell Stern has been writing music and touring since the early 2000s. He has released a slew of LPs and 7"s, and has played shows pretty much everywhere including an abandoned restaurant in Wyoming, a mall in China, several squats in Germany and a pretty nice bookstore in Australia. He is definitely not the person writing this. ... more
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