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I've been living like you're dead. It's not a "fuck you," just a way to protect myself. I know what's in my best interests and you don't, or at least that's the way that you act. I'm not going to wait around; count my days down. With anguished faces and less than ideal places, I'm done, and with you. And, everything that fits that category. Every self-created circumstance and every one of your stories will be lost on me. I won't take back any single word I said. I'm not looking for an apology. No. I'm perfectly fine pretending that you're dead. I'm doing alright; not going under.
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2. |
Whatever You Wanna Do
02:09
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My hands still smell like the soap on your sink. My shirt is still stained from when you covered me in your drink. I accidentally fell asleep on your couch after your roommates all walked out. When I woke up at 2am, you were sleeping next to me. I'm awkward and nervous and quite often shakey, and every next word you say just might break me. But, I'll give it a shot; yeah, I'll pick you up tonight. We can walk down College Avenue. Praise to whatever and whatever you wanna do is fine. We went to a party with no one that we knew. We drowned peaches in gin with a lack of better things to do. Megg and her South African friends told stories with references that we didn't understand. I don't know how we're getting back to Toftrees, the buses stopped running like an hour ago. And I've got no money for a cab because I lost my wallet at the party. I think that dude Sebastian took it right out of my pocket, because I couldn't stop staring at your eye sockets the whole time. Oh my. I'm losing my god damn mind tonight. I can't help but think that I'm doing something wrong. Am I staring way too long? Should I stop holding your hand? These sweaty palms weren't part of the plan. How can I make you understand that I don't give a fucking damn about anything at all right now but making certain I don't fuck this up.
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3. |
I'm Bailing Out
02:18
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You made me regret ever getting out of bed this morning. I should of known when it was pouring, but as with your anger, I'm happily ignoring it. Now that I'm sober I'll turn the pictures over to the department in my head that's tasked with deleting every single trace you left. I'm bailing out. I'm going home. I'll pretend to sleep and lose my phone. I'm bailing out for good this time and I'm bailing out for me. Vast expanses of my brain have put forth resources in vain in an attempt to rationalize the past few years of "you and I." And it seems as though I'll never comprehend why treated you like a friend when you never treated me like I was anything more than a social obligation. I'm bailing out. I'm going home. I'll pretend to sleep and lose my phone. I'm bailing out for good this time and I'm bailing out for me. I'm bailing out. I'm going home. Just pretend I'm dead, yeah, delete my phone. I'm bailing out for good, yeah, once and for all, and all for me.
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4. |
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Hey, friend. I hope I'm not dead to you tomorrow as you pack up your life and head to Chicago. I bet you'll hate the Midwest. It's flat, and happy, and lacking sarcasm. They won't get your jokes from Cleveland to Minneapolis. I'd rather see you leave than get stuck in a rut, but even saying that feels like an olive branch...through the gut. Can 14 years trump 700 miles? Probably not. Can I not take this personally and shoot you a fucking smile? When you come back for holidays all I'll have to say is "Man, it's been awhile." Naive me thought that word was bond. As evidenced by the situation at hand, I was wrong. I'm clearing out the old apartment and now you're gone; away. I'm sitting in "our" empty apartment and you're gone; away; probably forever. Every conversation and inside joke will go up in flame and blow away like smoke. Oh try not to take this too personally, but you can find my goodbye (fuck you) in between my tongue and cheek. I know (you know I won't understand) I won't visit, unless (you explain it to me) I'm out there on business. Naive me thought that word was bond. As evidenced by the situation at hand, I was wrong. I'm clearing out the old apartment and now you're gone; away. I'm sitting in "our" empty apartment and you're gone; away. I know I'm a huge fucking asshole for feeling this way, but still... fuck you.
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Dharma's Initiative Portland, Maine
Portland, ME
"To rip off Edgar Allen Poe I'll quoth your roommate, 'Nevermore.'"
Dharma's Initiative recommends:
Like A Gift From God or Whatever
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Fresh, catchy, and festive. Corny at times, but only in the best way possible. I recently decorated my apartment listening to this on loop.
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Bracing post-hardcore meets festival-ready rock on the Tokyo band's sharp new EP, mixed and mastered by Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight).
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California artist Eichlers feeds classic ska punk rhythms through a glimmering, infectious hyperpop filter.
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We Can Live Here Forever
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Sweetly sincere Midwestern indie rock that balances an intimate approach with moments of big emotion.
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