1. |
Friend Seeking Friend
04:16
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I am not old yet, but older still
and makin’ friends is a fight uphill
what replaces shared history
at this age is just a script that’s getting boring to read
every few weeks going out for drinks
Is this as close as we’re ever gonna be?
my best friend getting back from the road
asks me “what’s new?”, man, fuck if I know
don’t make me catch you up
just wanna hang out with you
since when did we need something to say or do?
since when was friendship nothing but a dry review
of separate lives tenuously tied?
well if you wanna know, it’s become a lonely and slow grind
I am not old yet, but old enough
old enough to question what it is that I’ve got
whatever I expected, whatever I’d planned
didn’t think I’d feel as lonely, as lonely as I am
for everyone who my love gave power to shape me
there’s little there to speak of intimacy
maybe it’s the midwest, yeah maybe it’s me
maybe no one’s got the time but to work and to drink
I’m not old yet, but I’m too old
To have no one to make this home
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2. |
If I'm Not Yet
04:01
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I’m not where i am
I’m where something wants to be
in a space what’s unmade waits
kept by silent uttering
as prophecy
and as breath unreleased
i promise for something to be
once my will is mine again
but when it is
i cannot will
on this abyss
so deathly still
but this is not death
it’s stolen breath
a choked nothing
choking me
non being
oh my muse
deliver me
if you’re not true
what will i be?
i wrote my name into a sound
and lost it without ever hearing it out loud
still i expect to be found
and in a torrent i will pour myself out
so the fault is mine
i am here
paralyzed
in existential fear
if i’m not yet, when will i be?
in this world committed to entropy
for you and i, i need to see
life fulfilling like prophecy
potential turned actual
oh my muse, to you i plead
in a breath “let there be”
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3. |
Not A Pretty Smile
05:03
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i like my smile
it’s not pretty, but it’s mine
a little lazy on the left side
from when it was half paralyzed
it’s a story for another day
and if it changed the way i see my face
then my history still feels like empty space
lost to people that i can’t replace
who knows me now?
now that i start to love myself
who knows my mouth is a lake
dried from the stories that i tell?
if a face holds the moment of a landscape
the record known only to those who’ve tracked the change
and when a great rain falls on nowhere
forming new terrain, new valleys for my face
to spread through when i smile
awash in petrichor, all the epochs of before
who’s my witness to know
and smile in return?
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