1. |
||||
|
talking small and talking bread
popping rings and breaking heads
held onto old futures far too long
got no new low, they'll put you underground
you’re so deep, their servants don’t get out
busting amps, solid state of the art plans
let blood run
off the what-was left
like this whole town's just coffee grounds
and secondhand crowns to thieve
play dumb like the red rum
is raspberry blue
snogging salt and talking bread
boxing rings and breaking heads
diluted drip of buckets of used to do lists
cuz this molotov's
on the rocks all right
oh, and if we feel pretty in
with the butts in the bin
hey that’s nice
let’s play dumb like the red rum’s
just raspberry blue
let the blood run
off the what-was left
cuz there’s more than just the ground
and secondhand something and me
and the here and the now
but we’ll just play dumb like the red rum
is anything greater than ourselves
|
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2. |
||||
|
the only tomorrow I’ll bite
is the thumb hitched to some other starsign
take anyone or anything you like
if taking feels wrong
might be taking too long
and if taking feels wrong you've probably been here too long
and if you can't go without your friends
I hope we have enough cupholders and oxygen
you know we’ll bear
and share as we need
I know your cartographer's compass got lost
retraced the planet and you almost fell off
just bring some extra guns and gummy vitamins
take one, take two
don’t take off your shoes
I want the tests and training to stop
but I have to talk to your god
ask anything you want of her
you right your wrongs
i'll take her songs
If she asks for an explanation
tell her you're confused about your constellations
that you're no fly on no one’s wall
if those two are out
then what are we now
if there's one thing i can't figure out for the life of me
it's however wrong it's polite to be
and if it’s barely at all, or just all
is that anyone's fault
is it anyone else?
hope you know the night's gonna be long
as the gist of our infinite wrongs
we’ll pillow talk so the glass won’t break
I can only be
where I see me now
|
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3. |
Crater Greg
13:12
|
|||
|
feed your faults through
the beats of your bastard moon
push currency through the current
like the pull shares my sense of its purpose
lately I'm only left
with counted helmet heads
hoarded chapstick chainmail and chitin
and coordinates and codes that trick me into thinking
we have a first and a second mission
maybe wishing’s inefficient
and we're only different in how we're indifferent
but special isn't in scientific linguistics
my opinions are truly their own dominion
and what’s the point of making friends
when the cosmos just goes to our heads
like gravity isn’t there
or if doesn't apply to them
so we’ll shoot the shit with the stars
in cratered ruts complete with open bar
lifting rockets and rovers on our tabs and more
when the past beaks the present or we’re just bored
now that there’s nothing between us but resentment
at the thought of the other’s sense of direction
we're just our own moons
our neighbors wave and wane
the things that mean the world
are subjects to change
what means the world
well what fucking for
so then who am I, and who are you
we really feel like our feet move
we're more than just extensions of our shoes
do you feel it too?
|
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4. |
||||
|
I wanna know this town
like I knew my friends
iron our own golden sons
so they can just get bent
close my eyes
to say I’m not listening
I want better space and time
pick the petals
and you wonder if
you'll ever have something
better in your eyes
some matadors pull their own pork
I’m proud to be a pan for their sauce
put off the motions til new rotations lose stock
and I’d really like to talk to your boss
want him to mop up mars
And put it on the map
the needle spins revolution
and I climb
and I... and then we come right back
I wanna know this town
like I know your friends
iron a golden rule
until it gets bent
I need another one here or there,
you know, screw it, I don’t care
I’d only waste the space and time
cuz gravity can’t help its residents
if they can barely help themselves
a few states short of a shoreline
eyes burnout at the thought of the view
gravity can’t help its residents
and I’ll crash before I ask for your help
this place stays as flat as you found it
it falls short of everything that’s fallen through
|
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Model Astronauts Cleveland, Ohio
Band from Cleveland, OH.
Members:
Andy (guitar, vocs)
Josh
(bass)
John-Paul (drums)
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www.instagram.com/modelastronauts/
... more
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