1. |
Saw Wood
03:29
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Can’t sleep
Mad streak going on 5 days
Can’t speak
My glory days is turning sideways
Snap in
The day is burning in the west end
What happened?
You must have earned a little nap in
Take what you think, turn it down
Sound is too loud, close your eyes
It’s easy to think just like I
Take what you think, turn it down
Oh it’s too loud
Mid-day, been making minimum with my wage
Midnight been getting treated like a midday
Snap in, you see the p.m. when it happens
Your days are getting burned up in the west end
Take what you think, turn it down
Sound is too loud, close your eyes
It’s easy to think just like I
Take what you think, turn it down
Oh it’s too loud
Take what you think, turn it down
Sound is too loud, close your eyes
It’s easy to think just like I
Take what you think, turn it down
Why don’t you take what you think, turn it down
Sound is too loud, close your eyes
It’s easy to think just like I
Take what you think, turn it down
Oh it’s too loud
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2. |
Preposterous Happenings
04:06
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Healthy handles of deep red wine
No sense of time
Sickly handfuls of shallow yellow glow
Don’t make me go
And I don’t sleep no more
Awoke deep to my core
And I can’t speak like I used to do before
Things I’ve only heard about
Juxtaposition
Works of pure fiction
Don’t boast what they seem to be to me
Coat racks and black smoke stacks don’t care for facts
Fruit snacks wrapped in their packs of tin
Don’t see you sin
And I don’t smoke no more
The police broke my door
And I don’t see folks like I used to do before
Things I’ve only dreamt about
Plastic religions
Carrier pigeons
Don’t boast what they seem to be to me
Things I’ve only heard about
Juxtaposition
Works of pure fiction
Don’t boast what they seem to be to me
Things I’ve only dreamt about
Just a position
Works of pure fiction
Just don’t boast what they seem to be
No they don’t boast what they seem to be
They’ll never boast what they seem to be to me
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3. |
Violet
05:20
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Bright lights in my eyes as I'm spacing
Blue skies move at my command
Answers in the ground where I'm standing
There's a sound understanding
In the palm of my hand
The color of your voice is lost on my memory
Hazy shade of violet rings a bell
All those colors mix together
Until all you see is brown
Oh I'm going down
Green things all mine for the taking
Gold rings and gold buckle shoes
Sad eyes and a white glove for shaking
A promise for breaking
And those fat pocket blues
Big room with the scent of Siberia
Sweet thangs and nowhere to go
All those things they said would cure ya
Don't make them hear ya
Six feet down in a hole
Oh there I go
The color of your voice is lost on my memory
Hazy shade of violet rings a bell
All those colors mix together
Until all you see is brown
I'm going down
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4. |
Questions
06:06
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I can’t keep my composure
As I try hard to find some sense of closure
I haven’t gotten closer
And I find that my time isn’t getting any slower
And now I’m left to wonder
How I fell from the spell you always had me under
And we don’t want to admit it
But the habit has a hold and the kick will take a minute
Pray to whom you swear
Get back to me when you get an answer to that prayer
Oh i need it
Write it down on paper
Play pretend lick the end, and turn it into vapor
Tell it to a stranger
Sell your clothes, you suppose you’ve done yourself a favor
What's there left to savor?
The remnants of a circumstance
A dance of insubordinance
Notice your behavior
Grasping to that habit had become you second nature
Fake it on the phone
Hang up on Saskatchewan and do it on your own
Because you need it
Those questions
Truly
I can’t keep my composure as I try hard to find the right exposure
As I’m getting older I speculate that all that weight will grow upon my shoulder
So now I’m left to wonder how I fell from the spell that you always had me under
And we don’t want to admit
That habit had a hold but you can do it on your own because you need it
Questions
New religion
Truly
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5. |
Hot Fruit
04:26
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Hot fruit don’t want to avoid
Bite-sized little pair of eyes, so overjoyed
I suspect it's delightful; profits for the prophecy
Prophets’ pockets full of profit, cultivating currency
Urgency’s got my heels red-hot
Fasten your ass in like it or not
Funky little color number, sucker for some honeysuckle
Second cousin saying something
Sing it to the seventh uncle
Hits and breaks and jazz and swing
Hotheaded heckler you trusted
The sauna sweats and the basement drips but the bat cave’s busted
Hot fruit, not cute, Absolute
Das great, das good, das boot
Hot fruit, salute Wayne Newton
Cold one, have some
Hot fruit can’t cease to exist
Unruly little rebel with a cast iron fist
I insist on persistence
Keep a safe distance
Holding it up, throwing it down
Townhouse got a couch at the mouth
Gotta crouch just to see what that talk is about
That account must have one astounding amount
A most fortunate order without any doubt with your
Hits and breaks and jazz and swing
Hot headed heckler you trusted
Oh I been there then and chugged my sin there amidst my brethren
Hot fruit, not cute, Absolute
Das great, das good, das boot
Hot fruit, salute Wayne Newton
Cold one, have some
Hot fruit, not cute, oh I forgot it
Das great, das good, das boot
Hot fruit, salute Wayne Newton
Cold one, have some
You best believe we got some hot fruit coming
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Porch Kat Muncie, Indiana
Porch Kat is not a jam band, but a band that jams.
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