Thanks firstly to the I Surrender family: Rob, Gaby, and Alex, who have taught me a ton this past year and without whom none of this would have happened. Also thanks to Sam Means for tweeting that cover. That helped, too. Thanks to Brett and Gary for making me feel so at home at The Barber Shop and for making this sound so killer. Thanks to mom, dad, and Payton for dealing with the noise for so long. Thanks to Amanda, Ben, Caroline, Kylie, Maddie, Newman, Ohaji, and Saint Calvin for seeing me through this and all the other bad years. Thanks to Grace, Trinity, Stafford, Kiersten, Anna, Tom, Tom, Nicole, Allyssa, and all the other amazing friends I’ve made because of these dumb little songs I write. Finally: thanks to Abby for the songs. I’ll see you all at Oki Dogs.
smokey eyes, are you feeling good? for now, you’re here with me. seems like we’ve waited long enough for someone else to make us feel complete. it’s not a bitter flavor and it’s not a sweeter drink. i’m scared to ask you if you would do the same for me. smokey eyes— that’s your name isn’t it? at least that’s what i call you. when i call you do you shake the way i shake when i call to say i’m through? “no, i shake the way you do at shows so people know you’re cool.. violently but still controlled enough to screw.” so help me make amends with all my friends. most other people are just dead ends. there’s nothing worse than making friends. sticky thighs, are you wild now or just a memory? some people want to be your friend, some people just want to be free, and the worst thing about me is that i’m somewhere in between; i might miss you but i’m still trying to get clean. you’ve had enough to drink, you know you’re drowning in the flavor of cough syrup and vicodin. you’ve got the bitter flavor down so dab the sweeter drink on a napkin, then hold it up to your mouth so you can sleep. quiet lies that you’re telling to those black and screaming skies.. i hope you’re walking around campus contemplating your own smallish size. this is not what all my idols told me college would be like. i hope someday you learn to take your own advice.
Track Name: Banks
milemarker 27 says we’re on the way to heaven and i smile at the passenger seat. forty miles from chicago; there is snow on the windshield and you’re downtown dragging your feet. now i’m circling the block around union central station and there are bullets flying into the car. it’s the same as it’s always been. 200 miles from chicago: there is blood on the windshield and i’m reeling as you gather your things. i said i don’t know what to do anymore as if i knew what to do before. i can fuck up almost anything. i don’t think that i would exactly call it love, but it’s dripping down my consciousness as you’re slipping down my lungs. i want to build you a protest out of sticks and rocks i find in the backyard behind the house you grew up in. “in loving memory of all our nonconformity.” i want to sing you a signal that reaches only the ears of young disenfranchised straight white boys because that would feel normal and none of this does. save it for a rainy day and maybe then you’ll see. i am like the earth, old man, there’s no way around me. but even in my dreams i still don’t know the difference between what it is i want and what it is i need.. i wanna see you be brave. i wanna see you surviving. i wanna see both of us prospering and thriving separately. i want the catharsis of knowing something bad’s about to happen, but also knowing that i can’t do anything about it, because your new house just don’t shine quite like the one you grew up in used to. i wanna come and visit. i wanna see this through, but i never will because you’re just not what i need and i am just not what you want though you’re in everyone i meet and we’ll say fuck the banks but we’ll still use them every day. and when we fight amongst ourselves, the banks will say “okay, have you been spending all your capital on causes you deem just? you keep doing what you can and we’ll keep doing what we must.” so despite what you have learned and songs for which you’d take a bullet, you won’t find objective truth in a final rhyming couplet.