You tried to steal the stones from a mountain and now it’s all toppling down. You tried to compress the sunset and keep it on a flash drive You tried to condense the oceans and then and you tried to zip the sky And when the ground rose up and said for the love of god relax You boiled its blood to make flaming discs of wax How’s the prick of the knife under your skin? How’s the years of your life in a bottle of gin? We’re outside! We’re outside! How’s the loss of blood stopping your throat? How’s your graveyard money turned to piles of dope? We’re outside! We’re outside! I’ve got a home outside This crowd is drowning in blood red confetti. You’ve got the drugs. You’ve got the money. Make sure you record it at just the right studio and only let the birds sing about it just enough. There’s a certain set of rules and regulations here. Make sure it’s mixed and mastered by the hippest body on the scene. Release the track listing first. Coordinate your release announcements just right. Include a picture of a tree or a bird or any of the following nostalgic objects from your childhood: bedroom furniture, pools, Halloween costumes, and/or grainy polaroids of the back of your head as you wander into the woods behind your parents house. If any asks you for help, kick some fucking dirt in their face and tell them you worked too hard and they if you can do it then they can do it too. If any of the fans ask you a question please be sure to publicly humiliate them as much as possible and when they call you out don’t back down ‘cause you’re a god damn rockstar baby. Sell it for 15 dollars. Press a digital recording onto vinyl and splatter your blood across it. Show up late to every show because important stars like don’t have the time. Don’t watch anyone else. Be sure to learn as little as possible. While traveling be sure to only post pictures of your band at fast food restaurants because the fans love to feel like they’re one of you.Now sell it for 30 dollars. A t shirt with nothing but your name in a serif font. Play 21+ shows. Sign to whatever label peddles the most sexist pop star of the day. Sell it for 45 dollars. Put your name on whatever you can convince the kids to buy. Take the whole world in the palm of your hand and smash into tiny pieces. Is that the steel plate sunset? Is that the lathe cut ocean? Is that the quarter inch meadow? Fly me straight into the carcinogenic horizon

I had a hard time finding myself tonight The sky is all bone chalky white I had a hard time finding myself tonight The sky is all bone chalky white There’s a cable that we left writhing on the floor And I lost all my words when she kissed me at the door: All that you can find of me is my shoe’s tread dried up in the mud From a bright white night that was just dripping in love Afterwards I stood there on the shore just waiting to be saved So you can dig me a grave Tonight I had a hard time finding you The sky is all heroin needle blue And there’s an endless loop of a memory splitting my mind I don’t know where my dreams ran off to I won the auction at the debutante ball She looks so fine in her spider-web shawl And then she laid down on her back and we got ready to pray So please just dig me a grave Am I lost in a window? Am I lost in a screen? Dig me a grave: Take all the things I can’t handle about me My gender and my skin and my sexuality Cover it up with dirt until it’s out of sight The sky is all bone chalky white. Dig me a grave.

If you cannot find everything that you need inside of this Then meet me at the blacktop ball for suicide in pianostrings Like trees without bark. Like songs we cannot sing. These halls are inaccessible. These birds have lost theirwings. If you cannot find everything that you want inside this act: I feel more dead than alive I wander pitch black hallways in search of a light But all I can find is I can’t escape the night Sickened birth. Sickened thirst. Pure like dying. They can have the stage but rest assured I’m not watching I want to pull the plug Sing me out of here “I heard the news today…” oh boy… A pack of notes grew wings and then they flew away These strangled trees are singing death harmony These strangled trees are singing death harmony Oh my god I’m so in love with every open palmed obscurity Let’s sing every one of them with paving stones Tonal façade. Aural faux pas. Burn it.