1. |
||||
|
I kept my prayers to myself because I didn't need your help
Or I just didn't want to tell you how I felt
Until my failing health
And the cancer cells
And the massive welts around my neck from where I tied my belt
Brought me to my knees, struggling to breathe
Begging "Good God, please! Pull the chair out from my feet!"
But this morning I could see the sun come through the trees
And it felt like I was free
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
When I get tired, I get cynical
I start to think that everybody's out to get me
Or to get my
friends, the few of them that I have left
And sometimes, I think they probably should
'Cause when I get angry, I get cyclical
I turn the autopilot on
My words run together and they start to jumble at the ends
And eventually, I forget why I was mad
It circles back
Something in your eyes is biblical
In how I find some comfort there
The way your words can calm my nerves
And make me feel like I deserve salvation
In spite of who I am
'Cause what I did to you was criminal
I should be cornered, gagged and bound
They should tear me limb from limb
Toss me to the lion's den
But you step in, and you fight to clear my name
You said "I've got your back"
"You know I've got your back, love"
If you get tired, I will sit with you
And I will calm your restless legs
Then I'll lay back and make you laugh
We'll forget about the day we've had
And we'll move as little as we can
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
A swinging, swaying raptor sings a short impatient greeting to the field mouse
Temper-tantrum robins talk in circles, taking turns at crying "Fowl!"
So when the disconnected lion, absent-minded, drops his pride into his glass, the party's all a-roarin' and nobody hears his sad, defeated laugh
A sunken, sullen waiter stands insulted at a table full of egos
Who demand that his attention fall on all the little flaws he can't control
So he slinks into the kitchen, growing tired, drops a pill into his mouth
And returns all bright and beaming to the awful people he can't live without
The orphan and the martyr are a certain kind of synonym I guess
In how they both maintain their dignity in some regard when faced with certain death
Be it cause or circumstances, I can admire any man who still wakes up
After everything you've been through and can still find room to foster any love
|
||||
4. |
Waiting for Godot
05:20
|
|||
|
Your bed lays unmade and your mom pulls the shades open to let in some sun
As she leaves the room, her eyes swell like balloons and she asks herself where she went wrong
But it's not her fault, you were doomed from the start and there's nothing that she could've done
Your stepfather dreams of your eyes and his screams when he found you on the bathroom floor
They buried their son fifty years too young, but they still hear him locking his door
Your brother has all his old books you once stole, still dog-eared from where you left off
He has all the lines from a page memorized in that copy of "Waiting for Godot"
With your favorite part, the one you had marked about habit and what it can do
If you had survived, maybe he wouldn't cry when he listened to "Louder than Bombs"
But when he hears "Asleep" he feels nothing but cheated 'cause he never heard all your songs
Your lover still sleeps in your sweatshirt it keeps her from waking up cold every night
It's all she could keep, the one covered in bleach that once almost started a fight
She hated it so and the way you would joke and wear it simply out of spite
She loved you in red and still she loves you in death, but she hates hearing "Your Hand in Mine"
She remembers your laugh and how you looked like your dad, and that sweatshirt now suits you just fine
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
I woke up in an old, abandoned house
All musky and moldy on the outskirts of my town
The floorboards creaked, and the air was cold and stale
And in the parlor I swear I saw where the ghosts would sit and stare at me
Judging me
There was a butler and a mother, and her daughter of seventeen
She looked me dead in the eyes and said "Come see what we've seen."
I felt a chill down my spine, so I turned and made to leave
But then the doorway I swear was just there was nowhere to be seen, just me
It was only me
I guess this is my new home
|
||||
6. |
The Widower
02:36
|
|||
|
Paint me something soft and incomplete
Like a widower on his knees
Or his baby girl, she's fast asleep
The only place she'll hear her mama sing again and again
Write a story with an open end
In calligraphy, use a fountain pen
'Cause I love the way you write, it reflects your life
And I'll fill in the rest, I need to kill some time tonight
|
||||
Great Estates New Jersey
If you like Great Estates, you may also like:
beabadoobee’s 2018 EP “Lice” is on vinyl for the first time—and is exclusively available at Bandcamp.
go to album
Gauzy atmospheric pop on Karaoke Kalk, with heavenly vocals atop a lush bed of electronics.
go to album
A hushed and low-lit EP from this Melbourne musician, where dreamlike melodies drift across a bed of tender guitar.
go to album
Deep soul melodies and elastic funk grooves light up the latest from Sivu.
go to album
Recorded on the Grecian isle of Hydra, this is blissed-out psych pop with stacked falsetto harmonies and luscious arrangements.
go to album
This introspective debut by the Canadian indie artist encourages listeners to look inward.
go to album
Two dozen 12-string acoustic improvisations that feel undeniably haunting, like lost transmissions from ancient Appalachia, rediscovered.
go to album
