(We Rise/Stop This Coffin, 2009)
Dead Uncles:
1. City of Village Idiots
2. Eating Peanut Butter Alone
3. Mediocrity: It's What's For Dinner
4. Song For 384
Dylan Bredeau:
1. So We Beat On...
2. Mars Is Farther Away, And So Are We
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City of Village Idiots - Stepped out to beginning of day. All these streets must be connected. This silence is my self-defense. Hands in my pockets, it doesn't look good from here. Remember we used to smell the rain before it came. Now its weeds in parking lots, too empty a place to play. This place is turning into everywhere else so I'll just talk to myself, sigh up another excuse and think about how cold it is today. Everyone's busy with stuff not to think about, wishing and hoping things aren't what they seem. They're paving over the past to build a new one, call it progress and everyone agrees. Well I can see right through this place, not that there's much to see anyways. I can see right through this place, not that there's anything new.
Eating Peanut Butter Alone - As we've grown older, so have the creatures under our beds. I know them well by now, dependence, pessimism, regret. And as we've grown up, so have the creatures in our closets. They crawl into our dreams and some will do anything to stop it. I don't know where those creeps hide anymore, 'cause I don't have a closet and my bed's a mattress on the floor. I got this feeling that they're closer than I think. Sometimes I see them when I blink out of the corner of my eye and they look more like friends I've known than vultures picking the good thoughts from the bone. I'm not gonna crucify myself for this world's stupid sins. I no longer feel like I am waiting to begin. We can't shut out the doubt, just like we can't lock the front door to our house.
Mediocrity: It's What's For Dinner - I'm flipping through books and magazines, fresh from my latest defeat. I've got a few questions left. Should culture be just like high school; accolades for playing by the rules? Is it all in vain? Do we really need them? I know there's an ounce of hope and idealism buried somewhere inside, so until the day that I puke it up or choke on it, this life will suffice.
Song For 384 - Sometimes I question if we're watching the same world, in back seats of cars feeling we're small. What is there to claim when nothing's left to be named and no one even seems to care at all? So let the silence scream. It doesn't matter if it's blurred thoughts or blurred minds. Distractions from the fact that we have nothing but second tries. I'm choking on explanations as the world is turning into a new day. It's so easy to see that these daydreams just won't let me be. So I'm looking back in a rearview mirror to see what I recognize. There's an image of a visitor crooning "oh how time flies".
