Get all 11 A Rise And Fall of a Dilapidated Home releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of 2 Bright Eyes Covers, Bird Sits In The Window Sill EP, I'm Calling All the Lightes Out Now, Self Talking Telephone, Critter (single), Quit Running For The Exit; For It's An Endless Spiral Of Suburbs And Highways, It's a Monument. Something You Can't Shake, Even When You've Shaken It. (Remix/remaster), Bright Lights (Jagged Heights), and 3 more.
1. |
This Month Is Art
05:39
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and the phones go back to sleep
and everybody sighs in collective harmony
while I’m stumbling on one knee
drunkenly replenishing foul integrity
I’m here to entertain
wedding gift and band singing and swaying
how thoughtful to retreat
the reason you invited me is not discreet
calloused and waving, your figure has explaining to do
I left a memoir, a keepsake of forged unruly truth
I hear the alarm ring
It must be three AM already
I’ve sweat through these dead sheets
Next to a dark silhouette resembling reckless abandoning
Singing, and talking
you were not wandering
the streets
to walk into
the ugly scene
you’d participate in
(when your back starts to break and bend
lay on the tile floor you’ve been assigned to way back when
you were always
leaning on the counter tops sideways)
these dreary city streets won’t leave me be, won’t leave me be
I walked into the raining, snowy, muddy, sleeting scene
misunderstanding, I walked outside
to the car to leave for…
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2. |
Drawing a Face
04:53
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Space..
It’s all that we know
it’s all that we’ll have when the universe implodes
And the cold
The cold never knows how much we ache for the warmth of a soul
The soul
The souls of other beings
and all of the things that collect laryngeal meaning
keeping me dormant at best you wish you could still feel my chest on your back
or is it the other way around?
waking up never felt so blase and unsound
and I’ve noticed the frequent lapse of contact
so I’ve deducted that this lapse in spoken gift baskets is true
it’s all been a ruse
you wanted me up here dear, so that you can construe
and plot out
all of the road bumps
atypical love affairs, churned into one huge mess
of quips
and things that stick
until the morning comes
(tread contact with each other
you know what came after this dear
your sweaters are gone and out I’m)
(I’m) dark and alone x2
so what if I’m up here
the same sphere
for fucking years
well maybe I was wrong
oh maybe you damned ones
want that
that’s just one
example of me being wrong
many a time
many a time
because this is not a movement
and these are ornaments and christmas in your brain so leave it be
just leave me be
leave it be.. oh…
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3. |
Self Talking Telephone
04:47
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underrated at best, courage rears it’s lousy head
and makes the ripeness of possibilities fruitless
and I’m stuck staring, touching, and tugging at whatever has movement
“here’s to making myself feel poignant”
he thinks as he knocks back a drink
the clock hands turn 360 degrees and he’s stumbling on air with vigor
but yet again, the passions conflict
she chokes his neck tied throat again
as his BAC grows thicker
(she hurls herself onto the bed)
(as his face grows undoubtedly red)
this is the stomp clap regime
so wake up early to me
and leave before I awake
so I keep drinking to the tape
climb right on out of bed
after a terror so bad I can’t make sense
and of course you’re not there beside me
“great she’s done it again”
“it’s the fifth time since we talked and vowed that this was so inconvenient”
(I’m calling it all out now
dunno what it’s about
so I’ll go and deliver all that I can
I can!)
this is the stomp clap regime
so wake up early to me
and leave before I awake
so I keep drinking to tape
my own mouth shut
you say these self talking telephones all ring all ring all ring on their own
and that excites me
don’t talk don’t start don’t start it now
I know how I know how I know how disappointing it seems
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4. |
Holibulbs
04:40
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I found the postcards you’d sent from last year
and they’re incriminating
to say at the very least
I left a message onto your bedroom door
that read that
“I bark like in kennels, oh, whenever I’m pissed off or l you’re waging a war against my own wants and inhibitions”
(I thought you’d come around to what was said)
“oh shut your mouth, you know not of what you said”
(you know I wouldn’t dare care for him)
after all this time
after all this time
ahhh…
Leaving the door closed will spark many things
like keeping me unpaged on what you’re continuing
I’m not gonna leave it be
oh, I’m not gonna leave it be
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5. |
Critter
04:55
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The world has tapered off
But you don't have the heart for it
And the signals have all been lost
Space soundtracked life span
Pinned (penned) poetry on the walls
Of the escape pod in you're consciousness
Oh, it won't erase!
The pain splattered faces that climb down
And spiral out till the end of the branch
Coughing up blood
And screaming "You are not fucked up!"
I'm tired
And there's a gap in between my dumb old self and the bedroom
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6. |
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What’s there?
A contingency glare
And a big shroud of egos
And split-screens to incompare
I tried to transcribe all the minds
And plot out each plot point that would develop in due time
You have such an air to your ways
How could I forget tactics that leave you completely faced
I’m not entertaining enough
So I’ll turn the television off
And leave everything unbought
What was the mind hopefully thinking?
Wishful is demeaning
And I can’t seem to erase every little thing inside space
Up in a pod where you can’t feel
Your arms or legs dividing
(And multiplying)
Caught dead in a wreckage last month
I wish that were me
Catch me up to speed
With space ship exploration
The half of my crew that still loved me are dead and forgotten
So leave memories
Out of your cavern of carpentry and your suburban homes you seek
I could live without an inch of decoration and wicker patterns
And flickering light bulbs to boot
I live far more complicated than you
(I leave it to you)
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7. |
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Sound, you know you’re malignant now
You can’t talk about
How he impacted you thus far
And I’d be hard pressed to say
That I don’t really care
And I don’t really want to talk tonite
At all
Cars drive past the apartment
As the snow falls
And your head spins
So I’m going out for a smoke
And I don’t wanna see your face in the morning
Ghosts just come and go
(Ghosts just come and go!)
(For good reason!)
Still I turn and cough into the sheet
When you’re not there
You went out for a drink
But I’m the one who has the problem, dear?
(No, you’re the one who has the problem, dear!)
Well maybe the sheets collide in ecstasy
And I’m still waving
I’m still waving my hands as a sign of relief
Well you’re handling
You’re still handling
The brakes
You’re not too good with yet
And I’m still
Popping veins and the arteries in my chest
So you can’t assume I’m numbered
A stale number
I wish you’d go
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8. |
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I watched the lights flicker
Then fuck off
Because this isn’t like you
With a heart made of pine wood boxes
And you pawned off
Your heart with game
Now the tv statics finishing
Where the boy was ashamed
And I smell piss on the carpet
That was stale when we got here
It’s a feeble attempt at succumbing to fickle ideals
And you’re haunting these halls
With finishing remarks as meaningful as possible
You feel so much contempt for the honorable choir
So keep stomping
Keep clapping
Do whatever makes you happy
But when these ulterior walls come crashing and fading out
You’ll know who warned you
You’ll know who warned you
But isn’t that false?
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9. |
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Last time I saw you was in December
Now you’re dressed so briskly
It’s a stale November
It’s not the kind of time that you can multiply
So I’ll divide and shrink into my mind
And make a hole where the whole continues to grow
I’ll make a space where this snow goes and homes fade while making up sole existing poems
And your consciousness is folding
Still your home improves and you’ll grow as new
And I’m still holding (on)
(Fuck)
Still I wait on my mattress for some sort of resemblance of a holy day and making our winter better
I’ll stay home
Making holes
With my shovel
Inside pissed on snow
While you
Collapse the ground
And make a whole resounding sound
With your feet marking on the blank concrete
Cement leaves dents in me
Your month is art, our month is heartless
Your month is art, our month is artless
I need a regime to stomp and clap all over me
And the new resounding cities
Oh my god, fuck this city
Because I can’t live indoors where the apartments blistering hot
With electric heat and electric bulbs
Oh it’s cold and the snow piles up on rooftops of apartment, complex homes
They are dividing into one huge mess
And you have got Christmas trees and bulbs in your head
I’m so pissed off that the exploded always wins
So I’ll always remember
The warmth of your hold in December
Leading it all to this
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A Rise And Fall of a Dilapidated Home Bellefontaine, Ohio
Stupid Indie from the stupid Midwest
Kudos to Matt for the name
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