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lyrics

I always think like breathing through a pillow
I bite the bullet to give my mind a shove
Let's hide our pills under our tongues;
let's make a great show of swallowing.

In Quiet Hours we will lead the catatonics,
tease revolutions out from their graves,
make them dance 'till the irony is chronic
(Lockdown!)
in the ballroom, our legs go on for days.

Well, don't call me easy;
I'm dragging in the dirt
like the dog I am.

Don't be so proud of your mongrel past:
you could be thoroughbred for all they care,
you're still a bitch to them.

O! Brother when they come for us,
rip out my larynx with a fratricidal chorus!

We're gonna dig those heels.

credits

from Songs Written Around the Campfire in the Belly of a Whale, track released January 1, 2004

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about

The Lido Venice Boston, Massachusetts

5 hardcore, punk, and indie kids played folk + post-punk in 2004, sometimes in weird time signatures.

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