1. |
Of The World
04:07
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Read about us in a book about Missouri
We weren't so much the characters
As the loss of you and I
Was as plain as Williams' prose
So we are of the world after all
We should have known that
We're always when and were
In the tense of every book you are always there
To a woman or to a poem
It said, simply: Look! I'm alive!
So we are of the world after all
We should have known that
We did know it I believe
So we had to withdraw a little, pretend a little
So that we could make our deal with time
Because we'll never be in the present tense again
That's the deal we make with the past
Trade us in for growth, it's all that we can ask
To a woman or to a poem
It said, simply: Look! I'm alive!
So we are of the world after all
We should have known that
We did know it I believe
So we had to withdraw a little, pretend a little
I can see you in the margin there
A printed place we will always share
A pretend life we can always dare
We can always dare
Two little lives so very far
So far away we don't even call
We're going to have to pretend
And withdraw
So we are of the world after all
We should have known that
We did know it I believe
So we had to withdraw a little, pretend a little
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2. |
Third Blink
04:22
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Starts with a flutter
Then glosses my eyes
Blue caps and white stems
I'm growing flowers inside
My hands are melting
I can touch time
It has a temperature
I want to feel it, I want it so very much
The third blink is really a wink
Two eyes: three dimensions
Three eyes: full attention
My thoughts are buildings
I see their texture
Build future memory
Life is so clear when time flattens
It can be too much
Time can skip
But I always come back
A lifetime, a life trip
The third blink is really a wink
Two eyes: three dimensions
Three eyes: full attention
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3. |
My Carrel Window
03:59
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Not sure if my heart's in
Degree chasing anymore
In my private carrel
Draft an outline for dropping out
I wrestle my prospectus
Academic expressions
Stare out my carrel window
Draft an outline for jumping out
I don't know my own writing anymore
My thoughts don't fit into footnotes or Chicago
I don't want to be another patch of plaster
On the false phallic facade
Eight years, self-obsession
Eight years, self-destruction
In the back of my mind
I've already dropped out
I've given up
on the malnourishment of my muse
My mind, it grows
In a different soil
Than the sods of class rooms
There's a lack of love in stiff rows
Too many moods
that don't bleed through
Institutional veins
There's blood clots on my tracks
A life too broad
To squeeze into
A narrow tenure track
Eight years, self-obsessions
Eight years, self-destruction
Is dropping out the same as copping out?
Is giving up the same as giving up?
Is disillusion the same as bruising?
Is this degree the cost of losing me?
Eight years, self-obsession
Eight years, self-destruction
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Blasé Blue Boston, Massachusetts
Moody punk for prudes and drunks.
Brendan
Jason
Mike
Sam
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