Be Neon With Me
We’re doomed to kiss each other while we lay in bed discovering what it’s like to eat lead and the sickness that can come from it. The radiator dries your mouth out. Oh my word you were a songbird but your songs were a canon that shoots buildings. What habitat will you live in? Well, I won’t know because I won’t see you. Take the skin from our hands. If Ethan stretched it across the river we would walk to our target. Our own desperate bodies.

Bread For Brett
Where do you come from? Do the children break the windows of the houses that no one lives in? Do you have bad days? The trees, the leaves, the late nights. The cold, the dark, the night time. The streets that breathe in our names are shameless places. Fingernails all filled with soil and sorrow. We will break the fence or we will climb it. (New apartment complexes rising). Tear down your billboards and all your street lights. Were standing up on stilts while the ground below is shaking and we can see the skin from our sunburn flake away. And we’d never have bad days. They’d move like months. We’re keeping these years tucked away. Like celebrated zip codes. Like a neighbor with a shortcut through their backyard. Holding onto something whether it be a postcard or a purpose. Where are you, and where have you run to? Why don’t you just come home?

Eyjafjallajokull Dance
Open up the window and let the morning light in. I keep holding on to, I keep begging myself. Today we are superheroes, but tonight we’ll just be tired. I keep holding on to, I keep begging my self.

Gordon Paul
Let’s travel under the floorboards. Let’s sing to the curtains. We are all carpeted. We are all painted. We’re becoming the walls of this house, so let’s burn down. I am a window (I am a window). I am transparent (I am transparent). I am the air in which you are standing. We are the lawn and we will exist when this house is gone. But we’re not scared, though we should be scared. Our voices fill the house then out the windows and into the yard, where smoke and grass are holding our hands. We’re not alone in our interests inside the rooms that connect us. We will become everything, we’ll shatter as the doorball sings. We can be everywhere just like the carpet in this house. We’re moved in and peeling the layers of skin we drag around. Burning the kindling. The embers, they make a simple sound. The stone walls are sweating and our friends are dancing in the dark. The friction brings a reaction and this house was waiting for a spark

I Will Be Okay. Everything.
No, we aren’t ghosts. Even ghosts have a home to haunt. No, we aren’t ghosts. We open doors and we shed our skin. No, we aren’t ghosts. Open your windows and let us in. Still and freezing we can see our breath. Tom told me that the drive was short but the tank is empty. (Cold concrete and basements.) We echo in our haunted words. The strings are fire, the bass is roaring, the beat carries us on. If our bodies weave into the ground that they stand on they cannot fall down. As we slowly push the earth into itself it collapses us and we take photos to remember how great it was to be children or forgotten faces in the backgrounds of your lives. We’ve all been relatives or coworkers. We’ve all been forgiven. As we slowly push the earth into itself, it collapses us and we take photos. The song plays on but the record is cracking. The house is dark, all of the floors are creaking.

Mega Steve
We are ageless, holding our breath and waiting. (We connect in separate places) We paint our bodies and we are graceless in our decision making. They’ll hear us through the walls. I’m just trying to make some good decisions. Trying to prove that I am different than the other ones you’ve met. I want to be your best friend. We’re all aware of our own purpose. We all know what makes us nervous. Just hold my hand and be my best friend. We’re dressed in blue & grey. It’s as ordinary as we are anxious. We agree we’re in the same place. We agree that we can’t relate unless we could stay the same age. (We agree we could stay the same age). Remember when you were young and you will be.

To Miss Catherine (A Birthday Gift. Sorry I can’t do better, but still…)
Hide out, it’s certainly a safe place. With the lights out and blankets shielding bodies from the cold. I know that there exists polaroids of clothing that you used to wear. Your skin constructed cities as it flaked into the stitches and the seams. Dearest, you’ve left me with a closet where the moths digest a promise that I’ll never tell a soul and I know that you know that. We stack bricks we’re building a brand new city where we will sleep softly and underwater. Where we are all the same, we’re breathless sculptures.

To the Janitor, To the King
So there’s this party down at the pier and we can go there if you want or just hang here. Cause I have discovered it’s not the place or the surrounding but what you make of it. Just long eye lashes and retro dresses. Current situations but I’m not into it. (over it). Only so many days to flee from the possible awfulness and to make your life great if you want that.

Victim Kin Seek Suit
Lying on our backs on the pavement, let there be light. Uou opened our eyes. The apple tree is an open casket. Lying on our backs on the pavement, let there be light, let it be bright. Lying on our backs on the pavement, let there be light. You opened our eyes. The body is a form of failure. Lying on our backs on the pavement, let there be light, let it be bright. Lying on our backs on the pavement, let there be light. You opened our eyes.
We’re covered like a flower cart and lying on our backs. Where are you and where have you run to? Where are you and why don’t you just come home?

Wait… What?
Back roads brake lights light up back home. Calm, cold, or windy nights we still drive. Eyes open wide as space. Slide across the interstate. Missing exits, missing people, recognizing geometric shapes. We always stay out late. I have this theory that waking up in a car means that you’re still dreaming. So if you ever change your mind and decide that it might be worth the drive, then just drive. So we just drive, careless and full of smiles while the radio plays on the way to some basement. We do it for the sentiment. It started as a self-asserted promise. And now the moon hangs low over us as we travel to some new destination. I will be okay. Everything.

Walnut Street is Dead (Long Live Walnut Street)
This is where I lived & learned, the place where I was born
and I will never leave it (I will never leave it). I know that you are headed to the west or some place else. It is your resting place, inside that safe escape. You scream out loud like siren sounds, you’ve reached your final goal which is to have and hold. As for us, we’ve figured out exactly how to breathe with vanishing lungs like these. So thank you new england trees and the sidewalks of walnut street.