1. |
Small Town
02:21
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Mother's got a gentle way of making you a burden, with a wooden spoon still blooming from her hand. Her leisure time is spent praying frantic on a rosary to the Trinity of Reagan, Christ, and Rand. When she was young, she had a mind that was as open as the sea; now, she's a reservoir of reasons why you're wrong, and as the heel of her boot bears down harder on your throat, she demands, "Why can't we all just get along?"
Dad's been hunkered down on the eighth floor of an office, in a sanctuary built from sweat and gall. When he was younger, he wore Red Wing boots with straps he had to pull, and now they match the strap he's mounted on the wall. Well, there's bourbon in the drawer, but he can't fathom what it's for, 'cause the victories are fewer every day. And you know, it's just grotesque when a man dies at his desk, but New Englanders have got a stoic way.
Dope's a quiet menace, dressed up like a superhero, and it seems the only fun thing left to do. It's laid claim to all the football stars who call you ugly names, and now it curls its magic finger up to you. You could paint, or you could fight, or you could get drunk every night, but a needle is a quicker way to drown. So, do you really want escape, or historical revision? You could be the most beloved kid in town.
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2. |
Succulents
03:24
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The colors of the spring will be drained by night and frost, to remind us that our time is short, and our beauty will be lost. But in a terra cotta pot, near a window facing west, stands the patron saint of underdogs who manage more with less.
You're living proof that little things can reach heights thought impossible through discipline and skill, and a little force of will, and all the years we felt like dying can be chalked up to denying that we're slowly getting better, 'cause growing slowly looks too much like standing still.
Somos plantas. Somos tigres. Somos fuertes. Somos libres. Hacemos màs con menos. Y de nuevo, nos levantaremos.
We can bury pieces of ourselves on the side of every road we tread upon, and maybe something even lovelier will grow. I'd give up anything I've ever had to type in your coordinates, and put a lead foot on the gas, and watch the engine glow.
Somos plantas. Somos tigres. Somos fuertes. Somos libres. Hacemos màs con menos. Y de nuevo, nos levantaremos.
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3. |
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Thanks, Dennis Linde and Roger Miller (RIP)
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4. |
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(instrumental)
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