A copy of Suburban Ballet burned from Tommy's computer. Comes with a handwritten note.
Includes unlimited streaming of Suburban Ballet
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lyrics
[for Billy and for everyone fighting the fight]
I’ve been spiraling and spinning through a window; I thought it was a door and lately I’ve been thinking I find myself more often facedown on the floor. Let’s assess the situation: I call myself an artist, but my heart knows that’s a lie because I can’t muster motivation to get out of bed or look anyone in the eye. I’m a big boy now, that number says, but something doesn’t seem right. The world is not a Hallmark card. We’re all shaking in our caskets; the only thing is that our minds haven’t caught up yet. If I met God, I would ask Him if He still loves us or if we’re a cruel experiment because things have gotten out of control. I’ve played my part for too long in this movie scene. I’ve just gotta find a loophole like how Billy edits life on his portable screen. So blow your kisses, maybe we’ll talk. Kill your TV, eat the remains. They’re going to find out I don’t work soon. I put gas in my car so I can go to work so I can get paid so I can put gas in my car…That doesn’t sound right. We do this for forty years and then we die; does that sound like a pretty good deal to you?
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