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 the opening shift at PetSmart.]
I’m sleepless in suburbia as I flip the record over to the B-side. Words once flowed from brain to ink so easily now I try too hard to sound like I’m someone else. That photograph of us is still on my dresser in its frame like a monolith. Our ghosts greet my visitors. I often think of us bathed in midsummer gold and that one dance that you still owe me. I’ve got The Upsides on repeat in my car to keep my mood afloat, but I can’t take it to heart knowing what comes after. I write pages of patchy poetry but I don’t think I’ll ever be a poet. I’ve got to be up tomorrow at five for a shift inside a building that burns as the scene kids dream of their big mall day ahead. I’ve got to get up to the mountains. Too small is that coffee shop for all the talent that it holds. Except for me, I missed one class. I came in late. A chipped cup in a cabinet of glasses but I’ll just keep on playing my clumsy chords and let those words echo off all my organs and let them flow like wine out of my cracked mouth and let them just fall onto the floor. And I know that the 495 is there any night I may need him. Such a swell guy. Well I should really start going to class more but I read that My Chem broke up and they’ve got that song that goes “if life ain’t just a joke, then why are all laughing?” Well they’re right. What’s so fucking funny?
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