1. |
First song
02:27
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no one needs to tell me how to get (get get) down. but wonāt somebody show me how to get back up? i thought about killing my landlord, but he was pretty nice. instead, i paid my rent on time as often as i could. iāve been making strange friends in the desert; (yeah) they love jesus and america too. it aināt as bad as it sounds, someday iāll explain it to you. itās not that i mind sleeping all alone in the grass, itās just that iāve been dreaming sinceā¦well, maybe i aināt woke up yet. but nothingās been quite the same since you shot yourself. i donāt know if you believe in ghosts. i hope youād haunt me if you were one. iāve been trying not to steal from everybody i know but so far thatās impossible. but here in the desert, somehow i hope that someday it wonāt be that way for me. no it wonātā¦be that way for me, anymore.
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2. |
More about alcoholism
02:43
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this car is a war machine that runs on nicotine and gasoline. d-d-d-donāt you fucking know this is the wrong side of the road? who needs brakes when itās all down hill from here? and if we aināt died yet then maybe we never will. but i donāt wanna burn out, so wonāt you please set me on fire again? i woke up afraid of losing everything; thank god that i already have. so if you love me then listen: mind your own fucking business! if you love me enough to stay, then please love me enough to stayā¦enough to stay away. i swear on my last cigarette that iād love you my d-d-darling. iād love you if i could. but since the day i was born, itās been too late for me to be anything but what i am tonight. and what i am is drunk, and what i am is mean, in your passenger seat. seat belts are for people who have time to die; hell, i donāt even have time to sleep. because i donāt wanna miss a moment of loathing everything that i see. i stay up nights afraid of everything, till all thatās left is the shadows and me. ask me from sunrise to sunset: no, i aināt left the house yet. i finally love you enough to stayā¦enough to stay away. aw, shit, i wish i had a job to quit. i wish i had a boss that i could tell to fuck off. give me the satisfaction of a dramatic exit, and not just a long car ride and a short goodbye in a parking lot. (ohohoh.)
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3. |
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i want freedom, not a boss that comes in a forty ounce bottle of anything or taped scotch paper. i eat meat and drive trucks and shoot guns and donāt trust in the federal government to solve our problems. you might think iām joking, but iām not a republican. call me when your president pulls out of afghanistan, because thatās the day iāll get a cell phone number, and you can call and leave a message on voice mail that day. (SINCE WRITING THIS SONG I HAVE GOTTEN A CELL PHONE. SOMEHOW THE OCCUPATION OF AFGHANISTAN CONTINUES.) i fell asleep smoking so iād wake up on fire, because that might get me out of bed for a while and back into battle with the things that i breathe, and the holes in my arms, and the way that i think. and if freedom is doing what i want, well that means i gotta know what is, not just what it isnāt. so iāll dig up the dirt and iāll throw down some seeds, because the world needs more spinach, not more motherfuckers like me. motherfuckers like me! (ohohohoh, etc.)
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4. |
From here to utopia
06:40
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well, iām afraid that the circles iāve been drinking myself arenāt big enough for the vowels that i try to fit inside of them. (CIRCLE A! CIRCLE E!) when i was young, i drank too much, and iād be lying if i said i didnāt feel so goddamn young tonight; maybe too young to ask whatās on my mind. like: if freedom means doing what you want (well), donāt you gotta want something? and wonāt you tell me that we want something more than just more beer? and my friends, if that aināt true, wonāt you lie to me tonight? well, iāve been listening to minor threat records all day, and shit if i do not know every word. i sing along as i tie off. and ian screams heās āout of stepā as i throw the cotton into the spoon, draw up into the syringe. iāll know just what he means until i hit a vein. but after that i wonāt have to bother with knowing who i am, for a while at least. in a moment the whole world is gonna melt around me, and iāll swear i donāt miss it as a i lie to you tonight. because iām afraid to look the world in the eye. if nothingās gonna change, well, then iād rather die. and iām too unemployed to organize a union; iām too intoxicated to tear down a building. iām too hopeless to look for a solution; iām afraid that if i found one, iād be out of excuses for the way i waste away in the gutters that i chose like fashion accessories to go with my dirty clothes. i havenāt bathed in months, but you know itās not because iāve been fighting bourgeois morals: iām just lazy and iām young. iāve seen the best minds of my generation dying drunk or high from the rooftops to the parking lots, stomped to death in west philadelphian squats. theyāve got me waiting on a day when we can say āfuck the police!ā with a little bit of integrity, when it will mean: āiāve got your back if youāve got mine!ā give me a scene where i believe in more than bad hair cuts, guilt, and misery. i donāt know where i fit between the vegans and the nihilists. that might be the first thing iāve said that wasnāt a lie tonight. because thereās gotta be something more than lying in the front yard, naked, screaming at the constellations. i want something more than an apology to say when i look the world in the eye. iāll tell you, man, my friend william came to me with a message of hope. it went: āfuck you and everything that you think you know. if you donāt step outside the things that you believe theyāre gonna kill you.ā he said: āno oneās gonna stop you from dying young, and miserable, and right, but if you want something better, you gotta put that shit aside.ā i thought about how for thousands of years there have been people who told us that things canāt go on like this: from jesus chris to the diggers, from malthus to zerzan, from karl marx to huey newton, but the shit goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. now, iām not saying that we canāt change the world, because everybody does at least a little bit of that. but i wonāt shit myself: the way iām living is a temper tantrum and i need something else, need something else, need something else to stay alive. (ohohoh.) and on the night that i play my last show, iāll be singing so loud that my heart explodes. and iāll be singing, and iāll be singing: we are free! oh, but wonāt you promise me that we wonāt ever forget what the means? i know itās hard to give a shit sometimes, but promise me weāll always try. because i donāt wanna hate you, and i donāt wanna hate me, and i donāt wanna have to hate everything anymore.
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5. |
Never coming home
04:03
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the trains roll by my porch, down here where nothing can live, and iāve been smoking too much because i am no exception. you knew that already, i think. if you want salvation, then you ought to go see a priest, because forgiveness from those that we hurt in this world never was guaranteed. iām coming home, itās late again, iām high as iāve ever been. youāre sitting up, youāre in our bed crying for a ghost again. no room could be as dark or as empty as ours is, because iām at home but iām not here, and i never am. i wonder how many friends roll past my house in the night? in boxcars they sleep with hearts stashed in their backpacks. theyāll make california all right. a promise from me is just a lie i aināt told yet, so iām ready to die but iām not willing to watch you watch me die here in our bed. iām lying down, iāve been nodding out since i donāt know when. the lights are on, youāre standing up screaming at a ghost again. darling, iām home; hell i aināt left this house of ours in days. but iām not here. i never am. so i just canāt stay. my darling, iām never coming back from where iām going. my darling, iām never coming home. my darling, iām never coming back from where iām going. my darling, iām never coming home. never coming home again.
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6. |
Vampires are poseurs
02:50
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i donāt believe in heaven. i do believe in hell. itās down the street from here, and we both lived there for years. we burned the calendars for warmth, and the alarm clocks just for fun. we closed the blinds to make goddamn sure that we could never see the sun. you could set a watch by the bottle returns and the ashtrays overflowing on the floor. (what? 520!) nothingās free but time when youāre so damn poor. but the past was death row, and the futureās a battlefield. i hope we choose the right war. because iāve been fist fighting gravity since the day i learned how to breathe, and i still wake up on the same cold floor i fell asleep on. so i wonāt, but we shall overcome someday. i canāt do it alone, but i shall be free someday. i donāt know how to live, but iām sick of learning how to die. vampirism is for poseurs in junior high. we made our own postal system to cross the continent. as long as freight trains run and loners pick up dreamers with thumbs, who needs governments to get a letter to you, or a mixtape to me, or a postcard to johnstown? whatās a thousand miles between friends? whatās a friend thatās not worth crossing a country? but i owe money and broken hearts from philly to sydney and back to vermont. (what? yeah!) i regret a million things and thatās only what i havenāt forgot. but the past was a mine field, and right now is a prison break. i hope we make it alive. when who we are doesnāt stop where the law begins, then weāll storm their court houses to survive. so i wonāt, but we shall overcome someday. i canāt do it alone, but we shall be free someday. i donāt know how to live, but iām sick of learning how to die. vampirism is for poseurs in junior high.
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7. |
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i got arizona residency one day too late to vote on this election day. every year before iāve been too drunk to register. then iād say: āi donāt believe in it anyway.ā i still shake my head at ballots cast for elephants, and shake my head at ballots cast for donkeys, because i swear to god our leaders will be death of us. thereās no ballot we can cast to set us free. but thereās no brick we can throw that will end poverty, and we canāt blow up SB1070. things will never be as simple as when i was twelve years old reading karl marx in my bedroom alone. (SB1070 IS AN ARIZONA STATE LAW THAT ALLOWS LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT TO DETAIN ANYONE SUSPECTED OF NOT BEING A DOCUMENTED IMMIGRANT, AND ARREST ANYONE UNABLE TO PROVE THEIR CITIZENSHIP.) since there have been laws, there have been criminals. there have been thieves since thereās been property. and the way will come again when none of those things are around; i just hope itās before people go extinct. so vote november 2nd if it seems right to you, or donāt vote if you think it just holds us down. just tell me what weāre gonna do on november 3rd to make sure thereās no government left to elect two years from now.
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8. |
Bitter old man
04:18
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i was born a bitter old man who got his heart broken in catalonia, 1936. i havenāt felt right since, so i gave up on life before i arrived. i knew this place wasnāt safe for anyone but fascists and republicans and their apologists. (IN THIS CONTEXT, āREPUBLICANā IS A REFERENCE TO THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR, NOT THE CONTEMPORARY POLITICAL PARTY IN THE UNITED STATES.) but i swear to god, iām gonna die full of naive optimism; a teenagerās heartbreaking conviction that things can be different. oh yeah, things are gonna be real different when weāre finished around here. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young; now i feel younger every day, and i just hope i die younger than i am. i can hear you from a dozen states away shivering through a dope sick morning of no money left and nothing else to steal. lord only knows that iāve had my share, because there were years when i was ready to die, but itās only been recently that iāve been willing to live. and i swear to god, i didnāt plan for things to end up this way. i had a teenagerās conviction that i would be different. oh yeah, i was gonna be real different than the person i became. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young; now i feel younger every day, and i just hope i die younger than i am. but now livingās a struggle, except when it isnāt. (yeah), i woke up this morning and i wasnāt in prison, but i canāt promise that iām far from it. iād still kill a man for cigarette, but with friends like you, who needs homicide? so this song goes out to all our homies locked down. come on back now, we need you around. that judge, he doesnāt know what heās done. no, judges never know the things they do. how could they?
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9. |
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dalia never showed me nothing but kindness. she would say: āi know how sad you get. and some days, i still get that way, but it gets better. it gets better. it gets better. sweetie, it gets better, i promise you.ā and she tells me: your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. keep on loving. keep on fighting. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life. ian built a cabin in the woods to live in. for years, terrifying noises kept him up at night with a twelve gauge under his pillow. heās living in boston now, going to art school. i forgive him. i forgive him. hell, iāll admit it: iām proud of him. serenaās an architect and a carpenter. sheās such a feminist she says she isnāt one, because goddamn, my gender shouldnāt matter. and her motorcycle glides through the streets of providence, down to the warehouse district. the paint job is as stunning as her knowledge of medieval building techniques. your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. keep on loving. keep on fighting. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life. this one goes out to georgios. he knows how to dance. abby banks, your book is beautiful, and fuck anyone who says otherwise. scott, i love you and you make me glad to be alive. i promise that iām gonna pay you back. you always know how funny everything is, even when iām so serious that itās gonna be the death of me. like the time that our friend chuck came over to our house. he said he needed somebody to take care of his pets, because he was going out of town. i asked him: āwhere?ā and he said: ānew mexico.ā i asked if i could get a ride. he said: āno, you donāt want to follow me where it is that iām going.ā he pulled out of the drive way. that was the last time we saw him, because he drove straight to his parentās cabin and put a bullet in his head. your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. keep on loving. keep on fighting. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life.
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10. |
First song, part 2
03:20
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i took the needle out of my arm about a year ago today, and every day since then iāve been taking the needle out of my brain. so when iām staring down at my hands i canāt explain just what it is that iām thinking of, except thank god that all my veins have to pump is my blood. and iāve done you so much wrong i canāt believe you would still talk to me. and i say so much bullshit i canāt believe that anyone around me can breathe. i know that itās a little dramatic, but the word for not changing is ādeath.ā so iām getting better, my friends, but please donāt hold your breath. and i met a man in rehab the first time, an organizer in prison. he lived in chicago when the cops shot fred hampton, but he was just a kid back then. justice doesnāt flow from police guns. iām reminded of that all the time. as long as there is a law, peace will be a crime. what the news calls economics, i still call it violence. if your god is a judge or a jailer, iām still an atheist. but i try to have faith in the things that will happen; i get saved from myself when i do. so maybe āgodā isnāt the right word, but i believe in you.
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Ramshackle Glory Tucson, Arizona
Punk with all the wrong instruments from Tucson, AZ.
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