Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.
name your price
the hand that shakes and sweats is not your own
you're not good (you're not a good man, etc.) that's the question, and you don't know
so you're staring in the mirror
saying, "I will not be upset about this,"
but it takes a few minutes for everything to digest
because you're a man of dreams, a man of impossible sex
but there's the question. again. he's already asleep in your bed.
and when you look out the window, you come back with nothing to show,
but you swear to god, looks like the birds are too drunk to fly home
it's not the taste. it's not the smell. it's just nausea, simple & well.
you're passing out every night and calling it Self Help
there's violence in the stillness of this new trailer park
with the mountain made of trash that sits real still in the dark
you see the people turning ugly running into their front yards
hanging each successive neighbor for the markings on their cars
well you could hold yourself alone, you could say you're doing well
but beneath trash mountain.... it's the worst you've ever felt
change is coming for yr blood
well fuck! it feels good to breathe in that air
it's full of get well cards, mounting despair,
the teeth from the dentist, the fascist's fucking hair
and the eyes on the packages that stare and stare
with 100,000 witnesses, i am here on my knees,
with twin cum condoms as my offering
"i would make a home right here, and i would never leave
god i want to be happy"
make me love make me sweet make me kind
make something out of all the little somethings that we find
the years come sooner every time
it's really just a crime to be alive
make me home make me fine make me yours
this mountain made of trash at your front door