1. |
Fight Fire With Firearms
02:17
|
|
||
|
Black smoke,
Dark and disturbing,
Billowing upwards,
Filling the sky.
Black smoke,
Something is burning,
And I’m afraid I’m gonna die.
Now I’m driving back and forth,
To smother the blaze out,
Hoping it stays out.
It’s worth a try.
Lights flash,
Someone’s arriving,
And then it strikes me,
Out of the blue,
That the van I’ve been driving,
Is full of ammo, guns, and !!!!!!!!!
Fight fire with:
A tank of gas,
Flammable tires,
The best for last:
(Put some cash down to buy the farm!)
There’s also a trunk full of firearms.
And as I watch the smoking inferno,
I see my rates going through the roof.
And that’s far from the only cost I’ll incur though,
I’m out a van,
And all my ammo, guns, and !!!!!!!!!
|
||||
2. |
1-800-MONDAYS
03:38
|
|
||
|
By the sea,
The debris never ceases washing up,
It never ever decreases.
It’s a mystery that’s left us in pieces.
As the mystery grew,
It accrued, and it never abated.
Never even slightly biodegraded.
So while everybody sat there and waited,
Hopelessly,
We never stopped looking.
It never stopped piling up.
We never stopped looking.
9 lives,
90 lives,
1-900-LIFETIMES.
We play while the cat’s away.
Cast astray,
Floating,
Waiting for the right time.
Dog-eared,
Disappeared,
Antiquated icons.
Forgotten and cast away,
Cats astray.
We’ll be stuck here in a rut,
Till the day we get a look at what dragged the cats in.
Where has the time gone?
The cat came back every day for something like 30 years,
Every day for something like 1-800-MONDAYS.
Hopelessly,
We agree we’re defeated.
That the ocean is defiled and depleted.
That we couldn’t be the help that it needed.
But that’s all in the past.
Now at last, everything is fantastic.
No it isn’t, I was being sarcastic.
We’ll be here, forever picking up plastic,
By the sea.
|
||||
3. |
Fight Spider With Fire
01:45
|
|
||
|
No! Not again!
I swore this was behind me.
When the thing appeared,
The thing I feared that had defined me,
I grabbed a weapon,
And stepped in the trap.
I blinked and I reacted,
Calm and unafraid,
As I flambéed that damn arachnid.
Shocked,
I gawked as I reflected,
What had I incited?
Might it have ignited?
Hold your applause,
Contain all your excitement,
Cause it’s undeserved.
I should be served with an indictment.
Direct your acclamation,
To the arthropod that shock-and-awed the station.
I despise everything they symbolize.
So many feet!
So many eyes!
So why should I sympathize?
Go on, surprise me.
I’m on the ropes.
I dangle here, defenseless.
Tangled in a web,
A nest of consequences.
Torching everything,
Cause I was swinging for the fences.
Left to spin some explanation.
And away it floated.
Loaded.
Nearly bursting with every myth I’ve told.
It bloated and exploded.
|
||||
4. |
For The Birds
02:07
|
|
||
|
I thought that if I ever came back,
I would fly up and he’d be delighted.
Instead, this bird is under attack,
Like I was never even invited.
His words are insulting,
He looks at me like I’m molting -
Vicious, suspicious.
Abrupt and impatient,
He stands, demanding an explanation.
What can I tell him?
Where could I even begin?
How could I know he’d be nothing like he had been?
Why should I stay here?
It’s sad and gray here.
And I can’t explain,
I can’t even speak.
It’s difficult just to keep it together,
When every word that comes to my beak,
Rattles his cage and ruffles his feathers.
He can’t understand me!
Who could this bird in his hand be?
Vicious, suspicious.
I’m drowning in anguish.
It’s like I’m speaking a different language.
What can I tell him?
He can’t decipher the words.
He stands with his arms crossed,
His attitude for the birds.
Why should I stay here?
It’s sad and gray here.
|
||||
5. |
Trial By Fire
02:55
|
|
||
|
So, to summarize,
The decision here before you is obvious.
Weigh the facts before your eyes with precision:
There’s nothing wicked about him.
Why would you doubt him?
We should go on without him.
It’s a cruel, unusual joke.
Is it me, or does someone smell smoke?
A fire is raging.
Can’t you see how this innocent man sits there broken hearted?
Blamed for something no one started.
Sensing some tensions as I’m approaching the bench,
I mention with less than best-of-intentions:
“It’s a miracle!
It’s amazing!
It’s unlikely but feasible!
Here, from the hot seat,
It might not seem that unbelievable.”
A lawyer on fire!
You’re on your honor.
You’re on fire!
You’re on, your honor.
A lawyer on fire!
You’re on your honor.
You’re on fire,
Your honor.
|
||||
6. |
Fresh Coat
03:00
|
|
||
|
Cracked up and gray, decayed.
Faded and falling deep into neglect.
I bet you’d benefit from a brush-up,
Some care, repairs.
Just a quick touch-up.
I’ll roll up my sleeves and leave you there with a fresh coat.
A touch too much...
Onward and ape-ward!
Lined up, the flock, in shock,
Gathers to witness.
They mass and lambaste my vast disasterpiece, gasping.
Soon the flood is relentless.
They crowd in the pews,
Acting loud and abusive.
They shun me a ton.
I’ve begun to resent this.
Maybe this is a blessing,
They spurned and they scoffed,
But we’re turning a profit.
And yet, I’m beset.
This is getting depressing.
Lock up all those Van Goghs and these Matisses.
One night I just might decide to give them all fresh coats.
|
||||
7. |
It's Your Funeral
02:44
|
|
||
|
Somebody’s trying to kill me.
Someone I never expected just confessed it.
He’s undeniably guilty,
And I’m gonna take him down.
How to understand how the man with whom I’d made a commitment,
Could have colluded with hitmen?
Anyway, as I was saying,
It was sad and dismaying.
But if he wanted betraying,
There’s enough to go around!
Man, he thought it’d be easy.
And I thought I was dead.
Then, before we knew it,
They all showed up and seized me,
But decided instead,
That they wouldn’t do it.
They said “take these receipts please,
And then call the police.”
They released me!
At least I know the score:
Poorly orchestrated;
Harsh, and untuneful;
Tuba and contrabassoon-ful.
Well, you paid for it,
Now it’s your funeral!
I know later or sooner you’ll lie in the bed that you made.
Trying to forget the decade.
While your debt is repaid.
|
||||
8. |
Taking The Heat
01:52
|
|
||
|
Good guys seem a lot like bad guys,
When they give their guns to worse guys.
Am I really so much more of a danger,
Than the first guy who I took the gun from?
Seems unlikely.
Could guys with a gun be bad guys,
Even when they’re good guys?
Well, I never understood why,
They call me a bad guy,
And call him a good guy.
Guns are really bad, guys.
|
||||
9. |
A Regular Guy
02:57
|
|
||
|
What have I done?
It’s right there -
The nightmare.
What have I done?
Why would I do this?
I bet you’re wondering:
Why would I do?
Why would a person make misery for its own sake?
Why would a person make?
And I bet that you’re also wondering:
How can I justify risking all I’ve come by?
And I reply:
I’m a regular guy!
A regular guy.
It’s my business.
Gimme some credit.
Why would I flush,
All that I’ve worked for,
Down the drain so fast?
Why would I let it,
Wash away like the future,
Trickles away to the past?
I left you a present,
And though it’s most unpleasant,
It practically says, “intestinal fortitude.”
I have made-do,
And I concede it’s true.
Made-do,
Because I needed,
To come through for the students who,
Have been repeatedly,
Whined about, maligned, and mistreated.
So how would you suggest they address their distress with less of this messiness?
Well, I guess what they could say:
“You betray us and portray us as entitled teenagers,
Who only remember to tune it at noon or from June to September!”
I condemn the system!
Its anachronistic wisdom!
“Dot your I’s and cross your T’s”
It multiplies!
It’s a disease!
So resist or get off the pot!
Class dismissed while I pop a squat.
I’m not the hero we need or we deserve.
But I’m the hero we’ve got.
I’ll stand and deliver,
If not, I’ll sit and I’ll try.
So who am I?
How do I identify?
A regular guy.
|
||||
10. |
The Cynic Route
03:24
|
|
||
|
It was wrong, I admit it.
I won't lie and pretend,
We were drunk when we did it,
Or that we won't try it again.
In the city,
There's a bridge we're not allowed to walk across.
So I've convened a committee,
To help us finally shed the albatross.
Slow down! Take a minute!
Pump the brakes! Don't make a fuss!
Think how I feel!
Walk a mile in my bus!
"It was a novel solution"
We thought, inside of the box.
We were wrapped in a riddle,
Trapped in a pitiful paradox.
Ask us if we've learned our lesson:
If we had a redo, would we do the same?
Or return to the detour, adjourn in defeat,
Forced to turn and retreat whence we came.
Would we show remorse,
Climbing down from our Trojan horse?
Would we stay the course?
We'll burn that bridge when we get there.
I'm not afraid of the heat.
They had us all in a sweat there,
But there isn't a threat there.
We'll succeed, it's guaranteed.
100%
Like a game of roulette where,
Even when you bust,
You can just leave your bet there.
Win or lose, one million views.
Cause in the event,
That we're faced with a "nyet" there,
We can slay the troll,
Bring the whole internet there.
We'll commute the cynic route,
Until the day when,
They agree to forget their,
Pointless policy,
And that we ever met there.
We'll commute the cynic route
Again and again...
|
||||
PAPER MICE Chicago, Illinois
"Twitchy, snaking, and wonderfully jagged"-Chicago Reader
If you like PAPER MICE, you may also like:
supported by 17 fans who also own “1-800-MONDAYS”
it sounds like my reflection talking shit while I throw comedown pity parties
go to album
supported by 14 fans who also own “1-800-MONDAYS”
Shifting away from the comprehensible and beautiful melodies of X'ed Out, Trash Generator brings forth experimental and odd guitar riffs while keeping the melodic sound of Nick Reinhart's vocals.
go to album
Jazz, metal, post-punk, and avant-garde music all swirl together in Ecuadorian duo Don Bolo's heady, unpredictable brew.
go to album
Volar LA Set (Flat Worms, Tracy Bryant, Part Time/Drinking Flowers, Cosmonauts, Susan)
by Flat Worms
Collected tracks from five bands including Cosmonauts, Susan, and Flat Worms provides a look into the vibrant Los Angeles music scene.
go to album
Slights Still Unspoken (Selected Recordings 1978-1979)
by Voigt/465
A compilation of rollicking cuts from this Australian post-punk band that plays like a hybrid of the Velvets and the Stooges.
go to album
Future Teenage Cave Artists
by Deerhoof
supported by 14 fans who also own “1-800-MONDAYS”
2nd listen: a necessary antidote to the claustrophobic desolation that mainstream music has been since 1994. 1st listen: brutally wholesome and melodiously harsh.
go to album
