1. |
Pink Spit
03:16
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(i've) been hocking pink spit, been popping big zits. so fucking out of it, I keep scratching the same itch. I felt the tide shift, it was swift, it caused a rift and then it left me bereft.
(i've) been catching thick drips out of your sweet lips, just let me smoke my spliff. I'm not trying to host this resentment for when my face turned red because you said I'm better off holding my breath.
(i've) been asking questions about whats important. so fucking close to it, i don't want to support this system of deciding what goes in front and what goes up and what gets fucked.
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2. |
Cliff Song
02:54
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long week, long weekend, its still happening, and when it ends it will begin again in shrill refrain.
long reach, tall, steep. when will I give in? or will I cling to shame? I know, its lame, its chill, I'll hang.
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3. |
Third Law
02:30
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I have been told that in order to enact force upon an object, you have to come into contact. You have to understand it's context. You have to really fucking want it to fall onto the carpet and have someone else come clean it.
I have been shown that in order to, in fact, hold consistent placement, you have to constantly fake it. You have to act like you're complacent, until you realize you're in orbit around some indifferent object. In motion but still stagnant.
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4. |
Drunk
05:06
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drunk in the sunlight. I have realized that I'm empty, blind. Fine by me.
we speak easy, lie down quickly, from the heat.
drunk with the hope of love, slow and rough, close to the touch.
fluid feeling, evaporating from the heat.
hereditary, kind of scary, runs in the family.
jump into my arms.
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5. |
I.H.S.Y.A.
04:01
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here it goes again, there it chose to land. I dont understand why I can't be that man, holding more than hands, losing more than friends.
wiping my white eyes, white lies make them turn white. rid my red mind rid of rind. well-read but my eyes are white, open my eyes.
i hate seeing you around, i change when you're around, i'll stay underground, i hate seeing you around.
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6. |
Sick
02:11
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sick of always feeling like i'm out of breath, sick of never ever having anything left, sick of being in the red, sick of sleeping in my own bed.
sticking to this feeling of eternal rest, sticking this proboscis deep into my chest, slipping off the path should have went right when I went left.
sick of being sick of being tired of myself, i try but nothing helps, my lungs begin to swell and with that breath i tell myself that I dont need anyone else.
thinking about sinking down beneath your skin, holding your heart in my whole arms grip, pull me apart when you feel your heartbeat skip.
wishing i was missing something that really exists, wishing that your essence was a presence i could kiss, wishing I could stop wishing for what I wanted all the time.
sick of being sticky sick of feeling empty sick of always lying to myself that I can love someone else and my heart begins to swell with the emptiness itself.
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7. |
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looking down at a 45 degree angle, i thought I saw a world I knew forming in the crevasse of the sidewalk, but the world was new. standing there, the sun in your hair your breath warms the air, I thought i could look at you for four years without blinking, without thinking about myself, but your eyes need something else. thinking about how long I've been thinking about how long i've been thinking about you, compared to how much longer before it's too late, my fates a figure eight.
looking down at myself looking back up at me, or him, i don't know which one is real, all i know is that I will either get squashed or I will get lost. all at once all of my planets have now turned to dust, they rushed and spun away from me, now all I see are lights that shine brightly as I float silently.
and when i reach out to touch my hands disappear.
all this time I thought I was writing about you.
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peaer Brooklyn, New York
BOOKING:
msandrin@tourpeachy.com
INQUIRIES:
peaer.band@gmail.com
(pair)
(pa-yer)
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