Drove across Nebraska for the fourth time in a year. The sky looked like a cracked phone screen. Saw an angel on a hill built on top of a landfill overlooking the mess I've made. Fuck the garden and the yard. I can barely tend to my own dreams. Maybe a big life isn't ours. Shot down in the middle of the street. You had me there for a second. I start to believe that we could make it. It's just like life to come teach me a lesson, but every time I swear I forget it. I whistle while I work, but the work is gone, so let the clean-up crew just come eat me alive. You've been driving drunk. Hoping you get caught. Living like you're nineteen in your mind. As you barter with yourself. You're running out of things to sell to overcome the death in your eyes. Fuck the garden and the yard. You can barely tend to your own dreams. Maybe a big life isn't meant for us. We'll settle down on a quiet street and hope we don't give in. I'm seeing you in dreams. You're happy and healthy. Eager to talk after my surprise wedding. They're pushing back the dirt in Tennessee and you ask me, "is this where you want to be?" Fuck the garden and the yard. We can barely tend to our own dreams. Maybe a big life isn't ours. Shot dead in the middle of street.
Taking cues from Midwestern emo and early ’10 pop punk, this Leeds, UK outfit are full of heart— not to mention hooks. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 21, 2022
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