1. |
Magical Digital Age
04:03
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When the day is winding down, I check up on my phone
I hope I got a dozen likes and a hundred up-votes
What a time to be alive, and what a time to die alone
The world at a my fingertips, and a thousand friends
I’ll never know
Swipe left, swipe right, swipe whichever way you like
Check my phone the rest of the night for a two-word reply
What a time to be alive, and what a time to die alone
Countless dates at my fingertips, and a thousand women
I’ll never know
So log me out
Shut me down
Count me out of the new
Magical Digital Age
New level, XP, spend all day to get a high score
In line, on the train, to make sure that I’m never bored
What a time to be alive, and what a time to die alone
Countless games at my fingertips and a thousand players
I’ll never know
So log me out
Shut me down
Count me out of the new
Magical Digital Age
Hypothetical, hypercritical, fantastical, supernatural, hysterical, unbelievable Magical Digital Age
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2. |
4 PM Morning Coffee
04:23
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It’s a 4 pm morning coffee kind of a day
December afternoon when the sun shines bright, but the wind cuts right through
And these dark days are getting harder and harder to shake
I wonder is this one gonna take, and never go away
These are the days that a man must face when he has no lover
To call out his name or spend a little time
I’ve grown tired of turning to the bottle, so I’m as dry as this backward town
On a Sunday afternoon, when they won’t sell no liquor to a man just trying to get through
And they tell me I just need to find my zen-like, inner peace of mind
But they don’t have to hear the things I say to myself on a dark December day
These are the times when a man must realize
How to recognize that time spent alone is not wasted time
It’s a 4 am last call kind of a day
December early dawn, when I’ll see the sun shine twice today
And ohh- how many suns will I see?
This is the life of the down and paralyzed
Oh but I will only be here for so long before I rise
These are the days that a man must fast when he has no lover
To call out his name or spend a little time
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3. |
Martyr
04:08
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“Pretty on paper” she said. “He seemed so much better.”
The leather-bound won’t help me out. This bottle’s looking better now.
Filing my name as “The one who cried wolf”
‘Cept the one who howls into the night is someone finding reason to fight.
I’m not calling myself a martyr,
I just need someone to give a bother.
I’m not blaming you for my troubles,
But these voices in my head sit back and watch the slaughter.
Stoning my soul, I barely scrape on by.
The weathering from time on walls, I wish that I could make them fall.
These voices are all mine, but who made them rhyme?
I crumble down, I kick, I scream. I’m stumbling ‘till I find me.
No, I don’t know what you’ve been through
But you have to understand, that neither can you.
I wrapping up these wounds with the lies and dares of my youth
I’m finding my voice once again.
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4. |
Broke on Sunday
03:45
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Paid on Friday, broke on Sunday, a dollar left for the collection
Walking home past hipster brunches, tattooed girls with sweet confections
I’m just one forgiveness from you
One sweet salvation overdue
But I don’t believe I’m ready to follow through
Wasted chances, blown romances, save it for the next confession
Drive alone past perfect families, soccer moms with cruel deceptions
Somewhere along I missed the cornerstone
The field in my mind is overgrown
I know my day will come
But on this day I find myself forsworn
Hit my double, missed my exacta, waste my winnings on side action
Roam the streets by cocktail parties, fancy garnish in hip concoctions
I’m just one forgiveness from you
One sweet salvation overdue
But I don’t believe I’m ready to follow through
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5. |
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I moved to this town a year ago on Labor Day to make myself a dime
I settled down on 43rd with a bottle of escitalopram to set things in my mind
I’ve toted my load, with nothing to show
At least the bartender knows my name
I rejected the fallacies of a crooked corpocracy, but that hasn’t found me a friend
I’ve gone the way of Socrates but embraced hypocrisy, and now I sit to drink alone
I’ve opened my mind, but no light has shined
At least the bartender knows my name
I used to pity the ones who stayed behind to live their lives
But maybe I’m the one who was blind and I should go to where I’m known
I’ve turned to the internet and the twisted life there within, but I never get the joke
The ones who live in my TV think they know just what I need for a life devoid of hope
I’ve logged in my time, but there’s no life online
At least the bartender knows my name
I’ve toted my load, with nothing to show
At least the bartender knows my name
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6. |
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Another box, another dream
Taped and labelled, put away, what an ugly scene
A vision drifts by
Head down and lonely, weather-stained, a tired parade
Another new address, another move on my own
Another battle of what stays and what goes
The clothes she bought me, they don’t seem to fit anymore
The words she taught me, they don’t rhyme anymore
An hour, a day
Trapped in the basement of regret and sad remains
Packed up, thrown out
A graveyard of memories and plans that never took place
Another box, another dream
Taped up and labelled, put away, what an ugly scene
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Nicholas Johnson and the Unrefined Indianapolis, Indiana
Irreverent Indie Folk-punk hailing from Indianapolis
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