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The New York Times [Alternate]

from When We Get to Heaven by Lake Miniscule

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Chad Antuma – electric guitar
Derek Burrell – vocals, acoustic guitar, piano
Matt McCue – electric bass, vocals
Keean Mansour – snare drum
Tom Shirey – electric guitar, vocals
Jake Valentine – tambourine, bass drum

lyrics

This is where the row begins, with a clamor in the night
But morning curbs my peace of mind as I make my way outside
She got hers and I got mine, for the last and only time

Now I sleep in the summertime
To keep me active through the dead of night
The company put me on a wellness plan
I keep them happy when the price is right
And all my friends had a falling out
Over agreements that they couldn’t reach
And that’s the reason that I sought you out
I still know nothing much of which you speak
So won’t you please, won’t you hear me out?
Before you gun it and you cut me off
I just want somebody to call you out
And stop you dead in your tracks
Let’s get you someplace where we can be alone
And get you out of those backward clothes
Just keep the silence so they can’t hear you moan
We’ll keep it secret so no one knows, so…

Come on and take me for a ride; I could use the condescension
I’m always reckless when she’s sleeping, despite all my best intentions
If I could only find a way out, I could turn myself around

It seemed to me I was a long lost soul
As far from heaven as the eye could see
But I was standing in a gravel pit
A wave of heat washing over me
I hope I never do descend that far
This planet’s festering with guarantees
Forbidden treasure was my ticket home
I left it somewhere in the undersea
So won’t you let me down easy, speak?
Well isn’t that what I’m supposed to be?
I once believed I was a simple man
But I got tangled in the tapestries
Oh, you said you’d never been afraid to fall
I say we all only live to die
But you’re insisting that you die to live
You want to give yourself another try, but…

They took my name and read my rights
There was no place I could go
Saw the smokescreen in your eyes
I just turned and walked away
(Get out, get out, get out, get out)
She’s got such damn high expectations
I treat her like a ghost
Well… SHE GOT HERS, I GOT MINE

I let you cast iron fences, while I adjusted my sails
So should you spurn my advances, you’ll be the spokes in my wheels
And while you reaped your plantations, I was the mess on your hands
You were impressed with my patience; you were a part of my plan

And now I dream to no end…

credits

from When We Get to Heaven, released January 14, 2010

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Lake Miniscule Hancock, Michigan

2006 ⎈ 2016

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