1. |
Monogamy Overture
01:53
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2. |
A Grown Man
02:00
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I am a grown man; how did this happen?
People are gonna start expecting more from me,
but this is all I am.
I am a grown man, I don't know what I want.
I don't want a kid and I can't keep being one…
it's a cruel world to keep marching and marching
on and on. Whether we're here or we're gone.
I am a grown man, what am I to do?
I don't want a job but we still need money,
A grown man's got a big responsibility.
A grown man's gotta bring home the bacon,
a grown man's been bringing up baby.
A grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be a grown man's gotta be.
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3. |
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I gotta write another chapter, I've been feeling incomplete -
this epic voyage of my 30's reads a little weak.
So, how did we end up here, sidelined on the coast?
We finally stopped our rambling to live happily by the shore.
Now, I'm afraid I'm gonna die here, dried up like some beached whale,
and nobody will ever hear my tale…
I was single in the city, up North in L.I.C.,
selling stories to an audience of friends and family.
And I wasn't seeking women, though I stumbled on my share;
like Simon on 7th Avenue, "I took some comfort there, mm, hmm".
And then I met her - a wilted flower -
she bloomed too soon, dwarfed amongst the towers.
Burned out like a child twirling a sparkler.
I got her as far as Iowa; she started
to regain most of her color… that's when she told me
there was another.
Love, it makes you lazy, you don't ask questions anymore.
You settle into the furniture, collecting cobwebs on the porch.
We got a cabin on the beach, I took on a mistress of my own.
You knew, but you didn't say anything; we're too scared
to be alone. …And afraid we're gonna die here - this town's
bloated with old folk's homes - when we kick the bucket,
who's to really know? Do they notice once our breakfast
has grown cold? And when the orderlies steal our wedding rings
do they even care what stories our bands of gold could tell?
You said, "Baby, you worry so much about dying, you
forget to really live."
"Yeah? Maybe so - now tell me who you've been with."
So, I'll write another chapter, I mean, it's all I can do.
And if my body's tossed along the craggy rocks I hope this book
is waterproof -
Greetings from the Pacific! We tied the knot out on the sand.
I got a job writing obits - a professional writer at last! I'm afraid I'm
gonna die here all comfy and content. I wrote my own obit, reduced to one sentence: "Timothy was a sensible citizen; he cast aside his starving eyes
for his very own slice of American Pie, a sensible decision."
I better write another chapter.
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4. |
Strays
04:52
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I've been thinking I should write some
kind of love song for you.
To prove to you I do.
It shouldn't be too hard to write,
I'll just think of that time I first
saw you in Omaha.
You were stranded on Jackson
with bus fare to who knows where.
I took you in right then and there.
And life took on a new form;
no more staying out all night,
no more killing ourselves just to
make ourselves feel alright.
No more sleeping with strangers
and those awkward goodbyes.
I've never had much family,
never had too many friends -
then you came wandering through.
Pompously, I took you for granted;
that's why I gotta write this little
love song for you.
I'll sing about those Denver mornings
you'd wake up bawling about a
long lost kid. Your maternal instincts
were kicking in.
As the Sun dazzled bright
upon the peeks,
you brought home a dog
you found in the alley.
You said, "Can we keep her?"
I said, "What kind of man would I be?"
So, you bought her a collar
and called her family.
Writers are selfish, writers are egotists;
I'm afraid I'm as bad as it gets.
I keep forgetting to censor the truth,
that's why I better write some kind of
love song for you.
Driving cross country in a U-Haul,
on the hunt for our new home.
High atop Eagle Rock,
we found a house with a big backyard.
So, we picked up yet another mutt
from the Crenshaw pound.
Sipping coffee on the porch
while the dogs wrestle on the lawn…
I'm sorry I've had my doubts.
We're a family of strays
but together we've been found.
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5. |
Cold Love
02:47
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It's too much - there's too much between us -
the years of bags we can't begin to unpack.
I thought that we were different,
we swore we'd never cave
to these suburban doldrums -
the zeitgeist of our age.
And there's no more charity -
yeah, we both stopped servicing -
but we're definitely missionary:
our official position.
Maybe we're getting older,
maybe our hearts are beating slower...
Or, maybe we got tired of the same old dessert,
we grew up in a world of thirty-one flavors.
Maybe we're just tired of this vanilla existence.
Cold love is all that we know.
Cold love, no words, no emotion.
Cold love - don't look me in the eye.
Cold love; clean up, kill the lights.
Maybe you've gotten sick of it,
or, maybe I'm just inadequate.
Or, maybe this is stupid - yeah,
maybe we're just chumps
riding this horse and buggy of
antiquated love. We don't know
where it's taking us, but we don't
know where we wanna go, so we
hold on and hope for happiness.
We hold on so we're not alone.
The sheltered life of a couple,
it's like living inside a bubble…
And, god forbid, Cupid ever finish
what he started. Instead, he left us
stranded and broken-hearted.
One more shot of Cupid's
dart, this bubble could have popped.
Instead -
Cold love is all that we know.
Cold love, no warmth, no devotion.
Cold love - it only takes a few minutes.
Cold love; let me know when you're finished.
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6. |
Surprise, Surprise
01:03
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Surprise, surprise, you're leaving me.
Surprise, surprise, you've even packed your things.
You wish we'd never met - you'd have never moved,
the homecoming queen in her dad's spare room.
The Belle of the Bars prancing through downtown,
you could've had the quarterback
if you'd only stuck around.
Surprise, surprise, the time of your life was then…
so, what now?
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7. |
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I've become obsessed with my high school yearbook.
Teenagers peering with wondrous eyes
through the lens at what they'll become,
their unfulfilled lives
of marriages, mortgages - oh,
maybe I'm becoming too marginalized.
When I was young I believed in love,
but hey - I also believed in god - I know,
I know, I know, I know…
I want to believe I love you again;
I'll believe in a suburban heaven -
blissfully ignorant - I know, I know,
it's not so bad.
I should just settle down
and settle down.
I want to have sex with all my old girlfriends again.
I swear, it's just the familiarity I miss...
aw, fuck it - it's just typical male conquest.
You know, the world don't revolve around
your prick. Just ask your old girlfriends.
We were so earnest we were damned.
If we could just have one more chance -
I know, I know, I know, I know,
we've all got lives of our own;
cats and kids and husbands and homes.
So, won't you please let go?
I know, I know… I know I should
but I know I won't.
Those drunken nights passed out on the laptop
looking up old acquaintances.
There must be something I've lost,
something I forgot that keeps me
digging up these corpses.
Some mid-life death wish.
Won't you leave those poor girls alone?
They don't need you anymore -
I know, I know, I know, I know...
But still… I wonder if they ever feel
empty? Like something is missing…
They don't! They don't! They don't! They don't!
They don't! They don't!
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8. |
Bad, Bad Dreams
02:56
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As I lie beside you trying not to make a noise
my crackerjack heart's all wound up like a toy.
It's these torrid thoughts, they keep stirring up my loins.
Like a dirty little boy, I gotta see a priest.
I gotta go to confession. I'm gonna call the police -
I'm gonna do a bad thing.
Don't tell my mama, don't tell my papa,
baby, I've been dreamin' bad, bad dreams.
I wanna pledge my "allegiancy",
but I'm a ferocious human beast
with carnal instincts.
Still, I'm a standup guy to every
gal I meet - all those pretty girls in heat -
I gotta see a priest. I gotta go to confession.
I'm gonna call the police - I'm gonna do a bad thing.
Don't tell my mama, don't tell my papa,
baby, I've been dreamin' bad, bad dreams.
This sick, old man once shared his philosophy:
guys imagine having sex with
every girl they see. Ever since,
I've tried to debunk this myth;
it's the curse of Dionysus.
These dreams I have, no girl is left unturned.
Your best friend, your sister,
your 8th grade picture -
It's enough to want to lop the thing right off...
So help me god, I gotta see a priest.
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9. |
No Fireworks
04:06
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When we were new I was like a child;
like a child, I became disillusioned.
We used to roll around like bear cubs.
Now, all we wrestle with is indifference
'til we both give in - did we both give in?
I thought love was supposed to spill from our hearts.
I can't feel it.
No fireworks, no twinkling stars,
no lump in my throat, no butterflies
fluttering around - I can't feel it.
I can't feel anything at all.
We spend the weekends on the couch.
Sure, we'd go out, but we're trying to save money.
We said we'd never grow complacent;
oh, but it came on so easily.
I thought love was going to tear us apart.
I can't feel it.
No powder keg, no electrical charge,
no goosebumped skin, no hairs standing
up on my arm - I can't feel it.
I can't feel anything at all.
We went back to the bar where we first met
and recreated the event from the booth to the bed.
And I couldn't feel anything at all.
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10. |
The Prodigal Husband
03:12
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No more painted eyes -
you can't hide from me.
I know you're still in pain.
The nightclubs won't take that away,
they never did.
So, wash that mask off your face
and tell me honestly:
Have I damaged you so bad
that I can never come back?
'Cause I'm here right now,
back in the house, on our old
queen bed as you slip off your dress.
It's all so familiar, like kissing cousins;
the stepped-on wife, the prodigal husband.
You stumbled home late
to find me on your porch -
your red wine cheeks drained white
like you'd seen a ghost.
The Sun hung solemn at noon
as you stormed through our bedroom.
"It's not OUR bedroom!" you cried,
"You gave that up when you chose
those other beds to lie in.
And lie you did - how'd you weasel
your way back into me? No,
you can't come back. I hate
myself when you're around."
But I'm here right now, back in
the house, as you cuss me out
in that yellow nightgown I bought
for you at that shop in St. Paul.
(You pulled me in the dressing room
to show it off.) It must have been
stuffed in the back of your drawer;
so why'd you decide to wear that
if I can't come back?
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11. |
Monogamy
05:17
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We picked out a house,
we picked out a bed,
we picked out a pup from the kennel
and started life in full.
We hung some pictures on the walls,
our nearest, dearest friends.
We don't see much of them;
most nights we've been staying in.
Practicing our monogamy.
Friday nights in Autumn,
dressed in fleece for high school football.
Some of our friends have
sons and daughters at St. Pius -
the Hannelly's already have four.
Our bedroom's been less than intimate,
so, I've been taking longer showers.
We sleep different hours, and on the
weekends you're so tired...
now, it's birthdays and anniversaries.
Monogamy.
We both have regrets -
those roads we never drove -
but it's pointless to dwell in the what-ifs,
I mean, what if we had never met?
At least there's a mortgage over our heads.
No - a roof's what I meant to say.
So, we're stuck in a few ruts
(my independence has all but shriveled up),
I guess that's just the price we pay
for monogamy.
I tighten my tie, I zip up your dress,
I check the invitation on the fridge:
"Come celebrate with Tom and Kate,
ten years of wedded bliss!!!"
Tom greets us at the door
and takes our coats,
Kate stays in the kitchen.
I peek in to say hello - she's
sobbing on the telephone,
"How do we keep up this charade?"
Monogamy.
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Tim Kasher Los Angeles, California
Cursive / The Good Life / Me. Fourth solo album, Middling Age, out in April 2022 on 15 Passenger Records!
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