bodies of water lyrics

with the last record i made a zine that included lyrics accompanied by more literal descriptions of what each song meant to me. i didn’t make a zine with this record because i personally appreciate when zines are handed off between two people that meet somewhere, and i felt like selling a record doesn’t necessarily have that level of personal intimacy in its exchange. i also found that it was a lot harder to talk about what each song meant because they feel less like separate ideas and more like a continuation of a few thoughts that have been really prevalent in my life/mind during the time that we wrote and recorded these songs (and since). it’s hard to articulate but ultimately i think that mostly these songs are about trying to provide the best support i can to the people i already know and love, without sacrificing an equal level of care and respect for myself. every relationship requires introspection, and hopefully introspection is something that will help us find ways to end the relationships that are abusive/violent/not-worth-it and find ways to thrive in relationships that we want to maintain, even if we don’t always know how.

i generally avoid asserting any statements in confidence but i am ok with saying that i believe self expression and communication are integral to growth and growth seems integral to survival.

jump start —
today the coffee stand was robbed. car wouldn’t start, jump start the car although i don’t have far to go. only the parking lot around the block, the library, the grocery store, home. we’ll call it a wash, hope that it slows to a stop but so far it’s not. and don’t be surprised to hear from me, you’re all i’ve got. all our wares are good as gone and i know i am damage done.

slow release —
summer came and i didn’t notice. when it left it was just the same. you packed up and said you were leaving. now you’re back again. i still live in that same apartment. i still call and you don’t call me. we fall in to half-hearted living, nostalgia and lethargy. it’s been a slow release all along, you must have misheard or wrote it down wrong.

don’t forget the first one —
i could never be the one. shield yr eyes from the winter sun. we won’t forget the first one. forget what i said, i never had no good advice but wouldn’t it be nice. i lack in patience and in foresight. we want a heart in working condition, good looks, good disposition. i reject the notion that you can only have one. meet me at the coast by the ocean. i can hear it long distance, through the phone, through your callous statements. an imprint in wet cement, “i’m unlovable i am discontent.”

earthquake —
we had a plan for the big quake. i like to map out my escape routes. you’ve got a big heart but they say it doesn’t work well. i’m not that surprised. these aren’t the ways that we’ve grown to quantify. you’re somewhere in the pacific, i’m hoping you’re alright cause your letter didn’t say much. we had a plan for the big quake. i like to map out my escape routes. you were gonna meet me at the bus stop between our two streets. your letter didn’t say much, but i didn’t write back, so how could i expect that? i’m sorry i’m not waking up. if you call i’m not hanging up.

small talk —
i was never the pretty one. don’t tell me otherwise. small hands can hold it all. thick skin can multiply. i mispronounce words. i think in rhyme. i’ve been misplaced and it’s not the first time. i was never the good one, you’ve got it all wrong. i might have said that i could once and that was my fault. i stop short of the things you remind me of. we might not say much but we still like to talk.

all the experts say —
there’s a place called salt flat in texas. maybe we should go there before the year ends. there’s the way i pegged you all wrong. these things that we’ve been doing for so long don’t make much sense after all. i never thought i’d be working for the weekend. i used to think that i wanted to be different. all the things we love are just a euphemism. the things we love are just a euphemism. stuck in blue, it’s clear as day. a shift in view and all the expert say how to sit still, how to stand straight, how to move on from a southern state.

san mateo —
san mateo, pen and paper. i’m here now and i’ll be here later. i watch you carry weight too heavy to lift too real to measure and i always know when you’ve hit a new low. i always fall asleep before you. move to fast. it’s not for sure. you don’t blink. i talk before i think, you know i do. and i wish it weren’t true that i’m not enough to carry you through. we owe all the parks and parking lots where we met, where we went to find the things that we had lost or we forgot. we forgot.

word of the day —
i won’t be your nepenthe or just body, just a place to store all your bad dreams. were you even listening? i won’t be your land form, cracked earth full of faults, or something to weigh down with all your ways with words. i might wonder i might worry but i’ll resist the compulsion to say i’m sorry. last night through the bus window i saw you but i pretended not to. i won’t be your nepenthe or just a body, that’s not me. i won’t lay down.

open curtains —
you open curtains. you let light in. i am in my room in the dark again. don’t try to tell me that don’t mean something. it’s been winter for about 9 months and i will lose sleep with every night, it don’t take much. i don’t subscribe to solid lines but i will believe your lies like we all speak the truth. some people always talk too loud. some people don’t say much at all. i write it down, it’s just a thought. you know you’re cool, i know i’m not. some people always say they’ll call. i never had the wherewithal or confidence to speak like i was sure of anything at all.

bodies of water —
baggage as heavy as you think you can carry. you live in the midst, a miscellaneous array of anything that alleviates. body of water. you look just like your mother down by the lake. a cup of coffee and a list of ways that we delineate our lives like city lights, bright but bound to fade. i do it all for you.