Mountebank

Another filthy Austin band cashing in our drink tokens and falling in love all too quickly. Garage rock//alternative//indie folk • Hippie Crippler • "Borne on an Elliott Smith cusp, with a moon rising in Cat Stevens/Tea for the Tillerman winsome pop." —Laurie Gallardo, KUTX Austin Music Minute • live • original • lyrics • sxsw • videos • shows • tour • album • EP • podcasts • twitter • instagram

Milpool

Go on and make up your mind
Quit stalling out for time.
You either wanna get punched in the face or took out on a date by the look in yer eye

You’ve got me snorting my friends stash at three months sober again
See, here’s the thing is that Cocaine Alley don’t provide no receipt—
in other words evidence

You’ve got me swooning again, caught making love in a tent.
I never knew there could be such relief as this, the kindness received that came after someone went
But now I do

There’s nothing to read into how much we spent, from the moments that we turned into the hours that we stretched
I’ve got a feeling I can’t afford this high interest alone like I tend to spend my
Time//is a factor and I’m sure we’d get there faster if I knew how to withhold my asides

That’s why I’m calling you at 4:05 in the morning
Because I’m stuck in my head, laid up thinking
“where’s the line?”

One day would be fine
If we could find the time
To spend it right
Would we spend it right?
The inflection defines how these rhetorical lines come off
The questions I asked, I’m afraid I didn’t phrase them right.
I freak myself out late at night,
I should better learn to bite

My tongue//Save the embarrassment.
Oh yes, despite the contempt that I feel with this
Your boots stilted heel dug in the side of my neck
You’ve got me swearing again
Off of original sin
Ignore the fact that I see no relief from this, the grips of defeat
and ask what comes with a win


Comin’ up Millhouse again
I’m hanging tooth, nail, and limb
It might not feel like the greatest relief to fall from such heights we’ve achieved but at least it’s fair punishment

There’s nothing to read into how much we spent
From the moment I came, subsequent hours that we stretched
I’ve got a feeling I can’t afford this high interest alone
Like I tend to spend my
Time//is a factor and interest rates sure are a bastard
Built to spill, that’s why I’m always dropping the dime on myself

So now I’m calling you at four after five in the morning
Because I’m stoned to the gills, laid up thinking
As though these cognitive wheels bring the dawn in—
that’ll be the day that Pheathon drives the Sun in