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

Filtering by Tag: cigarette

Loose Cigarette

I'd absolutely love to be the Unabomber if that meant that I would have healthcare
Catch up on rent for the apartment, all 300 squares

The kitchen houses the commode
It leaves me with a very funny feeling

Like I should have looked up all along to see
I'm getting fucked on vaulted ceilings.
  And it's a cold night
  But if you don't mind to sit down with me
I know it sounds preposterous but I could see us sharing twin linen sheets.

After your man has lent a cigarette to the Terrible Machine who comes to claim you//We'll throw our gears down on the table as we dry hump and laugh.

We almost got back to my place but what
 stopped us wasn't who we were deceiving
It's just my neighbor standing freely based and screaming at his newly broken/broke-in TV—
That's not what parking lots are for, man.

  Well anyway if you'd still like to make an ampersand with me
   I can't stand to see the face of some *half-ass who's twice the man that I'll ever be
  You claim to hate this routine
  We can't keep our Terror unseen
  Fell for this broken Machine
  Who barely has a third of a cheek*

And it's a cold night
I understand if you can't spend even a little more time with me
I'll keep my wallet empty//like a frame that displays nobodies teeth
As though a fire came and chewed out the memories
And ate up all of our 300 sq. ft.