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Sometimes Monkeys Die

by Bogsey

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1.
2.
And I stood in the kitchen like a coroner With a seashell pressed against his ear Terrified to breath, frantically trying to escape The shining white lines on her arms and legs Were attempts to regain control But god, did every one of them, make me feel helpless A burning sensation fills the back of my throat At the crash of the telephone line My body, an empty and echoing valley And I ran to my car like a heart attack In a glass with lime and ice Cold, sour, and whimpering And I stood in the kitchen like a coroner With a seashell against his ear Terrified to breath, frantically trying to escape The shining white lines on her arms and legs Were attempts to regain control. But god, did every one of them, make me feel helpless And After 36 hours of I 90 driving and 350 gallons of regular gasoline left my car in the middle of a busy Boston street engine purring, yowling, and growling in heat you could hear me screaming for you from a thousand miles away please wait for me please wait for me please wait for me I'm on my way. Long live the lighthouse
3.
Congrats! 03:06
I grew up surrounded by kids who I'm sure were all depressed and hurt and anxious But I never knew who they were because they hid it all so well So give yourselves a hand, you made it out alive Though our bullys and crushes and stepdads Made it hard to survive sometimes Im amazed we didn’t all kill each other Im amazed we didn’t all kill ourselves As we sat in teenage desolation Trapped in our four foot seven hell. Im amazed we didn’t all kill our parents Im amazed we didn’t all kill our friends And though we carry scars and surgeries Someday our hurts will mend And whatever you did to get here And however your father hurt you And whoever you wished would die until one day it suddenly came true You were a kid, so let it all go, And what you cant let go or forget, Find a way to let it out You wont feel better yet Im amazed we didn’t all kill eachother Im amazed we didn’t all kill ourselves As we sat in teenage desolation In our four foot seven hell Im amazed we didn’t all kill our parents Im amazed we didn’t all kill our friends And though we carry scars and surgeries Someday they'll mend.
4.
We are all allergic to the air Or at least to all the emotional toxins We create in our minds, and process in our brains Dumping the waste into our words Have you seen how a hotdog is made It’s the same way the air is made We take all of the worst parts of our brains And send them all away So how are we to survive? We must break from our stagnant lives For we are like water if we sit in one place We get boring, and plastic, and filled with mosquito And very few people, want that kind of thing So lets make an effort, to stir up the air, to stir up the air, the air
5.
Buckets 02:22
6.
Lemonade 01:07
7.
8.
Im a long way from home in the city of roses Could I put on a show theyd enjoy On this wheat cracker slab of concrete Maybe someday ill write a song I can play where its usually quiet Ill sing in a spot where silence is golden And hopefully people will like it A boy was born in Arkansas, I forget his name He was short, and pale, with dandelion hair That never could be tamed he wrote poetry in a leatherbound notebook his grandmother purchased for him with the money she saved at the end of the month from her dwindling government pension The boy dreamed himself as a writer His ink burned as hot as the Sun. He used the most beautiful words that he knew And wrote them all down one by one He poured his heart onto the pages And brought it to class to share And the children laughed at him and blew the wishes from his Dandelion hair But the boy was not to be discouraged So he went home and worked out all night After 10 years of football regimes He was captain of stoneybrook high This may be a poor resolution But sometimes things change suddenly And we give up on our dreams Far to easily

about

This album has a lot of stuff that comes from my own life, and some made up stuff sprinkled in there too

credits

released December 1, 2012

Guitar, Vocals, Bass, Banjo, Mandolin, Accordion
Woah! And slide guitar, slide banjo, slide whistle, beatbox and calculator synth
Everything played written and recorded by Brandon Boggs

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Bogsey San Diego, California

Folk-punk about anxiety, depression, gender, and feelins. Message us anytime for anything!

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