SMASHING PUMPKINS: mellon collie and the infinite sadness.
OWEN: top shelf.
ATTACK IN BLACK: now that i'm dying.
NADA SURF: blizzard of '77.
AMERICAN FOOTBALL: the summer ends.
THE GOOD LIFE: two years this month.
CHAMBERLAIN: racing cincinnati.
CAT POWER: in this hole.
BRAND NEW: you won't know.
MINERAL: love-letter typewriter.
PARK: conversations with emily.
THE PROMISE RING: letter to the far reaches.
WILCO: radio cure.
PEDRO THE LION: the poison.
FRANK TURNER: jet lag.
DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE: brothers on a hotel bed.
KNAPSACK: cold enough to break.
CAMERA OBSCURA: forest and sands.
MEW: comforting sounds.
JETS TO BRAZIL: sea anemone.
AGAINST ME!: searching for a former clarity.


SMASHING PUMPKINS: mellon collie and the infinite sadness.
(instrumental)

OWEN: top shelf.
there wasn't too much to say in the car on the way to our father's funeral that hadn't been said and better at that before. after straightening my tie for the hundredth time, i turned on the radio; too fitting to find 'boys don't cry' by the cure. you sang along but you got the words wrong. i didn't let on that i knew. 'cause the one thing that i learned from dad; besides the cheap stuff fucks you up as much as the stuff on the top shelf does, is it doesn't matter what you say or think, or wish you said but didn't say; just what you do.

ATTACK IN BLACK: now that i'm dying.
it's so hard to find out, cause i'm so far behind now. i wish i was a lion, but now i'm dying. was it such a mystery? is this how it's supposed to be? no one comes to close to me now that i'm dying. i wish my legs would work again, i'd run as fast as i can, never to come back again, but now i'm dying. where will darkness take me? and will it take me safely? and who will be there waiting, now that i'm dying? 

NADA SURF: blizzard of '77.
in the blizzard of '77, the cars were just lumps on the snow. and then later trippin at 7-11 the shelves were stretching out of control. on a plane ride, the more it shakes, the more i have to let go. and the signal's still getting all mixed up, we're always doing damage control. but in the middle of the night i worry its blurry even without light. i miss you more than i knew. i know i have got a negative edge, that's why i sharpen all the others a lot. it's like flowers or ladybugs; pretty weeds or red beetles with dots.

AMERICAN FOOTBALL: the summer ends.
thinking about leaving and how i should say goodbye. with a handshake, or an embrace, or a kiss on the cheek, or possibly all three? well maybe i've been wrong, maybe my intentions are irrelevant. but honestly, it's not just for me. we've both been so unhappy, so let's just see what happens when the summer ends.

THE GOOD LIFE: two years this month.
it's been two years this month since the last time we spoke, and it's starting to seem that the only thing everlasting is this vow of silence. well, i guess that's the vow that we took, but not at first. at first i was screaming those songs you heard two years ago on that night we last spoke.

CHAMBERLAIN: racing cincinnati.
august is hanging this town out to dry. i bet we'll be the last ones to leave town. someone's got to reach, and i guess that someone is me, but i bet you'll be the last star shot down. so let's be off tonight, while we're awake enough to drive, and by this time tomorrow we'll be alive. and you're reading me lines from a song you wrote, it was something 'bout a dragon of a girl you knew, that you lost on this road to hell with me. call it fate or bad luck, nothing mystifies us. i bet you'll be the last star shot down. summer's dropping hints while my heart's working inch walks the dust of mid-day to its grave. braver men than me walk the lines of sleep, know the charm where forever and fourth street meet, sing the praise of this road to hell with me. city streets and hearts make the same sound.

CAT POWER: in this hole.
in this hole that we have fixed, we get further and further and further, further from the world. we must do, we must do. i saw you asleep beside the wall, your skull inside the wall, your mind blackened by all the thoughts of god. one absence of truth, one horrible thing you saw, what you truly wanted to become and who you thought i was, who you thought i was. i saw you outside that wall, the skull outside that wall, your mind finally free, and all the thoughts you thought and all the thought of god.

BRAND NEW: you won't know.
hey, hey, hey, mr. hangman, you go get your rope. your daughters weren't careful and i fear that i am a slippery slope. now even when i lay my head down at night after a day i got perfectly right, she won't know. so pray little kay, love is just god on a good day. and you can't blame your mother, she's trying not to see you as her worst mistake. and i wish that i could tell you right now, but it looks like i won't be around, so you won't know. so believe in me, believe in me, believe in me, believe, if you think i'll let you down, well i won't. they can fire everything they've got and when you think i'm sunk, i will float on and on. i have burned the bush that covered my light, even though i'm scared i won't burn that bright, but you won't know. we're never gonna feel as full as we felt, so let's go outside and we'll play "william tell". take your time drawing your bead, i'll stand as still as you need. you're so good at talking smack, you heart attack, but you're the apple of my eye anyway. my smiling face that's on my head that's on your silver plate. so they say, they say in heaven there's no husbands and wives. on the day that i show up they'll be completely out of their forgiveness supplies. and i can't use the telephone to tell you that i'm dead and gone, so you won't know.

MINERAL: love-letter typewriter.
summer unfolded like a tapestry, and you were there as you have always been. there glowing where the sky meets with the trees. air softly crowing, singing fears to sleep. will you ever know how much i love you for that? will you ever know how much i love you.

PARK: conversations with emily.
hey pretty, what's on your mind? nothing here, an endless night. you're fed up and sick and tired of me, my thin-boy voice ruins everything. oh sweetheart, don't say such things, we don't know who's listening. don't talk, don't smile, just silently walk on by. my emily says "oh ladd, what has she done, to my darling, innocent boy, my favourite late night someone?" i wish you were here to kiss me and scream "damn it ladd, i need back". emily rolls over in bed and says: "is it really so bad?" hey pretty, are you secretly sad? questions i dare not ask. fed up and sick and tired of this, such simple things i miss. oh sweetheart, don't say such things, we don't know who's listening. the only thing that can fill this gap is the one who doesn't want me back. my emily says "oh ladd, how long can this last?" as long as it takes to get that attention, so safe at last. i wish you were here to hold me and scream "damn it ladd, i need you back". emily rolls over in bed and says: "you don't want that". so here's my advice to you, this should've turned out different but it didn't, so get over it. but don't you find it reassuring that one consolation growing? "my darling boy, it won't snow, where she is going".

THE PROMISE RING: letter to the far reaches.
flickering on, sad to see the season's come and gone away. myy black-eyed friends couldn't stay, i'm afraid. now i'm left with a mess, i'm way too overdressed for casual guests, in time they've all always got to be leaving, all the long long times. sometimes we fight, and i don't treat my stomach right, every night it hurts, and i don't know what's worse, the eyes or words.

WILCO: radio cure.
cheer up, honey, i hope you can. there is something wrong with me. my mind is filled with silvery stars. honey, kisses, clouds of fog, shoulders shrugging off. cheer up, honey, i hope you can. there is something wrong with me. my mind is filled with radio cures, electronic surgical words. picking apples for kings and queens of things i have never seen. picking apples for the kings and queens of things i've never seen. oh, distance has no way of making love understandable.

PEDRO THE LION: the poison.
the poison make its way through my body slowly, into the pleasure centers of my brain. if you were here, i would admit that i'm an asshole. but now it's over and i can't stay sober, though it isn't like i try. and on the front porch, or on an airplane on vacation, or out for dinner in a nearby town, i was so proud just to have you sitting with me. but now it's over and i can't stay sober. pour and swallow, follow one shot with another. and i'll keep on until you agree to come back over, or until there are x's on my eyes. my old man alway swore that hell would have no flame, just a front row seat to watch your true love pack her things and drive away.

FRANK TURNER: jet lag.
i've heard it said the trick is to set your watch when you hit the plane, that way you can trick the workings of a tired brain. but sometimes i feel sick, sometimes i just feel so drained and cut down to the quick, longing for that voice again. on the phone, you always ask if i'm okay, but it's not the same as being happy. i travelled 40,000 miles last year, and i'm working on the same again. i fell for 15 different girls and nearly lost all of my friends. well i am jet set, jet lag, jaded, you're always 16 hours ahead, quietly reminding me how i used to be. airports make me sad, i'm sure they shouldn't all be the same. but they're just landing pads, boring tourist shopping chains. i remember times we had drinking while we wait for your plane. feeling kinda bad, wondering which one of us has changed. 'cause we used to be slick, subtle young hips, romantic young kissable lips. unbearably sharp, unbreakable heart with wide eyes and faith that life could never pull apart if we were okay. but distance kills the best of intentions, and never intended it to be this way.

DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE: brothers on a hotel bed.
you may tire of me, as our december sun is setting, because i'm not who i used to be. no longer easy on the eyes, but these wrinkles masterfully disguise the youthful boy below. who turned your way and saw something he was not looking for; both a beginning and an end. but now he lives inside someone he does not recognize when he catches his reflection on accident. on the back of a motorbike with your arms outstretched, trying to take flight, leaving everything behind. but even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete, and the city where we still reside. and i have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men. because now we say goodnight from our own separate sides, like brothers on a hotel bed.

KNAPSACK: cold enough to break.
it's cold enough to break, beneath the weight of this mistake, and no one can tell me it's all right. i hope it's not too late for the man who's less than brave, and no one can tell me, but no one can tell. deny the charges, call collect, fodding over the failed attempt, and i am failing you. there are answers, never tell, sharing rooms with cancer cells, i am not immune. call out and come down, i finally recognize tired angels, barely able to keep me safe tonight. we're keeping quiet and we'll decide what's desperation, sick inside. i am not allowed. there are reasons i will keep, ever-hopeful, fall asleep. i can show you how. 

CAMERA OBSCURA: forest and sands.
i'm in a van, and you're holding my hand. you're traveling with me through forest and sands. i've been innocently learning a language and you've been taking full advantage, haven't you? oh, don't say it's true. i've lost a friend, i've been silenced again and we kissed once, hey, but that was in lust. i know you need more than giving moments and sentimental stories and words only spoken seemingly, and i won't win your heart that way. oh, it feels like none of this is real, i pretend that my heart and my head are well. but if the blood pumping through my veins could freeze like a river in toronto, then i'd be pleased. you said i made you feel warm, said i made you feel warm inside.

MEW: comforting sounds.
i don't feel alright, in spite of these comforting sounds you make. i don't feel alright because you make promises that you break. into your house, why don't we share our solitude? nothing is pure anymore but solitude. it's hard to make sense, feels as if i'm sensing you through a lens. if someone else comes, i'd just sit here listening to the drums. previously i never called it solitude, and probably you know all the dirty shows i've put on. blunted and exhausted like anyone. honestly, i tried to avoid it, honestly. back when we were kids, we would always know when to stop, and now all the good kids are messing up. nobody has gained or accomplished anything.

JETS TO BRAZIL: sea anemone.
the curtain's a sea anemone, in the way it sways to the slow breeze. i lie spread out on the floor, looking at these things, most of them are yours. and it's so nice, sitting very still without those old shoes that i could never fill. starfish with its arms out in a daze, staring at the stars through an ocean haze. was i one you wished upon? burned out like a lightbulb when you turned me on. and it's so nice, sleeping here all alone, with my ashtray and white courtesy telephone. now i'm making out the shapes, like the shower rod, can it take my weight? i will tell you i am fine. i got some news, friend, feels like i'm dying. turtle on its back in the desert sea, and you look like a cool drink, just slightly out of reach. draw myself into the shell, waiting on a sign from god or a nod from hell. and it's so nice, sitting very still, without those old shoes i could never fill. now we're turning on the lights. it's the first day of my second life. take my name off of the lease. you can even keep the name it never suited me.

AGAINST ME!: searching for a former clarity.
no, the doctors didn't tell you that you were dying, they just collected their money and sent you on your way. but you knew all along, went on pretending nothing was wrong, you said "i will keep my focus until the end". and in the journal you kept by the side of your bed, you wrote nightly an aspiration of developing as an author. confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women's clothes, compulsions you never knew the reasons to. will everyone you ever meet or love, be just a relationship based on a false presumption? despite everyone you ever meet or ever love, in the end, will you be all alone? as the disease spread slowly through your body, pumped by your heart to the tips of your arms and your legs. your greatest fear was that your mind wouldn't last, the coherency and alertness would be the first things to fade. as your hair thinned, as the weight fell off, as your teeth blackened, as the lesions spotted your skin. as you fell to your knees in the center of the stage, as you offered witness to mortality in exchange for the ticket price. as the lights blended into the continuing noise, as all hope was finally lost, adrenaline carried one last thought to fruition: let this be the end, let this be the last song. let this be the end, let all be forgiven.