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1. |
You've Got Mail
02:22
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Can't you get no satisfaction?
Won’t you you rate your transaction?
If you act now, save twenty percent.
We’re coming to your town, we wish you went.
A word or phrase
somewhere out of reach,
a privacy policy,
a security breach
Parenthesis one, parenthesis two,
oh how I wish it were you, parenthetically.
Letters from bands and companies...
A-H-R-E-F
Delete selected and click refresh.
You’ve got mail.
Folded all along the creases,
I want the musings of a friend
not news on new releases.
You’ve got mail.
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2. |
Along the Dotted Line
01:42
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Sign and seal,
delivered from expectation.
I’m waiting on an island
of excommunication.
Daydream gently
along the dotted line.
I’m waiting for someone
to save me from time.
There I am. There’s my name.
The letters aren’t quite shaped the same.
Run me around the same old thoughts
on these same old rented streets.
I just know that the world that I want is real,
and someday I’m gonna live there.
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3. |
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The old milk box
for a letter sent.
A letter arrives
from the Dead Milkmen.
I told them a story
about a kid on my bus.
He sits next to me.
He plays the drums.
Construction paper covers
on all of his cassettes.
Cro Mags and Black Flags
and Descendents.
That’s how I first heard
Bucky Fellini,
which led me to Beelzebubba,
which I borrowed from Casey Kaminski,
who was later found in a ditch
bludgeoned to the death by two young men.
If you’re wondering, did they write back?
Well, they did.
Responded to the ramblings
of a lonely and mixed-up kid.
That’s when I used to write letters just to feel connected to the world.
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4. |
I Can Almost Fear You
02:02
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I know you’re there.
I can almost fear you.
Our bones collide
in a choir of fevers.
The angle of those shoulders,
a crate not fit to contain the beast inside.
I know you’re there.
I can almost fear you.
You’re a blurry actress
and I’ll absorb any accident.
Who can bear to watch this?
but it got picked up for another season.
Let us hover over the obvious,
crash land in popular rhetoric.
I know you’re there.
I can almost fear you.
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5. |
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I’m laying low. Then laying lower.
I can’t get up if I can’t get over.
I’ve been wrong before. I’ll be wrong again.
I’ve been right before. I’ll be left again.
I’ve let a lack of success go to my head.
Is your broken heart as broken as mine?
Let’s get together. Let’s avoid time.
I’ve been wrong before. I’ll be wrong again.
I’ve been right before. I’ll be left again.
I’ve let a lack of success go to my head.
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6. |
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I don’t have to work.
I’m wearing my favorite shirt.
Was gonna call some friends,
but I’m not sure what to say.
I guess I’m not leaving the house today.
The weather's fine,
and, oh, I’ve got the time.
Every day’s a hurdle.
Resistance is fertile.
I guess I’m not leaving the house today.
People and places, their pulses insistently insisting.
I’m all on my own, quietly existing.
I guess I’m not leaving the house today.
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7. |
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I told you that I slept up on the roof,
but it’s hard for you to know if I’m telling the truth.
You’re the aspirin in my coffee.
You’re the poison in my tea.
You’re the only one who believes me here but me.
I showed up at your house ten minutes late.
You refused to wear your seat belt
on the grounds on fate.
When all the reels are empty
and the big screen has gone white,
I will be fighting off a fantasy of flight.
If this conversation falls apart, go on and save yourself.
I wouldn’t talk this way with anybody else.
I lay my neck on the jawline of the beast
in a show of faith or admittance of defeat.
I’m knee deep in heaven with my head stuck in the ground.
Is the soul the body’s burden or the other way around?
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8. |
Passersby
02:41
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Inarticulate birds with their meaningless tweets.
Followers follow each other down a circular street.
I think we should start being other people.
I think we should start finding our other selves.
Oh, the greatness the world might have missed.
All the geniuses that secretly exist.
I want to name every passerby
in this endless parade of passersby.
Be true. Be daring.
No one will care
when no one else is caring.
Feeling hollowed out with a toothy grin.
Don’t get me started. Just let me begin.
I want to name every passerby
in this endless parade of passersby.
Be true. Be daring.
No one will care
when no one else is caring.
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9. |
Nether Lip
03:05
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Songs that came and went. That’s where my money’s spent.
I wake up feeling old and get younger as the day goes on.
All the bricks that hide below, our smoothly paved city streets.
There’s a tradition of deception I feel obligated to carry on.
I get around and I get depressed.
God only knows. I’m under arrest.
I left the light on, half expecting to see you.
There’s nothing sweeter and sadder than misplaced trust.
There’s a million reasons to stop, but one crippling reason to persist.
I didn’t really want this, but it was included in the price.
I get around and I get depressed.
God only knows. I’m under arrest.
Why do you gnaw so your nether lip?
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10. |
Pen Pal
02:03
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Please be my penpal.
Send me letters when you can.
Please be my penpal.
I’ve got stories I’d like to tell.
I know what,
but it’s all made up.
I only want the impossible.
Brains collide.
The curvature of time.
I’ll be waiting for you to write.
I’m under correction. Inclined to defection.
I’m healing.
There’s a curtain call waiting,
mocking, imitating.
We’ll never meet, but we can recognize each other’s pain.
Please be my penpal.
Send me letters when you can.
Please be my penpal.
Have you a story you’d like to tell?
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Hussalonia Buffalo, New York
Hussalonia is largely the work of a multi-instrumentalist known only as The Hussalonia
Founder.
Founded in 1997, Hussalonia is a "pop music cult" and claims to be owned by Nefarico™, a fictional soap company.
The Hussalonia Founder lives and works in Buffalo, New York.
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