proto​-​neon

by American Film History

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1.
02:36
2.
03:28
3.
04:24
4.
06:10

credits

released September 23, 2016

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American Film History

Guitar pop from Frank's weird head. Made possible on stage by other good friends.

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Track Name: really cool.
There's a house down there, so go tear it down and feel better.
There's a breeze in the air that smells just like your garage.

Did you know I fell into that well in every nightmare I've ever had.

Did you know you'll die if you swallow the sun too fast?

Fine. I'll just say it.
I can't let you go just yet.
No, I can't let you go just yet.
...just yet.
Track Name: Hz
Shut the heck up and dance like you're sorry
with the heat of a mistake in your heels.
Scream a little louder into my halo.
I will draw you a map of how it feels.

Sit the fuck down and cry like you're pardoned
in a whirlwind of shame for your heart's fickle flame.
Power down 'til the next one.
Wield that microphone with care,
like you don't really dare.

Hurt someone.
Just get it over with.
Just get it done.

Hey, we forgot to get in costume.
I am the sheep, you're the wolf.
Who's the snake?
Never mind the mask that I made you.
I will look into your eyes and focus on my own face.
Track Name: Car Keys
Here in this coffeeshop,
one hand on the classifieds.
Ain't I just the picture of a grown-up barely scraping by?
Back in my Oldsmobile.
Furrow my brow, because
this is an out-of-body moment, if there ever was.
Who's calloused hands are at my wheel?
This scene doesn't seem so real.

These stars aren't the same.
Who moved them out of place?
Who turned the down and made their lights so dim?
These roads are all wrong.
Who paved them all in stone,
put these car keys in my hand and said "grow up, kid"?

Paychecks and back receipts.
Which bills can I pay this month?
Thank goodness for singing on the street or I might just give up.
Sit on the front stoop while
the cinema folks file in.
Pay a few dollars to escape their grind for just a bit.
How I would join them if I could.
A distraction would feel so good.

These stars aren't the same.
Who moved them out of place?
Who turned the down and made their lights so dim?
This home is all wrong.
Who ran off with my lawn,
put this lease down on my lap and said "grow up, kid"?

Walking circles past the closed up shops.
Trying everything to turn my head off.
Nothing felt this big when I was smaller.
They must've took away some joy when they made me taller.

These stars aren't the same.
This bedroom ain't the same.
This mirror ain't the same.
This reflection ain't the same.

These woes are all wrong.
Who said I can't stay young,
put this aching in my chest and said "grow up, kid"?
...put this timeline in my head and said "grow up, kid"?
...put these car keys in my hand and said "grow up, kid"?
Track Name: children!
I turned my mouth down
so you could take me serious.
I ain’t no fun now.
My face is stale like bread.
These words became sounds:
destructive and imperious.
Wiping out small towns
and you’ll hear them all again.

How do I stop?
How do I turn my lights off?

I’ll run like hell soon.
My shadow will chase me away.
New jobs and bedrooms
and I’ll find something about them to hate.
This ain’t no mystery.
The answer’s stamped on the back of my brain,
but someone will kiss me
and I’ll cover it up with masking tape.

I’ll say it for you:
break all their kneecaps and close all your shirt-snaps
and for you.
I’ll say it for you:
Cry when the streets flood and laugh at your blood.