Crime In Stereo : The Contract

Punkcore / USA
(2005 - Blackout Records)
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1. NEW HARLEM SHUFFLE

It's not the end! Forget what I said that fucking letter says, I'm not going over.
I'm not crossing oceans for them.
It's not defense and I wont let the business of making new Soldiers roll over our making promises.
Well tell them I was only joking when I said all those things I swore I meant at the time, either joking or lying.
So better the stateside than brave the great desert divide.
The whole ride over I was growing wings and better the road stretched ahead than the cheap threat of me stretched out dead.
What's to think over ?
Just grab your fucking things.
They'll be no statewide searches for some AWOL stateside kid like me.
I swear it'll just be a few weeks of hotel rooms and diner food, or face the new american exchange of one rifle for every wife I'll lose.
Listen! I've been thinking we'll take all we've got and I can dodge the draft and you can quit your job.
And we'll make these fuckers catch me if they want me. They'll find me a fighter after all.
So better the stateside than brave the great desert divide .
Sound the sirens for a long drive.
Better the days in for weeks than the days away in the desert streets, so sound the psalms of retreat


2. LONG SONG TITLES AREN'T COOL ANYMORE BECAUSE THE REST OF YOU FUCKERS ARE NO GOOD AT IT

I can't believe you kids are still on this eyeliner and "my girlfriend's dead shit."
What if the biggest part of trends was knowing when to give up on them ?
Listen ! You've got to give it up !


3. JESUS IS MY RIDE HOME

Sin first through the madness, Glass and Ash.
Rooftop perched staggering captains over the backyard captive.
And it's not what's so attractive is in the madness
and sin.
It's in waiting for the kids to ignite so we can see what happens watch the place divide into private bathrooms, arising wide -eyed scissored straws, looking surprised.
We can watch the commerce rise across the cobblestone, selling everything from getting stoned to being less alone.
And if you want to be left alone endanger gutters on your own.
What's the use of those solitary's rooftop blues when there's smoke to stain your fingers?
Chasing rafters, raining sulfur and English on every pretty face in the room.
Oh the gravity of the spinning ground slows the growing legend in this house surrounds the night, closing in like a crowd in gossip, traffic and sound.
Oh the soul of this dying town, it's come alive when you come around in every muscle twitch that shakes the dust right off your skin. every backseats niche.
The younger kid that run to tell their friends all the things our private roof can bring.
Much of madness, much of sin.


4. SLEEPING ANDROIDS DO DREAM ELECTRIC SHEEP

Everywhere in vans and behind garage doors, a hospice
ward of all the kids we know foregoing student loans
to watch the joints play catch up with bored.
Set life supports, prepare to deport.
These are the years that scatter the young into doctors and drunks.
So we take such sweet speed.
The best it could be is life work free.
It's the allergies of labor again, and the hourly wages can't save us finances be damned.
Anywhere in bands.
We're gone once the summer hits gone to feel the elegance of fuel and transit and sleep and the terror of streets
as the rumble strips breathe deep.
These are the years that scatter the young into doctors and drunks.
Why did this storm wait so long on us.
Safe to say I'm never going home to live the way I was before.
Waiting for my life to implode with the sheer force of the
workforce.
Safe to say I'm never going home to live the way I was before, fucked up on the coming storm of credit reports and cash withdrawals.
So them we'll go if fortune exists farther than at home on the open road where the small experience grows .
We'll go.


5. THE RETURN OF...

I Can feel this coming together.
Frequency live from beneath the snow.
Signal escape, we might take forever.
Don't think I don't know. I'm not alone.
Silver lining serrated to sever.
Static claimed from the lines above.
But a couple of bucks and a fistful of luck
says the skies open up above my home.
I bet you I won't sink.
Hell, after a couple of drinks I might goddamn well just fly away.
I bet you I won't fade.
I'll burn out brilliantly. A cacophony of energy.
I can hear the dramatic drowning. Transmission live from beneath the words.
Signal eclipse, ignorance in a sea of "guess what I heard"s.
Polished motives advance so gently. We wear our advantages like a crown.
The same couple of bucks, the same fistful of luck says
I'm in the shade when it all comes down.
I remember changing weather, but never this rapidly to gray.
I think I need to replant my dreams.
I remember the spark fading, so how did it burn my scenery ?
My heart belongs elsewhere it seems.
Position yourself with the best of friends, remain safe when it all goes down.
Just sit and stare. A night like this could run yourself into the ground.
There's only hope when you know despair. His only chance is to never care.
So if you're going to speak of hope,
let everything go and see what takes you there.
When I say goodnight to this extraordinary life of mine,
I'll take to the skies in hopes to find
that all the lights above this town indulged the hopeless,
misplaced their focus and burned it to the ground.

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