Pretend playing saxaphone
On your parents unmade made bed
I was shouting Sabbath songs
With underwear on my head
Jiffy pop popcorn burning
Downstairs in the kitchen
And we were spinning wildly
Like a whirling competition
Fresca and licorice
Coursing through our blood
All this muscle memory
Has atrophied into mud
Climbing that ropey ladder
To the tree fort in the tree
Standing on the metal roof
To see all we could see
Out there in the distance
The city’s curious glow
Yelling and pissing on
The world so far below
Corn nuts and jelly beans
Rushing through our veins
Laying flat on our backs
Shooting up at the planes
Laughing about our parents fucked up lives
Wishing the world could be what we decide
I fell asleep and dreamed I was underground
When I woke up you weren’t around
Moody and moving, Good Good Blood’s “Son of a Gun” has a richness and breadth that belies its home-recording roots. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 30, 2017