When you add a song and do not add lyrics to the song description initially, the “edit” button is ‘unclickable.‘ In Safari, at least.

Hahaha well, we better get royalties then… kidding. Although, if you do actually use it, any chance you could video tape that and upload it somewhere for us? That would be great. And of course, thanks for listening!

From the CaP‘N JaZZ song? That‘s where I got this name idea.. Unoriginal? Maybe slightly…

Constructive criticism? Thanks for checking out the other stuff though! Which did you prefer?

very well done

Every decision left a comfortable hole in the ground and every staircase is a burial. Eyes are wide and fixed ahead, the head is heavy and we‘re looking for names to drop: preened like a dog at a show. The future is ours. Small, melancholy college girl I told you everything I could. Self-promises for self respect. A future about making good on promises. You hit a bottom when you least expect it, make sure you take the future‘s hand and direct it. Toss off your assets, it‘s a miserable moment for man, the safety plan ruined – washed away in the rain. Hello, morning. Come without warning. Pick up our pieces, this is the spot where you turn. A future about making good on promises.

I‘m so jealous of myself. I‘m so jealous of yourself. All I want is what i want. All I want is what you are. Give me connections, wires to wires. I think I just lost control. I‘m so jealous of myself. I‘m so jealous of yourself. So jealous.

This fire here is out of control. I tried to light it slight but it burnt off my whole hand up the wrist and now I‘m lonely on a mountain of shit only vaguely thinking to think. This habit here is out of control. I tried to keep it moderate but lately can‘t abate and now I‘m stuck with my hands in the paint only faintly feeling the shock of restraint. We are stuck on the strangers we see in the mirror. Some times, words can mean many things.

Lost on a ship inside a bottle: I‘m a stow-away in my mind. Unaffected by the word, only affected by my thought. It‘s a delicate craft, to piece your conscience, but if you‘ve got cold feet it never gets done. There‘s no reaction. I‘ve got to get up, get out. I‘ve got to get up, get out. It will be the death of me.

The night was a landslide. Intensions were so high but the kids had all died(/lied). It was two thousand and (fucking) five. And in the dawn they‘ll see that cherry pits are good enough for me.

Now there‘s nothing left. If you‘re gonna get it, gotta get it right. Come on, come out. Stop. On the nightlife boat and I was the captain, the kids were all screaming too lost to come back so I stood with my hands pressed deep to the wheel, vision was blurry and nothing was real. I couldn‘t escape and I wouldn‘t escape but I was a wreck, I was so inconsistent.

I want to sit out on the sun.

I want to be the only one.

These streets are catastrophic. Is this the sound of progress? Could it be assimilation or another trend toward isolation so we can put them away, lock them into a cell so we can rest under a wonderful sun on the beach with our guns?

Has this pedestal atop prosperity become a plank to walk down? Have the alleys between our houses fit like a surgical gown?

In comes the air, into the lungs.

Get the blood flowing or get outdone.

Power and position can dilute any decision but I‘d rather hold to reason than have some pragmatic vision.

its enigmatic nature is the beauty of kremfolicide… thanks for listening though!

I‘m walking all at once inside a forest of the best song ever recorded

awesome song. super tight.