I’m glad that you still came by.
It wasn’t really icy outside.
I was just in one of my moods.
Now we're laughing in wet sheets in my room.
My mother, she slept on the couch
while deer hooves made holes in the ground.
Maybe my brother’s blood
dripped on me from the top bunk.
I keep telling myself that
everybody’s hell is better than my own,
and my hell is my own.
My neighbors were young back then,
and their homes were new to them.
Now, they can’t sleep at night
cause their husbands are dying inside.
These houses are headstones.
These basements, they are graves.
After getting out, I never thought I’d want back in.
It wasn’t really icy outside.
I was just in one of my moods.
Now we're laughing in wet sheets in my room.
My mother, she slept on the couch
while deer hooves made holes in the ground.
Maybe my brother’s blood
dripped on me from the top bunk.
I keep telling myself that
everybody’s hell is better than my own,
and my hell is my own.
My neighbors were young back then,
and their homes were new to them.
Now, they can’t sleep at night
cause their husbands are dying inside.
These houses are headstones.
These basements, they are graves.
After getting out, I never thought I’d want back in.
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From Mojan's track-by-track: "I was a classic early-to-mid-20s American male: still living at home and not sure what I was doing with my life. There were a lot of nights that summer that I'd come home late and see the neighbor still awake with the lights on by herself. Her husband had just died in the house a few months prior. Their children had already grown up and moved out of state. At one time, buying that home was the happiest day of their lives, and they were probably around the age I am now."