Leaving Man​-​Town, USA

by Saint Rascal

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about

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Recorded in Shanklin Theatre Sound Booth March - April in Evansville IN

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credits

released May 23, 2017

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Robbie Love - guitar, bass, vocals

Special Thanks: Diane Brewer, Chuck Meacham and the faculty of The University of Evansville Department of Theatre, UET family, Becca and Rache, The Woods...

...and thank you to anyone who is actually listening to this: You are here right now and that's pretty incredible. Thank you.

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Saint Rascal Chicago, Illinois

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Track Name: fiction
Hey there, welcome, thanks for coming
how ya doin? (Sad!) Grab a chair there!
As the only dude here I can't guarentee
to make you feel better, just a little less lonely.

Fuck me. I suck. That's the joke right?
Talking to you like I know your life
well then lets talk fiction so we only hurt a few
base this on real people, sure, but not exactly true
write a disclaimer so no one gets pissed
in case theres some resemblance to anyone who's ever, ever lived

we're young and angry and angsty and blessed
we've got some stuff to get off our chests
and I don't want to make anyone mad
but I've got some stuff I need to get off my chest
Track Name: dog
your dog is fucking my dog in the back of your mom's lawn.
grass-stained and numb-brained, some could call it love.
I try talking, you nod listening for fear
that what you're hearing could send your chest upheaving in fear.
fear that hearing means believing.

they're going at hard. they're going at it plain
there's a keen choke in your voice. a sharpened sort of strain
and you say "I'll keep caring, loving in contempt of this state"
now we're talking, you nod listening
our tongues threading, re-believing.

violated lace, you can barely touch yourself without tasting his cold taste
the liquor in his mouth.
a reminiscent trace when you tuck inside yourself
feeling his cold hands
thresh and thrash your scrappy stance, car smothered in aloe branches
topple your strongest stance
upend your defense
throw you down and help himself.

old days we escape, hock our pain for love.
Track Name: shaving
the same dead skin that flecked onto my face made the hair that frames my cheekbones. My beard echoes your hands, how they once cupped me. You sauntered up to me, skin starved and hungry, I could tell by your wolf teeth. Still, my lips curled into your moony grin, the man I wanted to be, to be with. I thought I could be part of your life. I tought you were gonna try. You said "I've never seen a smaller man, took me in with clamy hands, snared in sheets, you were holding something in. Then around five am a fist whispered across me. You said "I'm not so good with trusting and I can't have anyone knowing that this is the real me. So here's the real me." When you struck me, was that when you began leaving flecks of you on my cheeks? Was that when you planted seeds?
I decided I'm scraping you off of my face today, the caress of dead skin that frames these eyes, so tired, of your shitty point of views, they'll end in fists that leave you. I'll kiss your mask goodbye with a razor blade. The cold water rinse, wringing in new skin, calling me back in, there's never been a madder man, I am growing, I am new and building stronger layers without you.
Track Name: not your party // not your property
I don’t fuck with heels at parties, rather be flat to the floor.
I’m a chick with chipped nails, pigtails, a frown you can’t ignore.
I wore this nice dress tonight. Flowered with peonies
I am doing this for me.

You’re in your icky, ickiest white t
I can’t stand the way you look at us,
the way you look at me. Like former property.
Well, I am no longer your lady.
Track Name: beer dreams
And I was walkin out the door before you stopped to talk me. Your cigarette breath and bourbon sent me into nostalgic agony. You still breathe through my bad dreams. Robbie, you still rob me of a good night’s sleep.

So thanks for the honesty I better be leaving.
..And you’re still following me.

I wore this nice dress tonight. I’m doing this for me. You stumble onto the porch, and puke, and I just want to leave. And you seem musky and brisk; you’re hard to speak with.

Robbie, you’re flaky. Thats the thing with cynics: You’re always seeking distance. You hate commitment. Forget our history, You know, you know its freezing out here... “Sorry for the smoke” you stress I mind but say I don’t. You offer one from the boquet and I swoon at the thought of being alone. Am I your lady? “What are you doing after this?” Probably going to sleep.

“Are you happy?” Well, who is?
I don’t know what you want from me.

You made me happy for a minute then stopped listening.
No, no, don’t you put your hands on me!

So fuck right off or let me go inside Every baby knows that bottles are his favorite place to hide; Every lady knows your wasted and your breaths a waste of time. Why do you choose now? With all this sorted out Why a party? Where’s the same privacy you promised me?

Your only company is beer and dreams and talking on and on about the world that you perceive, it’s cold and dark and gray, But I feel pretty okay
Without you breathing down my neck every fucking day; You’re a liar and a cheat and I think it’s safe to say: You lack the simplest honesty.

Are you gonna front me, live peacefully, or try and keep me?
I’m not your property.
Are you gonna let me leave peacefully or keep me caught in the cooler of beer dreams?
I am doing this for me.

Maybe you should keep me in your beer dreams
I don’t want you near me, Or speakin bad about me, and you can take your plain dishonesty. Get the hell away from me. Get the hell away from me! Get the Hell --
Track Name: servers
all blank pastor perches at booth #3, black bible beside the scramble with extra cheese. I know he smells my breath, beer and bourbon, headache hangin over me, stomach churning, what a shame to be so ashamed of me. Can't remember the night before, some girl yelling over me. Over my beer dreams. I'm next to nothing.

Alright, I can clean this mess up, just get on with your lives. The hangover's nothing compared to your eyes.

What can I get you? What can I be? A dry stale grin with extra cheese. Only ten more hours till I'm home to the breeze and in walks the girl that I saw in my beer dreams.

No, I'm not serving her. The chipped nails and pigtails are sharper than words. I guess there are other places to work, and if I quit right now, would that be the worst? That's not what the bosses tell me, they say you'll serve her and serve her gladly. She scowls at me, I apologize profusely. She says I want this one on you for all the times you cheated on me. Alright, I can pay you back, serve you solace in life.
She says if you want to be a man, you have to own up to the people you make bleed.
Track Name: able-accounts
I was a baby when you died
I'm sure you held me at least once, my fingers tiny. Lost inside the parchment map of your aging palms. My typography for knowing right from wrong.

I don't know how you died. I don't know what its life to live while you're alive. I don't know how you died. I don't know what thats like.

And on a personal note I can say this is true, I hardly know you. Someone called for an organ grinder but I can't recall the tune. Men in ties, mom in a dress, my dad in blue. His new compass, new direction, without you.

Sometimes when I hear you cry, you seep into my father's eyes.
I don't know how you died. I don't know what thats like.
Track Name: grave-digger dave buries the spade
Dave slogs through thick mud as he weigh leighs his way to top
Dead Body snared in a plastic tarp; This was his last ditch summer job:

Working for his dad, Working for his dad he spits “Davey, don’t dig like a bitch.” He reaches the top and pulls the tarp back, there’s Mary from his high school chemistry class. Cold familiar skin brushes his hands, curdles his eyes, pummels his memories. Though this is a dry, unexpected goodbye he can’t help but stare at his feet.

He said “I want you to marry me” a decade back, when he was 23.
Scrapped knees, an answer too easy, she had better things to do than stay.

But as his father used to say “You’re either the stag or the shotgun”
And she ran away. He says “Everybody leaves eventually
And when a woman’s gone there ain’t nothing so pretty”

“You’re either a stag or a shot gun, No in between”
So he stayed home to dig the graves, Mary never called, unaware of his heartache. He wonders how she came back, desperate to see. And for a moment nothing breathes.

He asks his dad “what do we do now? Ignore the dead because the dead don’t count? Ignore the daisy chain days a decade away” When her fingers would calm his rioting brain. But his father’s been dead for years, Fell in front of a truck after too many beers. Windshield whiplashed away And poor Dave was the one who had to dig the grave.

Where is my father now? He went away. And though “Everybody leaves eventually when an assholes gone there’s nothing so pretty”

Why did everyone leave such a horrible place? Where no one gets by or grieves quite right, where tears are met with a smack to the face.

Well the dead can’t speak for the living, so he gets down to pray.
And he lays his hand over her white chest, and sends his blessing to wish her the best. Cradles her keeping safe, and brings her to the grave

No one needs a pedestal. We deserve to feel whole. This rest, a place we earn after it all.

Well you’re either the dead or the living, close, or far away. He knows everyone you love’s doesn’t have to stay close, but before they die, they gotta know you care.

And though some people want to slip away, so their matter erodes on the hills from the rain, like his mother’s Irish goodbyes.God bless saint Mary, the woman was right.

Dave strips off his white tank, shovel and ropes, he says “This is not the garden to grow my hope; takes the car to the one stop light road. Saying
“This will not be my grave. I’m leaving Man Town USA.”

Man, what a day.