Levi Pickett

Lyrics

V1:
I’m sorry I didn’t see you
when I was home for a family funeral
that I didn’t go to
cuz I was suited up to be unsuitable
now I’m missing my aunt’s too
I can’t even afford to go and pay my dues
and, sorry that text got so long, dude.
but I’m paralyzed by a past time, an ephemeral outline
that’s lightened as much as it’s defined mine
mark of family ties, erased from my mind
left out to weather the youth I can’t find;
tell me more about what it was that made Thailand nice
so I don’t trauma dump on my best friends night

CH:
I’m trying
to fend off
a million panic attacks
backsliding
pretending
I’m doing better than my past
you’re typing …
“time heals all wounds”
but we both know that’s shit;
it doesn’t,
it hits you in the head
so your foot, you’ll forget

V2:
strangers make me a nervous wreck
in the back of a hatchback I can’t drive
I’ve been keeping my rearview
in clear view in case that weirdo
with the dog comes back to slash my tires;
and I’ve been sorting through the strangest ideas, like am I really real?
and from the top of my head, how’d I get up here?
see me reach for my cat’s ear; remember, he passed dear,
affirmations don’t change the best years hurt to feel
or, the fear everyone I don’t know harbors me ill-will
you finally reply that “I should chill”

BR:
I’m tired of having this over my head
all my friends til the end
haven’t checked in again
I’m tired of having this inside my head
make it end, make it end
am I free to go then?

I’m tired of having this over my head
all my friends til the end
haven’t checked in again
I’m tired of having this inside my head
like The Smith’s are on 10
always sad in my skin
I’m tired of having this over my head
like the kid that I’ve been
won’t be back here again
I’m tired of having this inside my head
don’t know where I begin
and the weight of me ends
I’m tired of having this inside my head
like The Smith’s are on 10
always sad in my skin
I’m tired of having this inside my head
make it end, make it end
am I free to go then?

BR (VOX PT II):
it’s not my day, my year, my life
is that Bukowski, or the Christ?
guess either way, we’re drinking wine
break my sobriety in line
waiting for Peter to be kind
leers at my merlot killing time
I ask, “what did you have in mind?”
y’all left the rind to lead the blind.