Marching Drums from Nothing Lovely by Silver Medal

So it goes. So it shall be. What more are you waiting for? Am I a person? Am I a body? And after work, where do I put my body?

With the precious little free time I’m afforded, is it so bad I want to stay at home?

We’re mostly made from memories--the things we leave behind. The marching drums are pounding in my ears, but I won’t rise. Don’t make me rise.

A reason for the things you think? Don’t tell me that’s what you’re waiting for! I mean (if we are people) we should move our bodies. We can move a lot until we lose our bodies.

With this brief breath of a life that we are given, I guess we really ought to fuck around.

We’re mostly made to laugh and dance. Burn each other out. To rise and meet the marching drums, then fall back to the ground. Into the ground.

• Post Pop
• Rock
• existential
• indie rock
• nihilism
• Portland