DESCRIPTION:
From the album "Changer."

Fred Thomas:
https://fredthomasmusic.bandcamp.com
https://www.polyvinylrecords.com/artist/fred_thomas

For more new music, follow my weekly Spotify playlist "Compact Cassette" (https://open.spotify.com/user/daviddeanburkhart/playlist/6lzG8MsMBoVEpulGS747M6).

Me:
https://www.facebook.com/daviddeanburkhart
https://open.spotify.com/user/daviddeanburkhart
https://twitter.com/DavidDBurkhart

Lyrics:
Is this the same song? Does something feel slower? Is something wrong? Does something feel slower? Does something feel slower, does something feel slower? Is there anything wrong? Does something feel slower or is this just the same daydream death where you see yourself lowered into the cold green ground as your parents and plagiarists lose their shit, sobbing over your casket. And you broadcast it every couple of hours when you’re not busy with customers, selling cell phone cases and cords at that kiosk in the middle of the mall. Air condition days, innocent sufferable summer. The night you watch your friends dance around feeling weird about fucking each other. And you wonder “do I even need to be here? And why does this hurt?” Find a more consistent community with those early morning mallwalkers, at least more than hushed hall talkers, judge gaveled gawkers. Some will call you the crush but they’re all stalkers. And soon enough you find yourself crushed up against those fall lockers, dreaming of a simple suspended eternity where you’re stoned in your basement, playing games, hanging out with your dogs. Could it ever be possible to just pause on that feeling? And why does it seem like now every boy cuts you off when you start speaking? And why do things feel negated before they’re experienced? Why does it hurt? When they tell you you talk like a teenager, you sound so stupid, you say nothing. Those high school scars, parallel bars. All the lonely lights on these frozen cars, every broken-wrist handstand in some best friend’s yard, and every ugly part of everything that people keep on telling you you are...They aren’t yours. They’re just wrong.