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Pratfall

by Mountebank

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1.
Elkton St. 03:38
Dry— your senses are overcome You can't quite seem to place your tongue the words come out wrong and dumb. You try to play it off like you don't mind//forgetful of another time that's best left ignored, I guess. Don't be so shy//Why don't you share some of these bold asides? To mock the page but never cross the line although these lines that you do feed your good time. But can you sound it out? That when these plans we've made start going south— don't be surprised when they do. So walk with me on down the street//we'll hop a train or a lorry Uncomfortable and feeling weak//you ramble off another fucking story About how I hope in fifty years that they will find that you were sixty years ahead your time at least it's ten golden years. So walk with me on down the street//we'll hop a train or a lorry Light up the world and slay the meek//if it's not burning up the world it's boring So walk with me down Elkton St//we'll hop a train or a lorry Live hand to mouth by skin of teeth//holding loose appointments with attorneys Court ordered curfew pushed back to 11:30//I'm asking "who can bear this burden for me?" Is it too late to start another story?
2.
The cost was high but now it's spent I know that it's not right Hard to accept that it came and went before we could realize That you were not prepared//It wasn't fair You'd been obscured But now we're hanging around your door And we can't make a sound There's no fighting truth. Did you think that this was cake and balloons? No chance you blacked out just a little too soon? You tell me once a month at least that you're through with it But now you're hugging the sidewalk close. These crooked stairs, six steps in pairs You fell down the entire flight Let's burn this bridge— Who even cares? Architecturally sound advice. To watch just who you crossed was never entertained And now we're dancing around your name because it feels like a grave It's a frightening truth And now we'll never know why || You fucking did what you did like you always do Did you think that this was cake and balloons? Not Nancy Reagan coming armed to the tooth I'm not sure what my stupid face has to do with it but you insist it's a problem and puke on the car ride home.
3.
Old Weed 02:39
Don't care to hear the latest news— You can keep the change but can you sense this mood coming through? It's been real nice looking past this dead-faced glare for a wide-eyed gut reaction; Moments like these can't be denied Yet still you'll try. You found yourself in Prague yet still I'm not so sure that you've found me. I see you're at the window so I go and lock the door— Does that constitute a dick move? Through this facebook post won't you take your toll? Bankrupt my Social Capital. Humbling statement followed by a lowbrow reprisal The group approval to which you're entitled. Why can't we stay good friends online? ...Or was that a slight Perhaps I've jumped the shark in trying to be kind Just when I thought we'd end up fine Your cousin's weed won't get me high.
4.
What do you keep behind closed doors? Who will I find beneath your floorboards? Collecting blood to paint the town— my, you're a hell of a gal Forget the average, let's talk mean Smack me around a bit my darling orphaned edge-queen That's if your latest trick allows.... I wish. It's just another reminder of this || I left a note to remind her of this Odd intervallic reminders of How I would love to be, if only for a while I would love to be like Aldous Huxley's child I would love to be imagined or asleep Might add up to a ghost Still I count on this black sheep
5.
I'd absolutely love to be the Unabomber if that meant that I would have healthcare Catch up on rent for the apartment, all 300 squares The kitchen houses the commode It leaves me with a very funny feeling Like I should have looked up all along to see I'm getting fucked on vaulted ceilings. And it's a cold night But if you don't mind to sit down with me I know it sounds preposterous but I could see us sharing twin linen sheets. After your man has lent a cigarette to the Terrible Machine who comes to claim you//We'll throw our gears down on the table as we dry hump and laugh. We almost got back to my place but what stopped us wasn't who we were deceiving It's just my neighbor standing freely based and screaming at his newly broken/broke-in TV— That's not what parking lots are for, man. Well anyway if you'd still like to make an ampersand with me I can't stand to see the face of some *half-ass who's twice the man that I'll ever be You claim to hate this routine We can't keep our Terror unseen Fell for this broken Machine Who barely has a third of a cheek* And it's a cold night I understand if you can't spend even a little more time with me I'll keep my wallet empty//like a frame that displays nobodies teeth As though a fire came and chewed out the memories And ate up all of our 300 sq. ft.
6.
Said I ruined all I touch, you slammed that door right in my face I used your kindness as a crutch to help me stand in place Made me feel like I'm worse than scum You put a curse on me in a foreign tongue while My balance falters and your contention proven right. If I'm so full of it why do I feel so empty? Got caught out running with just a bit too much to hide The same blows that broke me are the same that broke my stride I once was a good boy but now that value has lost its face; Once was my father's son but now that's not the case. If I'm so full of it why do I feel so empty? If I'm so full of it
7.
Staggering onward towards oblivion//Biding our time with small talk and chattering Arrogant — compelled by some stupid whim//To placate our minds//And alter the narrative. All we are//This consciousness wrapped in skin//"You'll never believe the results to this quiz" all while being torn limb from limb. Staggering towards Oblivion.
8.
Turn Blue 04:29
I know there's comfort in that you're traveling the world you love— It's beautiful and wonderful and all those things that people say that they have to remind them to distract them from themselves I guess. It's down the block to the bar with a book and my thoughts to keep you away When Mr. Chan grabs my cash and my keys, takes my glass, and says that it's getting late. I'm stepping out to a confidence man who just happens to speak in my voice, "Hey, kid— if you want to stay hid I think I might know a way for to drown out all this ______ noise..." It's not that I don't want to have you on my mind//just to hold my breath until thoughts of any kind turn blue. And now you know where you'll find me//with my future behind me, unused. Stay hid; it's the only real thing I can do to absolve the evil I did. The faithful mislead//why don't you tell me that nothing's wrong//or am I wrong? It's coming on with impossible weight like an anchor got caught in the drain Force it down, let it out of your mouth— take a look in the mirror and see that vanity runs in vein. It's not that I don't want to have you on my mind//just to hold my breath until thoughts of any kind turn blue. And now you know where you'll find me//with my future behind me. It's not the finest hour to begin to doubt the situation which you got yourself involved//because it's not Mr. Chan's fault that you thought you found a way//to confuse the night for day//instead feeling stayed//not muted just downplayed.
9.
10.
Awake too long and feeling kinda sick, I throw myself into these temperamental fits I assure you that it's no trance I'm under. I'm waiting on a car with someone that's inside I never met before, entrust them with my life I hope I don't get murdered Yet I wonder How much does one tip to get skinned? Counting out the ways I end up sewn into upholstery— exquisitely displayed. By these thoughts I am consumed Self-avoidance at its finest, always coming off removed. I pass the time between each borrowed cigarette I light to connect with my disconnected friends I hope that something awful blows my cover. I've got these ill-defined points of interest on my mind And I know it's just my integral blunder. I'm just waiting for my ride. Crawling in my skin Of which I thankfully still have, But this night's not yet met its end. I pray I am consumed. Conflicting sense of self-importance, maybe I'm avoiding [you/me] The moment's getting near, I'm hoping that I'm right With FOX news, Mohandas Gandhi, & Lord Jesus Christ. Are you sure it's not a trance that I'm under? And I don't fear no (tin foil) apocalyptic propositions from Big Brother Meanwhile I beg, "Oh Dear Driver, take your tip Count your blessings— let me live." Our conversation's off the table but it's coming back to haunt me in spades. I never knew a thought was able to first crystallize then shatter under its own weight. I'd contemplate what's on the table, but I know you're trying to rope me in. A seatbelt-click of paranoia incase we don't escape the lane we're in unscathed.
11.
She’s below an intellectual meniscus If the reference is good but the lighting’s not right she’ll miss it In her worldliness she’s skilled in towing imaginary lines Although manic and depressed don’t seem to be much less than intertwined. I’m a door mat and an addict, unconditionally pacing frantic Burning a patch on his lungs and hole in the rug to see you. This dissociative response of which I’m leaning on at any given time Keeps me up in the rafters while she’s runnin’ the scenes with a friend of mine. We’re getting deep at awkward intervals Exchange these lofty syllables This play’s run long, your tongue’s worn thin I’m starting to get anxious at the thought— It’s so predictable, We rise up like dirigibles And crash into the rocky shores of God knows where this conversation ends Condescending to consider me, Dear Lord I think I’d rather be dead Than a hearse in this procession But such is this joke that’s overrun with hints That this eternal consciousness Indeed wants nothing more than to inhabit something greater than You As you’re running through your typical cycles— Seems you’ve anointed yourself and now you’re making your rounds As some tragic, stoned disciple. And no one’s taking the hint but they’re all making their calls And though you feel to move you get nowhere at all Looks like you’ve stranded yourself because you warrant the help to spite you. My dear friend, I think you should be warned This new-aged verbal hippie porn Is kind of hittin’ a wall— That green drink will not save you from despair. I know, inflammatory This claim towards false reality; Your bikram coach instructed you to do these twice a day until you’re dead. "Can’t we all just sit here comfortably And conversate more topically Instead of be held under hostage By your misanthropic qualities, These existential maladies—" Can’t we please just throw out one more term? I think we’ll hit that nail right on the head
12.
Window Seat 05:13
So it goes, I'm on my way home It's OK to feel down, it's just a knot in my throat— I'm fine. I've got this fountain of memories floating on the banks of my mind. I know it seems like I'm going to blow, I'm sorry that I'm sitting beside you Though I'm sure your grandkids would love to know that you almost got some puke on your shoes It's not a matter of fact, but just a matter of this high altitude I will find a way to get back to you soon. It's just so hard for me to unwind I wish I hadn't dropped Fifty bucks at JFK and most of ten hours time— and what's the deal with nothing? It's really making me sick The way you speak and how the crust forms on the side of your lips The get out is planned out except I'm stuck in the aisle. A denial. Oh me, oh my! Why would you wanna do that when you could own some cool boots??//What a score!!!//I know this place by the abandoned strip mall, or is it closer to the bookstore…. I'm sorry— I'm not sure why I just told you all that, guess I haven't really flown much before. Can you tell? When the cabin's dimmed I'm holding in my breath to fight this weight from going Down//we go in the ocean A slap in the face comes to greet you. Faulty flotation devices, clutching on for Our lives spin out so carelessly— Should we have left our fucking seats upright? I will find a way to get back to you, who cares if that means coming home soon? I'm not exactly "qualified to act as pilot" It's hard enough to get friends you've known for years to call you back sometimes And now my cell phone's reaching a flatline. So it goes, I'm on my way home And if my flight should go down be sure to go through my notes. You'll find that I was planning this trip all along I was ready the whole time. I guess it was what it was.

about

you don't have to pay us.

www.mountebank.band/ for pop-up lyrics & more

credits

released January 31, 2018

engineered and co produced by David McDonald at King Electric Recordings in Austin, TX.

Pratfall — a fall often used (esp. of clowns) for comedic effect.

Michael Valle - electric and acoustic guitar, piano, misc. organ, wurlitzer, vocals, synth/misc. sound
Alex Alcocer - drums/percussion, acoustic guitar on "Olivia & Otto", vocals, conductor
Declan Rory Murtagh - electric gtr, synthesizer, glockenspiel, lap steel, organ, vocals, piano
Alex Lopez - bass, vocals, piano

special guest Lexi Cardenas - fiddle on "Can I Borrow a Lighter?"

there's a bird at the end of "Turn Blue" that snuck in on the organ track. credit to that lil dude(ette)!

Copyrights and other threats apply.

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about

Mountebank Austin, Texas

Another filthy Austin-based-band cashing in our drink tokens and falling in love all too quickly.

We formed in June 2016 after having played in several other bands for years; the Hand of Fate slapped all those projects around a bit but thankfully we are way into that kind of thing.

That and biting.

Post-Pop/Indie-Rock/Alt. Folk
... more

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