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MOUNTEBANK: Live from Lake Wobegon

by Mountebank

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1.
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.
2.
"Can I Borrow a Lighter?" 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, it 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 "Loose Cigarette" I'd absolutely love to be the Unibomber 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 Can't stand to see the face of some half-ass 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 not just a little more time with me I'll keep my wallet empty//like a frame that displays nobody's teeth As though a fire came and chewed out the memories And ate up all of our 300 sq. ft.
3.
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 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 Someone who's a lot like [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.

about

Huge thanks to Garrison Keillor for having us.

credits

released October 4, 2016

David Evans Audio

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all rights reserved

tags

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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