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lyrics

The air that filled these balloons
formed from stale words that we spoke.
Shed your clothes.
It's just not plausible to hide in hoods and false stops,
when everything and me and you are in bloom.
So I'll stab at redemption til' it pops and lets us go home,
well I'm home.
Who's to say about production value?
I'm saying what I want to say,
it's been this way since May.
But it was March
and I was cold
I held onto the shaky value that I could grow old
in this house.
And nothing is the same.
And nothing can be the same
When it's March.

credits

from We Never Claimed To Know What We're Doing, released June 1, 2015
lyrics/guitar/vocals- Isaac Pickett

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The Nixon Administration Denver, Colorado

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