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We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.
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lyrics

What we are is not under control. We're the kids who won't do what we're told. All the words that I carve out of my throat, they keep me alive, but keep me alone. So, I shove those things in microphones to feel like I might matter. I don't. Wrap your scars around my radio. Let it hit soft and sweet and slow. Baby, spit in my mouth so I can hold all of the junk you've ever been told. I'm a last chance bet, a neon ghost, but, man, the dirtiest lights shine the most. I blur all this hurt into sound.

credits

from The Things We Do To Find People Who Feel Like Us, released October 30, 2015

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Beach Slang Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Guitar, bass and drums. Played loudly.

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