It's 4​:​00

by Meadownoise

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released July 25, 2013

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tags: rock Nashville

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Meadownoise Nashville, Tennessee

Always have a rigid paint scraper handy.

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Track Name: Little William
I met a sweet kid. He didn't speak so well. Said he was ten, sat on the grass, I read a book to him. He'd made a circle, a yellow canvas strap. Uncovered words with both his hands, I read them line by line. He understood me. He had a snotty lip. He held my hand. My daughter grinned and took his Barbie phone.
Track Name: Life of Kings
Who's got mascara? Who is the terror queen? Who's got her hands up covered in emerald rings? Hey keep it down, boys. Could be a trap. Could be a hole for souls, a feast and famine ghetto. Two weeks of horror, wit, and magic, the life of kings.
I swing a rubber ax. Lands a blow but bounces back. Leaves the bone and skin intact but cuts you in your dreams. Infection blights the hills. Time for rest and tests of wills while I'll gather lists of thrills and sing the life of kings.
Some live on roots and beans, a barrow full of mustard greens. They ration salt like love and wash it in a stream. I dine with knives and apples sharpened by a Japanese. Oil covers everything from teams of master thieves. I plan to ride tomorrow, cross the woods and seas. I'll bring back metal things, a raft of rubber trees. Or I might sit right here and sing the life of kings.
I see the seldom seen. Gives one guilt and songs for thee. You wouldn't trade my ways for old familiar things. You wouldn't take away the safety and the dreams. Yet you'd still feel the same as me, the life of kings.
Track Name: Mousey
Why do I call you Mousey when you don't look like a mouse? I tend to think you're much stronger now with them thighs that could push up a house. I guess that name beats Cathy or other names I can't pronounce. It don't fit cause your tail is round but your ears are gonna hear me out, Mousey. Why do you call me Scooter? I guess you think that makes you cute. I'm not the one who has to drag my feet cuz nothing ever seems to suit. You should call me Magic even though that's already been done. But I ain't talkin' 'bout no pumpkin' passes, I could fly us around the sun. If you can take the heat then you're the one, Mousey. You got some hair worth pullin' and that ain't much like a mouse. But your toes are just as long and cute. I think I'm gonna pull them out. We got to get up early if we're headed out to space. Forgot to mention that my magic stops and we may not make it back to base, Mousey.
Track Name: Maybelle, Come To Me
I get sick of words they come so cheaply, with hardly one that I can call my own. Maybelle is the magic word for the woman I love. If she even knows of my word I can't tell. Maybelle, you're the kind of hell that I can take. The woman I can make come to me. Come to me. I'll keep 'em comin' just as long as you come to me. Maybelle's favorite words are keep 'em comin'. That's what she wants so that's what I will do. They say it's a problem. Problems will be problems. If favorite words are problems then I've got them, too. | My old compressor caught on fire this morning. The new one cost me more than it can sell. The bottled stuff is tedious, the draft has gotten stale. Gotta keep 'em both around for my Maybelle. I'm 62 and she's, well, she won't tell. I know her dad was in a Burma jail. She's the perfect age for me. It's fine by my Maybelle. If she's aged a day past 40, I can't tell.
Track Name: Get Back at My Girlfriend
Ronald sits in the top of his school. It's 4:00. Most of the teachers have gone home. The coaches are hard at work at the plans they devised late the night before. You can hear the French horns giving it hell a long way away. He sits in a room that was a nice place to be in the seventies. The plaid sofa was chic in a Cambridge way. Now it's cool in the way the space behind the stage at a bar is cool. Keep the backlight away. Ronald sings, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me." Ronald sucks at basketball, he's shorter than his brothers. They both graduated but that's about it unless you count an acquittal as a success. He can't play. He probably has the muscle shape but he hides it under his thick skin. His voice is higher than it looks. He likes his shoes too much and you can tell. He sits on one leg. We all know girls don't like boys who sit on one leg. He sings, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me." Ronald can sing, he can sing, he can really sing. The tired lounge has several tape recorders he puts to use. He tracks his voice with vision and grace. That ratty room never housed this level of creation when it looked expensive. The alkyd smell didn't kill his spirit like it did the rest of them. Ronald sings, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me." The crowd of Russian speakers. After school outsiders with patches on their backpacks walk out now lighting a joint. Soon Carl will come to lock up. Ronald will take a bus home. His mom is sweet but she's tired. His apartment is tired. He'll stick himself in a much smaller room for the night. He'll finish his forced journal entry about careers. He'll eat a handful of salty, crunchy things. He'll go to sleep in his clothes, he'll dream of nothing, he'll sing, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me."
Track Name: This Machine and Me
We're better than the two of us. Without you I'm less dangerous. To you I owe the maintenance of everything I see. This machine and me. How do I repay you? You're greater than who made you. You either work or wait for me but truth lies under what we see. It's me who waits for you. Me and this machine. This machine and me. Your sound is in my head, the noise of this machine. Better than the words I speak. It's not humanity I seek but reliability. This machine and me. Happiness is who you serve. Your loneliness is not deserved. Neither are my wanting words when what I want is you. If we could choose with every friend to pull off all the pieces then have a look and build again, imagine where we'd be? Buttons build the world we see with ever-growing frequency. I give up my autonomy for exterior identity. Fingers only ligaments to connect my head to you. Me and this machine. This machine and me. So evolved, so succinct. When your maker comes extinct you won't even pause to think–the love she had for you. Me and this machine. This machine and me.
Track Name: Yep, That's Right
Before, the profit of your season kept you on your course. It's still the same except we're inching closer to the source. Soon we will all be crying 'til we have no voice. The past will come back foggy with a greater since of force. Yep, yeah that's right.
Track Name: The Great Panic
Ronald sits in the top of his school. It's 4:00. Most of the teachers have gone home. The coaches are hard at work at the plans they devised late the night before. You can hear the French horns giving it hell a long way away. He sits in a room that was a nice place to be in the seventies. The plaid sofa was chic in a Cambridge way. Now it's cool in the way the space behind the stage at a bar is cool. Keep the backlight away. Ronald sings, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me." Ronald sucks at basketball, he's shorter than his brothers. They both graduated but that's about it unless you count an acquittal as a success. He can't play. He probably has the muscle shape but he hides it under his thick skin. His voice is higher than it looks. He likes his shoes too much and you can tell. He sits on one leg. We all know girls don't like boys who sit on one leg. He sings, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me." Ronald can sing, he can sing, he can really sing. The tired lounge has several tape recorders he puts to use. He tracks his voice with vision and grace. That ratty room never housed this level of creation when it looked expensive. The alkyd smell didn't kill his spirit like it did the rest of them. Ronald sings, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me." The crowd of Russian speakers. After school outsiders with patches on their backpacks walk out now lighting a joint. Soon Carl will come to lock up. Ronald will take a bus home. His mom is sweet but she's tired. His apartment is tired. He'll stick himself in a much smaller room for the night. He'll finish his forced journal entry about careers. He'll eat a handful of salty, crunchy things. He'll go to sleep in his clothes, he'll dream of nothing, he'll sing, "Get back at my little girlfriend for me."
Track Name: Tell Me All the Reasons Why
I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to cry. I just want to hate you so you're gonna tell me all the reasons why. I don't care who's sorry. You don't care who's wrong. I've got nickels stacked up in rolls for every time I could have sung this song. Go on and tell the story. Go on and stretch it long. I'll keep patching drywall holes for every time I should have sung this song. | Don't wait for me to spite you. In fact, don't wait for me at all. I am a man who got cut short but pretty soon I will be walking tall. So many things to undo. So much junk to haul. I'll bide my time to file and sort but pretty soon it won't make sense at all. | You've done some marvelous acting. I saw the matinee. I was your fan 'til just last week when I found out that I was in the play. Your style is quite exacting. Must be your German way. It's worked so well to make me week I'll have to sleep your memory away. I'm gonna stop by that place we made. I'm pretty sure it's all been washed away. Those stilts we built weren't tall enough. Now they're just pieces floating in the bay.