In Some Room: Volume II

by Dandelion Massacre

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credits

released June 19, 2014

Tearle-Guitar/Organ/Vocals/Piano
Travis-Mandolin/Vocals
Tevyn-Washtub Bass/Vocals
Mark-Trumpet/Organ

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Dandelion Massacre Modesto, California

Dandelion Massacre. Old-timey, but no dueling banjo solos or warm heavenly vocal harmonies here, just crusty American livingroom-folk.

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Track Name: The Process
Underestimate the process
And we'll wind up mad and cold
I better count my fucking blessings
And do what I'm told
The wind blows like a whistle
Trees bend my American cheese
Time bends the imagination
So we die with ease

His battered tongue has cold soars
And a mild case of chlamydia
These freedom fries are too salty
But at least they're kosher
The sun fires like a pistol
Cliffs end the American dream
And we keep crawling deeper into the void
Hoping we'll die with ease

No satellites for guidance
My mind wandered off the path
But the good Lord Jobs will find me
All his genius in an app
Ninety nine percent unhappy
And one percent greed
It ain't nothin' to 'em but chump change
Change that I can vote my way for free

But it's an illusion
It's an illusion
It's our confusion
But most of all
It's my delusion
Track Name: Dat Ol' T1m3y Doe
Gin gin
I can't win
My son is dead
My wife won't grin

Sin sin
A life of sin
I wanna die
And I am giving in

I used to smile smile
Walk the mile
Pick pretty flowers
And be a good light child

But now I grin grin
For I'm bound to win
To rule the world
And torture the humans
Track Name: http://www.youtube.com/watch?V=cwjzqr_tp-s
Some people say there's style over substance
Sometimes style is the substance
And if you can't realize this
Yer the reason art will not exist

Linear narrative's a joke
It creates a creative choke / hold
It's been done before
Hundred times before

Film is just moving pictures
A way of creating imagery
Not just the depiction
Of the novel on the big screen

I want Hollywood to choke
Cuz Divergent's a joke
It's been made before
A thousand times before

Art doesn't have a beginning, middle, or end
Story doesn't need a beginning, middle, or end
Punk doesn't need a part where we all yell in unison
But we'll do it again and again and again . . .

This song's been played before
A thousand times before
So I'm as bad as you
But at least I know it's true
Track Name: I Guess Merle Haggard Isn't Dead
I guess Merle Haggard isn't dead
He's still alive and kickin'
Pullin' songs out of his head
When you said who you'll see playin'
You said Merle, but I though Waylon
And that's how I learned Merle Haggard isn't dead
Track Name: #sadpaulgiamatti
Just like that I'm on twitter again
And I've been reduced to
One hundred and forty characters
To get my point through
But just like my love life
I get no favorites
Or retweets to keep me
From growing complacent

I guess I'll be working till I die
Before I get my measely
State mandated fifteen minute break
Or we can spend our whole damned lives
Searching for some place
That we'll never find
It doesn't exist

It's time to go
Stuck here nothing's happening
And getting bored
With finding what we're to subjugate
And having not found love
Being left behind's left everyone delusional
Maybe it's time to follow suit and go
Track Name: Modesto Indie Elite
Where's the wine and cheese at the show?
And shouldn't you be driving home in a BMW?

I've seen less snobs at the
Gallo Center for the Arts

Judging people for who they know and what they wear
You inherited yer parents band account and their arrogance

Don't ever admit defeat
Burn down the coffee shop, the Modesto indie elite

It's funny to remember you talk about community
Cuz you ran away from us off to some big city
Where there's so many more people to exclude
And you can grow yer brand like elitists do
But I know you know we're gonna be alright
The only ironic thing here is our indie lives
See, we're thirteen years deep struggling DIY
And if it's taught us one thing it's how to survive

Would it kill you to have some human contact at this rock show?
Did I just say rock show? Cuz apparently indie means

Generic, major label,
Coffee house singer-songwriters

If you look pretentious up in the Websters dictionary
You'll find an aging hipster and his flannel posse

Skinny, old dismissive prick
And his bearded, protege, flannel fucking troll

It feels like Jesus on the cross
It's so religious in it's loss
A graven image in the mud
Like when I shed my precious blood
I am a loser
I am Satan
I am Jesus Christ
I'm me
There are no winners in this fucked reality
I am a loser
I am Satan
I am Jesus Christ
I'm me
There are no winners in the Modesto indie scene