I Guess That's What Shadows Do

Quarantine

From Cash to Bowie, to ol’ man JP 
Their mourning has a lot to say
Their signaling grief, 1 up’ing their feed
It’s quite a little game we play

They remember you now, but you can’t be proud
They’re all wishin luck

When you’re 6 feet in the ground, everybody wanna come around
When you’ve passed away and left, the whole world was your biggest fan

From Cobain to E. Smith, to Cohen and Prince
Their pointless social babbling 
They're making it up, to seem cool enough
It’s such a see thru comic scheme 

Their kindness flows now, but you can’t make a sound 
They’re all wrecked and touched

When You're 6 Feet In The Ground The Whole World Was Your Biggest Fan

Spread your legs and fall for life, and take me out for an evening wind 
The freshest skin draped in blood, press me back before your morning run 
And brace my hands for the real-world itch, my head is in the sky but my body’s in a ditch

Tell my wife that I love her so, and tell all my friends to hold their note   
Tell my wife that I miss her too, and tell my mama that I’m missing the womb

Zip your purse and primp that lace, and talk too much when we take cocaine
The cloudy air all ripe with song, I find myself in a mid-day fog 
I hate waking up so why should I fear death, every day I’m in decay like a baby’s breath

Tell my wife that I love her so, and tell all my friends to hold their note   
Tell my wife that I miss her too, and tell my mama that I’m missing the womb

 Hide your face but sell that smile, you cough too hard in the first aid aisle
The best you’ve got is a dark motel, you never know where to find your hell
Plato’s drug makes a narcissist, there’s nowhere safe when the mirror’s bent 

Tell my baby that I won’t get caught, and tell all the kids to hold that thought
And tell my wife I’ll be home soon, and tell my momma that I’m missing the womb

Missin' The Womb

Hidden boutiques on every street, you’re running ahead 
And I’m wanting to leave
We’ve come way too far to not have some fun
I’m wiping my brow as we pass all these bars
And we’re one of a kind, livin a dream
But it ain’t the one that we want it to be
In the back of a cab I’m feeling you up
I’m letting you know that I’m not the one

But you ain’t half bad, no you ain’t half bad
The way you’re waiving me thru like a cop caravan/with the blade in your hand/in a school traffic jam
But I can’t stay mad, no no I can’t stay made
So I’m pushing you out with the fog in my head/with the steam from these meds

Oh oh We ring it up and we have a taste oh oh
We take our part in this revel race oh oh
We heed the call and we hoist a drink oh oh
We watch all kinds and it makes us think 
Oh oh and back in the hotel bed, you said you wish we were just like them
Oh oh drunk in the car ride home, we say you’re only who people know

Picture collage, on every block, you’re stalling a while
And I’m looking to dodge
We’ve not been ourselves, but we still keep a tune
You’re counting your change cause we’re leaving too soon
And it’s all a façade, these places they show
They’re not the one’s we really should go
In a private song room, we’re calling our guide
She’s letting us know that we’re out a time 

You aint half bad, na na you aint half bad
The way you’re putting me down with the blues in your mouth
But I’m still not mad, no doll I still aint mad
So I’m drowning you out with the sound of my fan

You aint half bad, no you aint half bad
The way you’re trying me out like a new kind of dance
But I’m still not mad, no no I cant be mad
So I’m changing your name like it’s part of the plan

Just Like Them

Sam Harris speaks calmly with a blade for a tongue, he stops and he smirks and he makes em feel dumb
Jordan’s cross-legged with stories to tell, he praises the past and what history has found 
The gallery claps for rhetorical laps, there’s propositional pause and values and facts

It’s a metaphysical arms race, in an intellectual dark age

He says oh man, it’s like Elvis pancakes, bad ideas and a lot of dead weight
He says oh man, you can’t think what you think, there’s no credit for good and no bad man to blame
But oh man, you’ll do what you do, you are who you are but there coming for you

It’s the space you wake and falter, it’s a navigation problem
It’s the sky you look with laughter, it’s the navigation problem
It’s the day you break with boredom, it’s a navigation problem
It’s the world you play with wonder, it’s a navigation problem 

Sam Harris stands tall and convinces the crowd, he’s sharp but he ribs when the cattle’s called out
It’s rhythm he breathes all round soft deepity, he cuts and he stares and keeps em in key
The moderator immersed as the fluff bounces off, he says once again nothin I’ve said is lost

Sam Harris (Navigation Problem)

Face Masks and Side Effects (skinny and mean)

Waitin' on Nora (Dizzy Spells)

Everything's gonna be just fine (sugar stuff)

Verse 1
                           					
I’m tried of faking I'm sick of my pride; I’m tried of waiting for some better time 							
I want to wake up in a place that I like; I’m tired of coffee and pills to feel right 

I’m tired of bullshit, I’m sick of the lies; I’m tired of hating myself all the time 
I want to grow old and I want to grow wise; my brain just won’t let me I’m still like a child 

Chorus 1

These songs don’t come easy these songs don’t come free; all of this sadness is nothing unique 
This heartache and longing are nothing to seek, the world loves short verses, but they don’t love me ee ee

Verse 2

Don’t tell me I’m hateful don’t tell me I’m blind; there’s nothing I can’t see that’s good for my eyes
I want to be grateful I want to be kind; but that’d be too easy, I still got some fight

Don’t call me dramatic and say I’m no fun; there’s nothing to do that would make me feel good
I just want to lay here and soak in the tub; of hope for anew and shame for what I’ve done 

Chorus 2

My love is not patient my love is not true, the madness and silence are all I consume 
Self-pity and substance are nothing to use, the world loves soft voices but they don’t love you ou ou

Verse 3

Don’t give me your reasons and turn it around; there’s nothing but secrets that you’ve never found 
I want to sing praises and put you to bed; but those kinds of books I’ve just never read
Don’t give me your sorrow and take my cold hand; I don’t want to go thru this loop once again 
Head games we’re playing give me no solace; the patrons come smiling to watch us torment

Chorus 3

My head started hurting my thoughts were on blast; regretting these traitors, regretting my past
Speaking my motives like walking on glass; the cameras on rolling so we better aa aa aact

Chorus 4

My heart wants a lover my blood won’t make room, my worlds are in sync but the stories confused
After all of my searching, I still barely move; when your body’s exhausted what can you do oo oo

As The Camera Rolls

Dallas on the Run is the moniker for Andrew Brower's collection of hundreds of lo-fi recordings. Some recordings have been compiled into mixed CDs and distributed to family and friends and at live performances. Many of the recordings can be found online on Facebook, Reverbnation or Bandcamp under the Dallas on the Run moniker. If interested in additional compilations please contact.
 
Recording began in 2005, though there was previous experience with piano and drums. Some of the material was written pre recording and molded to fit the melodies that came from vocal and instrumental experimentation. As Andrew matured as a songwriter, the melodies and instrumentation generally came first.

Dallas on the Run

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