I don't care about your fingernails digging into me incessantly. I don't care if your red lips keep on kissing me repeatedly. I don't care when you run your hand runs up and down my leg and start to beg. I don't care but you cry and whine, baby, all the time. It's all the time.

I don't care if you change the color of your hair to something I might like. I don't care if you keep insisting I'm your type. I'm not your type. I don't care if you sit unaware as I write this song. Don't get me wrong, I don't care if you sit and stare or if you sing along.

There aren't enough caring songs

The five guitar tracks on this track (including the bass) are all my new possession, a Wayne's World Strat. Excellent.

Why do you follow me everywhere? Your mother called and said that you weren't there. I look out the front room window pane only to see your smiling, happy face. No, I don't want to hold your hand. Oh, god, I struggle to find an end. Once I give you something to hold, god knows you'll never ever let go..

Just when I thought I got away, the doctor called and said that you escaped. Hit the lights and lie down on the floor, don't make a sound when you knock on the door, but the knocking is permanent. God knows I'll always give in and let you in. No, I don't want to hold your hand. God knows that this will never end.

Oh, god, you'll never let me go, you'll never let me leave my own home. Once I gave you something to hold, I knew I'd never be left alone.

There aren't enough songs about solitude

This is a song that I wrote and recorded two or three years ago. Changed some of the words around to reflect a topic more relevant to my interests.

Found myself on TV. Hey, this ain't no reality. I'm losing interest. Hey, man, can I bum a cigarette?

There's a man on a blog says there's twenty-seven ways to get a job. I'm self-loathing, lack confidence, and I fucking need a cigarette.

And then I'm up on the TV screen and I know this ain't reality. My Momma, I need to make some cash real fast so I shake my cute little ass.

There aren't enough jobs for songwriters

In March before I moved into an apartment above my landlord, I recorded these vocals in about one take to try to figure out their rhythm. Maybe one day I'll be able to yell at the top of my lungs again.

The struggle of the poet, she fights and fights against the current. The creation of the artist, placed in a basket and set adrift. They paddle with their hands keeping eyes on the horizon. When they reach the Mediterranean, no one will know quite what that all means.

They almost reached Alexandria before they fell asleep, feeding the crocodiles yet failing to provide any peace. They drift so near the source, but the current roars with far too much force. The difference between an artist and the rest, the artist shows his suffering best.

Images stitched together end to end. Passages twisted beyond recognition. When the poet stares into you soul with the brightest of eyes, deny, deny it all. When the artist smiles with teeth buzzing like bees, deny, deny it all.

Denial flows like a river

I do love a new purchase. Found an old drum track and wrote this song in a couple hours, J. Mascis style, all tracks using my new Classic Player Triple Tele.

hello friend

Why don't you leave me alone?

An anarcho-nihilistic view of the future of the democratic process.

Berning to Feel

Didn't sleep last night. Instead wrote and recorded the first original Nile Drown track in probably years.

The Real New Willenium

A Beautiful Day

"Hey, Kyle, when are you actually going to sit down and talk to a girl?"

I dunno.  Maybe if I rock around the world.

"Hey, Kyle, when are you going to settle down, settle in, maybe join OK Cupid or Plenty of Fish?"

I don't wanna grow up.  I'm a Toys 'R' Us kid.

There aren't enough songs about love

This is another Swords Are Dangerous song that I had always wanted to hear recorded.  Now you can, too.

Nile Drown

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