I'm So Bored

Half Way Home

Miss Mary

She Doesn't Get It

strawberry chainsaw

It’s Never Fair, Always True

giving up on you

Pontiac

Paranoia

Localism

Marty

An indie hit that takes all the sounds of summer and compiles them into a 3 minute bonanza!

Socks and Sandals

Don’t make a scene.
Don’t let the room see your jaw go soft.
You know what they think of men who flinch
weak, useless, knock-off.
So breathe through the panic
like you’ve practiced since you were eight:
chin up, chest out,
every feeling locked behind the gate.

If they hear the shake in your voice,
they’ll decide who you are before you speak.
A man who loses his footing
is a man they call weak.
So stand still.
Hold the line.
Pretend you’re fine.
Push it down until it bruises.

Men are steady.
Men are stone. 
Men don’t falter.
Men die alone.

What a fucking joke this is.
The script, the silence, the cage we live.
Inside, it’s shame and fear and noise
a storm no one was taught to voice.
What a fucking joke this is
pretending steel when it’s just skin thin.

You learned early that tears
make people step back, not closer.
That a trembling hand
means you’ve already lost composure.
So you keep your sadness folded
in the inside pocket of your shirt,
carry it like contraband,
pray no one sees it hurt.

And every time you break in private,
you swear it’ll be the last.
But your chest is a pressure valve
that no one taught you how to unlatch.
You laugh too loud, you talk too little
anything to look intact.
God forbid someone asks,
and you don’t know how to answer back.

Men are steady.
Men are stone.
Men don’t falter.
Men die alone.

What a fucking joke this is.
The rules, the pride, the walls we build.
Inside, it’s panic wrapped in bone,
a lifetime taught to die alone.
What a fucking joke this is
surviving silence as a skill.

They told you needing help
was the same as being a burden.
They told you asking for comfort
made you less of a person.
But you weren’t born with that lie
it was handed to you like a weapon.
And every man you know is bleeding from it,
silently, perfectly,
just as expected.

Men are steady. 
Men are stone. 
Men don’t falter.
Men die alone. 

What a fucking joke this is.
You’re human, not a monument.
You break, you shake, you feel
and that was never an accident.
What a fucking joke this is
the lie that turned warm boys into cold men.
Let the truth in.
Let the truth in.

real men die alone

Phoneboy

1987

Marty

Rec Hall