"Shitty song to listen to after a shooting" is the 7th track on Penelope Scott’s “Junkyard” released February 27th, 2020.
This is not mine, all credits go to Penelope Scott.

Credits:
Bandcamp: https://penelopescott.bandcamp.com/
SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/penelope-scott
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/3u6lPufHw4Oww6D88rv6sB
YouTube: www.youtube.com/channel/UCIv3g9rhCPc4yHX0dFwjkhw
Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/penelope-scott/1513307072

Junkyard

Shitty song to listen to after a shooting

Penelope Scott - Shitty song to listen to after a shooting

Hush! hush!
Listen to the Varied Thrush
The freezing rain has
Pushed them down into the valley
With the rest of us
Flushed
From the comfortably lush
Forest floor
They draw their bows across
Serrated edges of
Musical saws and crush
The frigid, sharply pointed hearts
Of icicles like us

Crush, crush, crush,
Crush, crush, crush,
Crush, crush, crush,
Crush, crush, crush,
Crush, crush, crush,
Crush, crush, crush,
Crush, crush, crush...

Swish! swish!
The Osprey hovers seeking fish
The glassy pond
Displays the menu but won't serve the dish
To birds who wish
To linger when
The air turns cold
Defying pressure
To defer to Cackling Geese
And Western

Gulls, wish, wish,
Wish, wish, wish,
Wish, wish, wish,
Wish, wish, wish,
Wish, wish, wish,
Wish, wish, wish,
Wish, wish, wish...

Who doesn't wish they could
Begin
To leave?
Who doesn't wish they could
Believe
In letting something end?
We have these wishes
But we're hung up
On a superstitious
Focus on the family
We see in Collared Doves
With love much stronger
Than we probably
Should ever hope
For ours to be.

Are we a "we are" today?
Will we be a "we will be" tomorrow?
Were we a "we were" already
Long ago?
We don't know
What price makes sense to pay,
So we settle for indebted sorrow,
Never knowing we could dine and
Dash into that nullifying snow.

Thrash! thrash!
The so-called trash birds
Taking baths
Betray their cuteness
In the recklessness with which
They lash
Their lustrous feathers
Petroleum with flecks of ash
In an unseasonable
Puddle
Glaciating fast

Splash, splash, splash,
Splash, splash, splash,
Splash, splash, freeze,
Splash, splash, splash,
Freeze, splash, splash,
Splash, splash, splash,
Splash, splash, freeze,
Splash, splash, splash...

Hush! hush!
Listen to the Varied Thrush
Hush! hush!
Hush! hush!
Listen to the Varied Thrush,
Hush! hush!
Hush! hush!
Hush! hush!
Hush! hush!

Varied Thrush

To Exist With You

Worst Album Ever

Starry Eyes

Tho I'm A Tortoise is out now! STREAM IT 👉 https://madilynmei.komi.io/
Watch the music video! 👉 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzGXCyrswMs
Tortoise & Hare Hats! 👉 https://www.hellomerch.com/collections/madilyn-mei

http://www.madilynmei.com
http://www.instagram.com/madilynmei/
http://tiktok.com/@madilynmei
Other links: http://linktr.ee/madilynmei

Song Credits:
Written & Performed by Madilyn Mei
Produced & Mixed by  @ScrawnyMusic  
Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

Lyrics:

My finger paints aren’t great
But I still hang them on my fridge 
Reminds me of the fun I had 
Whenever I look at it
No I am not Picasso or Da Vinci or who knows who
Tho I am not the best by far I sure like what I do

(Alright, guys! On your mark, get set-) 

Slow down take a nap, I’ll catch up to you
Run laps around me but we’ll both burn out soon
The finish line’s close and you’ve nothing to prove
And tho I’m behind, I need a nap too
Cause tho I’m a tortoise, I’ve nothing to prove
Tho I’m a tortoise, I’ve nothing to prove

Death is marching

A slap on the wrist
A tomb made of stone
A casket awaiting a nap (Oh, oh, oh)
We all end up six feet below
Bury me in my favorite hat
The medals I've won from the races I’ve run
On display back home with my cat 
We all end up six feet below
So why should we care ‘bout all that?

I run my mouth and I will ’til I’m old
And things may not be as the forecaster told
Guess they wanted me to show off what I do
But I couldn’t care any less to show you 
Cause tho I’m a hare, I’ve got nothing to prove 
Tho I’m a hare, I’ve got nothing to prove 

Death is marching

Two cozy little caskets, cardboard boxes, earthy holes 
Can I hang our favorite pictures on the walls of moss and mold? 
(Death is marching, death is marching, death is marching- death is- death is marching- death is-) 

Death is marching steadfast toward us (Two cozy little caskets)
It doesn't care if you're bronze, silver or gold (cardboard boxes, earthy holes)
If I reach the end before you
Will you lend your hand to hold?
Will you lend your hand to hold?

Slow down take a nap, I'll catch up to you
Run laps around me but we’ll both burn out soon
They’ll pit us against one another, it's true
And tho we are different we’ve nothing to prove
Tho I’m a tortoise, I’ve nothing to prove
Tho you’re a hare, you’ve got nothing to prove
Tho we are different, we’ve nothing to prove
Oh tho I’m a tortoise, I’ve nothing to prove

Tho I'm A Tortoise

All my antics and my gibberish 
Put a damper on my sentences; 
I'm a [cuddlefish/cuttlefish] 
Trying to cover up my incompetence. 
Maybe your fancy just isn't ticklish— 
Maybe your heart belongs to another fish— 
But on your part that'd be foolish. 
Baby, I think you ought to think through this. 

The sea is big, big, big, 
And it's full of scary things! 
Like great white sharks, 
And colossal squid! 
And I'm worried about you... 
I don't want you to get hurt. 
I don’t want you to get hurt... 
I don’t want you to get hurt. 

If you love something 
(So they say) 
You should set it free. 
But I disagree— 
'Cause I can safely say that 
Catching and releasing 
Isn't what I'd want for me. 

I know I know better than you do 
What is best for you to do— 
Can't you see the logic there? 
It's superlogical. 
My perspective is an outside one, 
And that's really saying something 
'Cause we don't have mirrors 
And since we're under the water, 
There isn't a surface 
For you to see your reflection in... 
Not that you don't look nice! 
(In fact, how wonderful you look 
Is exactly what the problem is....) 

The sea is big, big, big, 
And it's full of scary things! 
Like great white sharks, 
And colossal squid! 
And I'm worried about you... 
I don't want you to get hurt. 
I don’t want you to get hurt... 
I don’t want you to get hurt. 

It guts me every time 
I hear you're frequenting 
Such sketchy dives. 
It's not like it's a crime, 
But what if you get caught by a scuba diver 
Just like Nemo and I can't find you? 

Still I'd never cease my quest for you— 
What else would there be for me to do? 
Sure, there are plenty of fishes in the ocean, 
But not one of them could ever get a hook in my devotion. 
So my love for you supports recent scholarly publications 
Reporting that fish have a greater capacity for memory 
Than was previously believed, 
And I will miss you for the rest of my life.


from A Troubled Piece of Fruit, released 23 July 2012

Stephan Nance, piano/vocals

Stephan Nance — Cuddlefish

[...] 

breaking through the ice, I 
scuttle down the riverbank till I 
espy the arboretum 
in your house… 
in your home… 

and covered in mud, I 
crawl into a carapace, 
and down the hallway 
you, the coniferous buoy 
bobbing on alpha waves, 
inspire a siren song, 
compose a nodding poem 
that will never see the light of day 
that will never see the light 

(but I) 
read in a dream 
Japanese garden 
head on the shoulder 
Japanese maple 
read in a dream 
Japanese garden 
head on the shoulder 
Japanese maple 
read in a dream… 
read in a dream… 

crossing crooked bridges, 
safe to knit you any garment now, but I 
cast off my crafty armaments, I 
cast you aside and I 
scoot away 

but didn’t we ditch those demons? 
are we not free to freeze and thaw as we please? 
to perch on branches 
whittled into benches 
built for human 
shivering 
un cœur en hiver 
un cœur qui ne verra jamais la lumière 

(mais je) 
lis dans un rêve 
jardin japonais 
tête sur épaule 
érable du Japon je 
lis dans un rêve 
jardin japonais 
tête sur épaule 
érable du Japon je 
lis dans un rêve… 
lis dans un rêve… 

everything will be 
simple someday soon 
everything will be 
simple, oh so simple 
everything will be 
simple someday soon… 

Простите мне, что я решился к вам писать. Перо в руке— 
вырезано имя на стволе. 
Меня кожа покраснела на свекольном красителе 
Вы меня поймали с поличным, читающего во сне; 
Ирландца, ходящего в шотландке, я люблю! 
Неразумно, но безмерно— я люблю! 
Относительно дополнительной сосновой шишки— 
Я не беру в голову, не беру в голову. 
Собственно я вырою уютную яму ему. 
Очевидно, язык мой — враг мой. 
А языка чужого я не опасаюсь; 
не боюсь укрепиться в густолиственном лесу! 
Тучи собираются над мной, а я пережду грозу— 
и как только вы дадите оценку 
я дам вам компенсацию, 
и секретно, в карман пальто, окаменелую незабудку... 

[...] 

I don’t want to be forgotten 
I don’t want to be forgotten 
I don’t want to be forgotten 
anymore 
anymore 

denuding adamant layers 
I peel past a period of interregnum and 
inherit the gilt cardboard crown from 
the downy-crested phoenix— 
my predecessor in this queue of 
panels in triptychs 
painted and pruned. 

the kingdom’s a sham; 
Hamlet without the Prince— 
and though a tree you may well be, 
I am not convinced. 

copper head on hickory shoulder, 
curled under covers, 
a fetal web of words… 

read in a dream 
Japanese garden 
copper head on hickory shoulder 
breaking through the ice— 
un cœur en hiver…

Stephan Nance — Japanese Garden / Jardin japonais / Yaponskii sad

Teeth chatter 
Automatically 
A beat clicking double-time 
To the crunch of snow 
An animal 
Licks a beater 
A Northern Flicker 
Clucks a whimper 
A beep goes off inside— 
Is it time 
— or just a timer?

Decalcomania 
Ironed on our hides by the 
Scarlet fever-stricken 
Two-bit hypocritical 
Neo-Puritans 
Turning on a dime.

What are they? 
A little more than kin 
And less than kind 
We live in the same 
But we run on 
Different time.

You are safe 
You are sound 
You are safe 
You are sound

I feel your frequency 
Resonate at my core 
Enkindle my extremities 
Echo through my bones 
Hiccup out its tones
[ . . . ]

We face apocalypses every day 
And fumble stricken phrases 
We ball up to play:

When we feel forlorn 
Just keep peeling those little oranges 
They keep stealing, we keep peeling 
Stuck on an uneven keeling 
Every Great and Snowy Egret's 
Speaking of my evening grossness 
Every Evening Grosbeak's 
Speaking of my great and snowy egress 
Even if we deviate 
Even if we deviate 
The ice rink's set to counterclockwise 
There's no exit till we skate

I lurch along the verge 
A strawberryless frozen biscuit 
My flimsy figure zero traps 
A miraculous lemniscate 
When the intercom comes through 
I think I've lost my refound calling 
Oh, Winter Tanager 
You help me walk but you leave me crawling. 
You are a cardinal 
You are a cardinal 
And I should be so lucky 
As to be a part of you at all

You are safe 
You are sound 
You are safe 
You are sound 
[ . . . ]

You bring the tropics to these chilly parts 
The contrast shocks my system 
Chilblains swell upon my heart.

Stephan Nance - vocals, piano
Simeon Brown - violin
Milo Fultz - upright bass
Hannah Murawsky - bassoon
Hannah Pell - oboe
Lizzy Donovan - cello 
Merlin Showalter - drums, percussion
Arrangement - Stephan Nance & Merlin Showalter

Overwintered

Oh 
What an 
Unfortunately 
Unsurprising turn of events... 
Oh 
What a 
Conundrum it presents.

Swing with a white-knuckled grip and 
Cling to the pieces of ship— 
Or start in the water and 
End in the water? 
The swells, 
After all, 
Intercept 
Just the tip.

Oh 
What (on earth) can I do 
I want help you (on sea) 
I want to help you unsee 
I want to help 
But if I help you 
I can't help me 
And if I go unhelped 
What help can I be?

But what if everything is okay? 
What if everything is 
Easy for once? 
Maybe everything can be 
Easy for once. 
Maybe everything can just 
Be okay. 
Yay. 
Maybe that isn't a psychopomp 
Maybe that's our lifer Hoopoe. 
Maybe that little Grim Reaper 
Will grow up to be a lighthouse keeper.

Hope. 
Hope. 
Hope.

Hope. 
Hope. 
Hope.

I hit the deck 
A cannonball 
From a diving board 
On the crow's nest. 
Best leave the stunts 
To the unprofessionals. 
Leave the stunts 
To the unprofessionals.

The boat's 
A hoax 
A fantasy of control 
A joke. 
See it for what it is 
Now that it's broke. 
Now we avail ourselves of its 
Splinters and rope 
To impale ourselves 
And hang ourselves. 
Hope is what kept us from 
Learning to float.

Float. 
Float. 
Float.

Float. 
Float. 
Float.

But go ahead. 
Offer me another free cruise on a shipwreck. 
How could I refuse? 
Why can't I refuse?

While there is life, there is hope—so 
Why, for the life of me, can't I just float?

Hope. 
Hope. 
Hope.

Hope. 
Hope. 
As if the water I fear 
Is not the water I bathe in.

Stephan Nance - vocals, piano, synth
Adam Caswell - programming
Milo Fultz - upright bass
Tim McLaughlin - guitar
Shigeki Okubo - drums
Arrangement - everyone

Hope Or Float

The Crane Wives - Hard Sell

Teddy Hyde - A Wistful Waltz

indie chamber pop (bardcore)
pronouns: they/them

Stephan Nance — Cuddlefish

Sparkbird