Three ominous and melancholic songs about class, gender, and alienation.

Cover art, production, lyrics and singing by: Jessica "Nikki Ceceré" Brown

Simple Songs Lurking around the Corner

And if I'm being assaulted
On the top floor 
And I call 911...

You won't get there
You can't climb up stairs
Of meritocracy life is not fair
Just to use the elevator you need a keycard
You gotta pay
So you won't get too far ..

You won't find
Me on time
Buried in decadence 
I am not the child I used to be
Coming from hard working and lucky
Parents who wanted better for me
The "American dream"
Is alienation 
Not the child I used to be
And hotels are only temporary 
Places to stay

Up in room
322
I'm going to pay
For priviledges in which I had no say
Exclusion just keeping out the good working class
In hotels and neighborhoods gated
Not the elitest ass 
Who kills a dream gone faded
A dream with origins traded

You won't find
Me on time
Buried in decadence 
I am not the child I used to be
Coming from hard working and lucky
Parents who wanted better for me
The "American dream"
Is alienation 
And I am not the child I used to be
And hotels are only temporary 
Places to stay

Cover art, production, lyrics and singing by: Jessica "Nikki Ceceré" Brown

Hotel Elevator Keycard

I want you I want but I don't really 
I just want you to see
Yet I don't want you to watch me watching
From a distance
My limerence inference
Reading between the lines
'Cuz I want to cross the line

If you touched me I would cry 
If you don't you'll have to die
I can hear you talking to me
When your lips aren't moving
When mine are, I'm only talking
To myself 
Something something about 
My mental health
Well this hiding place
Used to help me live
In this empty space
Though as insanity starts to give
Hallucinating imaginary friends
To keep me company 
Has reached its end

I want you I want but I don't really 
I just want you to see
Yet I don't want you to watch me watching
From a distance
My limerence inference
Reading between the lines
'Cuz I want to cross the line

Cover art, production, lyrics and singing by: Jessica "Nikki Ceceré" Brown

Limerence Inference

We don't wear bras on Sundays
Not on our day of worship
Not on our restful sabbath
Making it hard to pray
We don't wear constricting garments 
We are free of the tension 
That lives in our chests
It's our Sunday best

On the holy day
Mother's nourishment isn't profane 
My father isn't afraid to hug me
Older boys they don't touch me 
My same body parts arent more dirty 
If anyone profits from their display
It's their owner
Art and pornography are one in the same

We don't wear bras on Sundays
Not on our day of worship
Not on our restful sabbath
Making it hard to pray
We dont wear constricting garments 
We are free of the tension 
That lives in our chests
It's our Sunday best

Why must I be artificial
To make him protect
And make him respect
Our natural 
Difference?
I know she wears her pjs all day long
And sleeps til noon
As she yells in a yawn 
And worships the moon
While he's watching with the opposite of a swoon
But all I want is a day of worship
All I want is a day of rest
The holy day is also a laundry one
My bra 
Is just in the wash
With the rise of the sun
With the rise of his son
Tomorrow at blood orange dawn
Before the clothes are donned
I will put it on 

On Sunday,someday..

Cover art, production, lyrics and singing by: Jessica "Nikki Ceceré" Brown

We Don't Wear Bras On Sundays

I run out of the house in a floral dress
And attract
Bees that attack
Better cover up in black
Haven't you heard the buzz?
I can't be who I was!

I run out of the house in a floral dress
And attract
Bees that attack
Better cover up in black
Haven't you heard the buzz?
I can't be who I was!

I run out of the house in a floral dress
And attract
Bees that attack
Better cover up in black
Haven't you heard the buzz?
I can't be who I was!

It's over it's over no need to hide
I now wear the pigment
Of yellow bees and butterflies
In my lipstick!

Cover art, production, lyrics and singing by: Jessica "Nikki Ceceré" Brown

The Buzz

Half way between poking a dead bird and staring at a doll in a toy shop’s top shelf
Wonderful disgust
Detached, and awestruck 
I gaze out of body at what I made
I hear the triumphant cry of the animal and the squeak of her legs
Behind me 
And I am at peace.

I hear car crash sounds and commotion burying your words when you open your mouth
I nod along without a doubt
Broken seashells wash up on the shore 
Young women bend down to sort 
The salvageable from the ones to let go
There are some answers to the past that you can't know
I just hear without listening while I float to the coast

Cover art, production, lyrics and singing by: Jessica "Nikki Ceceré" Brown

Detached and Awestruck: Coming up in the World

Letters in harmony grow to be words
And connect to sentences written and heard
But numbers crammed against each other are still just numbers
Just cold and solitary
Just numbers no community
No unity in unique identity.

Numbers from a distance multiply 
Sickly dots that buzz like flies 
On a static background electrified
As you kill off all the "unworthy" life
Why do so many people have to die ?
Why do so many people have to die?
For your profit margins, quotas, and self fulfilling pattern seeking statistics
Your razzle dazzle numbers swim synchronized 
Feverish in all the nothing and take a dive
Without meaning or a means
Without greater context to believe.

Letters in harmony grow to be words
And connect to sentences written and heard
But numbers crammed against each other are still just numbers
Just cold and solitary
Just numbers no community
No unity in unique identity.

Numbers Don't Make Sentences, They Shouldn't Make Death Ones Either

Numbers Don't Make Sentences, They Shouldn't Make Death Ones Either

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