Clock in, sell your soul, and call it ambition. This track’s me quitting the side-quest of killing myself for the man. The only boss I’m fighting now is the one in my head.

Boss

An exec once told me I didn’t have the face for music, so I went broke paying for a nose job. Looked exactly the same after — except I can’t smell anything now, which turned out to be a blessing and a curse. The chest grew in nice though, and I sing from there. Maybe I’ll never have the face for music, so I’m building Songbirds of Sunset as my mask. These are the Bootstrap Mixtapes: deep cuts, scrappy demos, the workshop before the album finds its final shape. Hatched from one bad face, Songbirds of Sunset is less a band, more a scrambled cult of imaginary friends and unstable muses.