music & lyrics by Will Wood
Produced by Will Wood
Recorded by Simon Ficken at Backroom Studios in Rockaway NJ and Jonathon Maisto at Kawari Sound in Wyncotte PA
Mixed & mastered by Kevin Antreassian
String section and choir arranged by Will Wood
Baritone ukulele, piano, keyboards - Will Wood
Upright bass - Vater Boris
Electric guitar - Mike Bottiglieri
Strings - Yoed Nir
Choir - Sofia Session Choir & Orchestra LTD.

==Lyrics==

I was right there  
While you fought tooth and nail
Gasping in the gas mask thrashing till you disappeared
Say you’re not scared, that you know it’s cause I cared and
Say you know I love you, and that hope was just not there

And I know, I know that I’m wrong
That when you’re gone you’re gone 
And I can’t bring you home
But I want, I want to believe
That you’ll remember me when you’re just memory

Roots in the ground
Or uploaded to the cloud or
Warm inside our hearts or as electrons in our head – nowhere now
Over the rainbow, can I stop by and say hello and
Sorry I would take it back if I could but I know

To love one from too far to call
Is not to love at all, to whom is it I talk?
But I want, I want to believe 
That you can still hear me when you’re just memory

Said “it’s okay”
And “It’ll be all be over soon"
I’d never let a bad thing happen to you
Now goodnight I love you

And every, everybody dies 
Fighting for their lives, just trying to survive
Well now I know, I know why we say
That there’s a better place that waits beyond the grave, oh

And I know, I know it’s not true. 
There’s just no more you but as long as there’s no proof
Then I choose, I choose to believe 
That we’ll met in sweet dreams after you’re put to sleep

Euthanasia

Don’t take the following words as reverence for tradition
I’ve learned to pick my battles by losing most I’ve fought.
The more mores subverted, the more I sense I’m missing
And I’ll always do it my way, even if that’s just the same way I was taught.

I’ll bring home the bread and you’ll stay home and bake it
Weeding out the garden where the milestones gather moss
Crack a smile at my vows, and whisper “wow, can you believe we really made it?”
As I give up on dodging rice, and fold my cape, I say “obviously not.”

But I want to be just like my parents before I was born
Oh can we be just like my parents?

I know you don’t want kids but think about a daughter
We could name her Gwendolyn, like mom would have called me.
I’m not sure yet myself, but I learned from a good father
Yeah, I mean sure, they messed me up. But I think that’s just the gig.

And maybe it’s just some hormones that kick in in your late twenties
But I have laid a lot of women, and now I’d like to just lay down
And marriage always scared me, but I’d like to have a last love
And love can last a pretty good long while. I’ve seen it around.

Oh, can we be just like my parents when I was young?
Why can’t we be just like my parents?

Tongue out of my cheek now, I’m done pulling faces
Iconoclasm wanes. My cynicism tires
But what do I know bout forever when so far, I’ve been so fleeting?
Babe, my frontal lobe’s done growing; this might just be how I’m wired
But now we’re kissing before brushing, smile with our whole faces
If you want a hyphen last name I guess I don’t mind the cadence
I’ve seen home videos. I was there back in the 80’s
And if I’m just them and they back then could do it, why can’t I?

Just like my parents in due time
Imagine me, just like my parents? Yeah, right.

‘Cause I’ve made more mistakes, than simple empty moments
Each one as out of character as you know I tend to be
There’ll be scalpers at the cemetery gates, with all my would-be widows weeping
I’d have forgotten all their names, so why should you remember me?

But if we grow old together and you talk to my headstone,
That is, assuming that I die first, (which is fair) and assuming I don’t leave
Close enough to forever, I guess, to prove what I hoped.
I mean otherwise how am I to believe?

Becoming the Lastnames

Wonder how I didn’t die 
This is not my life. I’m no survivor, I only happened to survive.
Wonder how I sleep at night 
Well I count pink elephants, blessings and skeletons
Down the days I have left, with one eye open 
That was me screaming “Bitch, I am reality.”
And stumbling off to lose myself in a brown paper bag cause me and
Sweet Evan Williams got a date down on Avenue 
A staving shakes scraping change till daybreak 
Turns out anyone can eat out the trash
Then wake up on the freeway mid-crash

Cause I was drunk when I made my bed
Now with a half-decade hangover I lay down in it
What have I done? Don’t know what I’ve said
It’s a half-decade hangover, either this, in jail, or dead
It’s a half-decade hangover, Jesus Christ my aching head

Waste not want not borrowed time
Lender knows I’ve tried, to make it right, give back my life and if not
Take it cause lately I been thinking maybe I could
Take it or leave it if I can’t at least break even then I’m leaving when
I been feeling this awful since I hit bottom and
said “hand me my shovel, I’m going in.”

Oh brother – man, you call that recovered?
Tripped on a couple steps, and collapsed on the stairs
Broke my neck on the backs of those who I’ve hurt and scared
Like it’s a good thing, you said “you’ve got your whole life ahead”
Oh great, another half a century to live to regret
I’d rather be anybody else instead

Cause I was drunk when I made my bed
Now with a half-decade hangover I lay down in it
What have I done? Don’t know what I’ve said
It’s a half-decade hangover, either this, in jail, or dead
It’s a half-decade hangover, Jesus Christ my aching head

Sober, but so much still hangs over
Please believe me when I say I poured my whole past down the drain
Say that a second chance is a chance I can take
But I can’t make amends for things I don’t remember
I can only say I’m sorry and occasionally pray
Guess you’ll just have to take my word that I’ve changed
After one thousand eight hundred twenty five days

I was drunk when I made my bed
Now with a half-decade hangover I lay down in it
What have I done? Don’t know what I’ve said.
It’s a half-decade hangover, hand me my ibuprofen
It’s a half-decade hangover, Jesus Christ my aching head

Half-Decade Hangover

Falling up

Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe’s near, fast it’s here 
Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you’ll neverland
Second star to the right…

I’m gripping the grass and I’m pulling up daisies
Thank matter for mass and the comfort of gravity
Airplane eclipses over spirals of math, would or could the impact kill me?
Yes, yes, yes. No, no, no, no, no.
It’s just the high-noon moon saying “shoot for the stars!”
“Be the next big constellation, connect the dots between your parts!”

Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed.
Only plastic flowers never die

With the bones of a crow and ambitions of candlewax
What do you know of control? The wind is simply at your back
It really seems pollen’s more clever than bees, so you cue the final words of Leary:
And cry “Why, why, why? Why not? Why not? Why not?”
I’d rather be a hot-air Hindenburg than an elephant tied right down to its stake
Cut ties, shed the dead weight. I ain’t saying it’s fate, but there are no mistakes

And dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed.
Only plastic flowers never die. 

While I cry on skies of blue linoleum. 
Clouds of spilt milk, but am I the cup?
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
Falling up. 
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

Disney-Pixar Ludovico, Shirley Temple maraschino
Hotel rooms of Motley Crüe, Broadway producer improv troupes
Ray-Bans in your living room, eyeline hurts to be in view like
Stage fright only when its karaoke night with friends leave early
Did I earn this stupid hat? Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?
Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?  

The larger they are
The harder they tend to fall
Much larger than life cause from such height
Life looks awful small

And dandelions grow in dirt
Magic mushrooms grow in piles of bullshit
I grew up in suburbia. 
Love us or hate us, pick us you’re killing us, and 
Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed
Only plastic flowers never die. 

While I cry on skies of blue linoleum. 
Clouds of spilt milk, but am I the cup?
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
Falling up. 
(Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze 
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed.
Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze, you make a wish.)
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
Falling up. 
(Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed.
Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze, you make a wish.)
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

Did I earn this stupid hat? Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?
Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?

Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe’s near, fast it’s here 
Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you’ll neverland. 
Second star to the right…
And straight on ‘till you die.

Falling Up

(disclaimer that this isn't my song I didn't make it it's made by "A Verbal Equinox"!!

He'll Use Me for His Needle Show-A Verbal Equinox

I do not claim this song. this song is not mine. 

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