Will you be a satanist with me? Mortgage off your soul to buy your dream vacation home in Florida: the collateral the devil’s repossessing from me. Trying to score some off brand ecstasy.
Will you be an anarchist with me? Sleep in cars and kill the bourgeoisie. At least until you find out what a fake I am. Spray paint my initials on an ATM. I’d burn the cash and smash my old TV.
Will you be a nihilist with me? If nothing matters, man, that’s a relief. Solomon had a point when he wrote Ecclesiastes. If nothing can be known, then stupidity is holy. If the void becomes a bore, we’ll treat ourselves to some self belief.
You wonder if you can even be seen from so far away. A slow pull, a seismic drift, leaning over the edge of a continent. It’s so hard to come back, you hang on until it drags you under…
Will you be a satanist with me? Mortgage off your soul to buy your dream vacation home in Florida: the collateral the devil’s repossessing from me. Trying to score some off brand ecstasy.
Will you be an anarchist with me? Sleep in cars and kill the bourgeoisie. At least until you find out what a fake I am. Spray paint my initials on an ATM. I’d burn the cash and smash my old TV.
Will you be a nihilist with me? If nothing matters, man, that’s a relief. Solomon had a point when he wrote Ecclesiastes. If nothing can be known, then stupidity is holy. If the void becomes a bore, we’ll treat ourselves to some self belief.
You wonder if you can even be seen from so far away. A slow pull, a seismic drift, leaning over the edge of a continent. It’s so hard to come back, you hang on until it drags you under…
http://vevo.ly/BI6GRzboygenius, Ye Vagabonds - The Parting Glass (official audio)boygenius2023-11-17 | support the Aisling Project: https://www.aislingproject.ie/
art director - Lauren Tsai editor - Lauren Tsai, Anthony Yano Hays lead animation - Kevin Eskew, Josh Shaffner, Lauren Tsai animators - Nayon Cho, Star Ren assistant animator - Levi Le, Sam Staehler compositor - Ethan Clarke additional compositor - Jeremiah Ferrell sound design and mix – Skillbard production company - B&B Pictures
live action reference shoot
cinematographer - Nicholas Ferreiro live action shoot assistant - Kyle Brooks
Black hole opened in the kitchen. Every clock’s a different time. It would only take the energy to fix it. I don’t know why I am
the way I am not strong enough to be your man. I tried, I can’t stop staring at the ceiling fan and spinning out about things that haven’t happened, breathing in and out.
Drag racing through the canyon singing “Boys Don’t Cry”. Do you see us getting scrapped up off the pavement? I don’t know why I am the way I am not strong enough to be your man I lied, I am just lowering your expectations. Half a mind that keeps the other second guessing. Close my eyes and count.
Always an angel, never a god.
I don’t know why I am the way I am. There’s something in the static. I think I’ve been having revelations coming to in the front seat, nearly empty, skip the exit to our old street and go home. Go home alone.
I said I think that you’re special. You told me once that I’m selfish and I kissed you hard in the dark in the closet. You said my music is mellow. Maybe I’m just exhausted. You think you’re a good person because you won’t punch me in the stomach.
And I love you. I don’t know why, I just do.
But you’re not special, you’re evil. You don’t get to tell me to calm down. You make me feel like an equal, but I’m better than you and you should know that by now. When you fell down the stairs, it looked like it hurt and I wasn’t sorry. I should have left you right there with your hostages: my heart and my car keys. You don’t know me. I want to be happy, I’m ready to walk into my room without looking for you. I’ll go up the top of our building and remember my dog when I see the full moon.
On the on-ramp, you said, “If you love me, you will listen to this song.” And I could tell that you were serious so I didn’t tell you you were driving the wrong way on the interstate until the song was done. You felt like an idiot, adding an hour to the drive, but it gave us more time to embarrass ourselves, telling stories we wouldn’t tell anyone else. You said, “I might like you less now that you know me so well.” I might like you less now that you know me so well.
Leonard Cohen once said, “there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” And I am not an old man having an existential crisis at a Buddhist monastery writing horny poetry, but I agree. I never thought you’d happen to me. I never thought you’d happen to me.
Met you at the dive bar to go shoot some pool and make fun of cowboys with the neck tattoos. I ask you easy questions about work and school, trying to be cool about it, feeling like an absolute fool about it, wishing you were kind enough to be cruel about it, telling myself I can always do without it knowing that it probably isn’t true.
I came prepared for absolution if you‘d only ask, so I take some offense when you say, “No regrets.” I remember it’s impossible to pass your test, but I’m trying to forget about it, feeling like an I’m breaking a sweat about it, wishing you would kindly get out of my head about it, telling myself one day I’ll forget about it knowing that it probably isn’t true.
Once I took your medication to know what it’s like, and now I have to act like I can’t read your mind. I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie. But we don’t have to talk about it. I can walk you home and practice method acting. I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning. Telling you it’s nice to see how good you’re doing even though we know it isn’t true.
You could absolutely break my heart. That’s how I know that we’re in love. I don’t need the symbol of a scar, so put down the knife. We’re not swapping blood.
Isn’t it enough that we stripped down to our skin, cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting, and I told you of your past lives, every man you’ve ever been. It wasn’t flattering but you listened like it mattered.
I feel crazy in ways I never say. Will you still love me if it turns out I’m insane? I know what you’ll say but it helps to hear you say it, anyway.
Some October, in the future, I’ll run out of trash TV and I’ll be feeling lonely, so I’ll walk to karaoke, sing the song you wrote about me, never once checking the words. I hope that no one sings along. I hope that I am not a regular.
Damn, that makes me sad. It doesn’t have to be like that. If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part?
In the next one, will you find me? I’ll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel who looks like hell and asks for help. And if you do, I’ll know it’s you.
I can’t imagine you without the same smile in your eyes. There is something about you that I will always recognize. And if you don’t remember, I will try to remind you of the hummingbirds. You know the ones. And the baby scorpion. And the winter lunar halo. And the walk we took in the Redwoods. I could go on and on and on and I will go on and on and on until it all comes back.
Getting deep. I’m out of my depth at a public beach. I never listened, I had to see for myself. It’s coming in waves, shoots through my mind like a pinball, straight friendly fire, point blank.
Salt in my lungs, holding my breath, making peace with my inevitable death.
I guess I did alright, considering. Tried to be a halfway decent friend. Wound up a bad comedian, an honest fool with more bad habits than you can count.
There we were. Was anyone ever so young? Breaking curfew with illegal fireworks. Unpacking God in the suburbs.
I’m swimming back. You say you don’t have to make it bad just cause you know how.
Writing the words to the worst love song you’ve ever heard. Sounding out the foreign characters, an incantation like an anti-curse, or even a blessing.