(Migraine Music by lovechild is intended to be listened to as a whole rather than on a track-by-track basis.)
Taking all of my money, taking all of my time (gimme gimme gimme). Taking all of my life, but that’s alright.
One day I’ll have enough saved to afford my very own grave. These thoughts that I have are keeping me awake but they’re the only ones that I appear to make. I’m a slave to my environment, to all the people I hate. Swimming around in circles in thousand foot puddles; these swells hold me back and I’m drowning in laps. Wait, who are you? A member of a working class society. But wait, who am I? And will I be judged on how I survive?
Take all your time spent, put it into retirement, figure it out, but is it really worth it?
These are the words that infest my head, makes me never want to get out of bed. It fills my head. All the things you said make me never want to get out of bed. It fills my head.
I can feel it in my veins, thins out my blood but clots my brain. Oh, it’s not a mistake; I can feel it in my veins, thinning out my blood and clotting my brain. Every time I’m letting go, every time I’m giving into my pain, I try to flush it all away. No, it’s not a mistake.
Brush your teeth and you can still feel the taste. Comb your hair so you can cover your face. Standing in line just feels so out of place when you’re bored.
Tired mothers and spoiled brothers overwhelmed by the presence of another. You are your own, despite what you’ve been told, but you’re still losing a grip on life. No only son, you are no chosen one. Self-entitled, not doing drugs for fun. Self-medicating with a one-track mind and you’ve tracked your marks on mine. So you say that it’s never enough, but do you feel that it’s never enough? If it’s not validation, then it’s money you want. You ask ask ask and you’ll never shut up, but you would never try to listen. You only see it with your tunnel vision.
You told me so but don’t let me lose my head again. With what I know I’d never wish this in the end. It seems when I speak, a little piece inside of me gets no relief. It runs deep.
I left and then I carved a name out for myself inside my shell but it doesn’t help; my problems are only put on the shelf. In my eyes it’s nothing, but do I respect the worth of my being? A meaning, a feeling; what keeps your heart beating? Behind your eyes, well it means something, there’s still something. We gaze into each others’ until we’re seeing double-vision. You want to kill me? Well, I want to kill myself. Take a breath for a moment and go ingest your surroundings. I think that I’m slowly getting sick; this world keeps spinning and I am getting motion sickness.
Cuddled up beside my AK, I think I’m gonna take the pain away but I’m out of pills. I’m thinking of you and I’m a nervous wreck.
Fix the daisy chain inside my head. I think it could be all this medicine but I’m having dreams about prosthetic limbs and a child soldier’s bleeding severed head.
Blood spills into the air and through your mouth, that’s the kind of living I’ve been talking about. I’m going to drink drink drink until you tell me that I’m full. I’m going to have to water board everyone you want me to. Sleep the days away. I dream so often that I envision myself inside of a coffin bed.
Please take the liberty of politely handing out these killing sprees. Please just pull the trigger: set yourself free.
I think I swallowed my wedding ring so when I die, please don’t remind my wife of the pain I bring. Be sure to remind the future me, honestly: “Well, you tried your best, put a Purple Heart on your casket.” Drop my baby headfirst on the concrete. Lightning strikes and I let go of everything.
I love who I’m not but hate who I’ve become.
I don’t know who I am or why I’m still alive.
I took a walk about it and went a couple miles when I saw an ocean. My reflection said to wade on in. I stumbled around for hours and hours and then my feet reached the floor so I went a couple miles more. Attention, sex, and violence is what I need to survive. Don’t ask me who I am or why I’m still alive. I don’t know who I am or why I’m still alive.
I made some friends, told them all of my problems, and they said “you should have left,” but things got too deep to solve them. What good is the mind if it’s not moments apart from my heart? The distance in my eyes was further than I could find. Attention, sex, and violence; I don’t know who I am or when it all began.
Attention, sex, and violence is what I need to survive. I don’t know who I am or why I’m still alive.
“You used to be emotional with a small amount of depth that I was standing in.” / “Kneel to repent your sins.”
Looking in the mirror and my body starts to cringe. I don’t know who I am or where it all began.
releases 01 September 2014
Tim Altieri: spiritual advisor
Greg Cook: vocals
Alex Garcia-Rivera: engineer, mixing
Reid Haithcock: photography
Ally Newbold: photography
Zac Suskevich: guitar
Patrick Talesfore Jr.: drum set
Zach Weeks: bass guitar, design & layout, mastering, vocals
Recorded at Mystic Valley Recording Studio to
24-track 2” open-reel tape with an all-analog
signal path. Mixed to 1/2” half-track. Mastered
digitally on a computer. May & June 2014.