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Bashful Hips Vol​.​III

by Bashful Hips

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1.
Dear Notebook, Thank you for taking my abuse, It was cathartic to ruin you with my dirty notes To disgrace your lily white pages with my messy artwork I will look over you to take back my stabs I painted on you You were ninety-seven cents, but worth so much more I’m sorry about the time that I spilled my drink on your sleeve We had the most secretes romance I’ve ever had I told you things I’d be embarrassed to tell my dad You are a Molotov cocktail You kept me warm at night You are revolutionary You are a canary on fire I’m sorry about the time I spilled my ink on your pages And I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long, long time And life is flat and it can seem boring Well what am I trying to communicate here? I’m sorry that my silence intimidates you I swear it’s not that I try to I recently learned that a whisper can be so much louder And reach so much farther than a scream ever could. I know I’m supposed to exude an arrogance that is successful Attract things that are meaningful But the truth is that I have nothing to offer you So I blend in on the bus, in coffee shops and night clubs I can pay for your drinks but I can’t give you day to day conversation
2.
02.Slide Can I get romantic with myself? Used to hate my smile Now I’m learning to be bashful Hey can I make myself smile? Well the sound of your sex The ribbon on your hip I stare directly into your eyes, I see everything, there’s nothing you can hide Were so damn disconnected, could you put down your I-phone for just one second I stare directly into your eyes I see everything there’s nothing you can hide We blush because we both know, We want you out of your clothes Stumble in the dark My pain I’m learning to live with Yeah I want to be bashful, Tonight I’m going to forget it Stumble in the dark Life is hard, when you hate your smile
3.
You look like my ex-wife Probably not the way to start a relationship right I don’t go out on Saturday night I go for a run Write a song for an old friend Count up paychecks Looking at numbers get my bank account right Smoke cigarettes Count shooting stars Across the moon at 2am Write verbs till 3, try to go to sleep Well I’m sorry that I wronged you I’m sorry that my heart moved, I’m sorry about your heart I’ve gotten into decent shape My body built like my mind Stretched out and thin, bent in certain places I’ve fallen off and gotten back on again A greyhound bus that goes nowhere I’ve searched and searched across the mainland It all seems the same, it’s a shame
4.
Dear Sydney I'm trapping you in a song I hope your new friend he doesn't mind I put you on wax, wrapped our time in cellophane It's the only way that I know How to say goodbye Closure, conclusion Closure, yeah I mean conclusion Whatever gets me home, you know in bed faster Well dear Sydney, Enjoyed our time spent at the movies Watched you laugh at the screen Nervous system broken Hoping I could still breathe I guess that's life credits roll We hope our favorite characters, stay that way Content I meant it when I wrote Life’s about concord grapes and sparkling cider On picnic blankets I hope you find it If you see me looking sad on the street Don’t be a stranger Or do, whatever you want to I have my coffee I have my orange juice I have the new Serengeti CD in my Walkman I’m living well it just doesn't look like it I think you’re special I hope you feel that way Well conclusion closure it's all the same Well conclusion closure dear Sydney, it's all the same Dear Sydney, I hope you make it there Closure, conclusion, closure I hope you make it there
5.
I need your rays You are sunshine and I ‘am darkness Well there are things that were not supposed to talk about Like dirty socks and when it’s time to take the trash out And the night you called me and told me you cried all day I was envious, I wished I was you This is my life, and I guess it means that I’m alone a lot And I killed two spiders in my apartment tonight The third got away but I hit him with bug spray And in my life I’ve waved to strangers Hoping it was her
6.
06.Alright 02:49
I make sound pollution for the lonely For my friends who have always been alone I sleep to the tones of Xanax and organic veggie dinners I’ll make the beats for the loners Who want to go to work then go home And read the works of Homer We have no choice but to take very cold showers Well you're idea of fun is so ordinary I want scars and stretch marks dimples in all the wrong places I want to see it all but not by judging it But by kindly exploration My idea of fun is a CD that skips like it was worked over by a DJ Trying to make the perfect mix Well, all he is trying to do is create the perfect mix And I refuse to fall down in the shower Well the fucked up part is, I’m starting to feel alright And the fucked up part is, I’m starting to feel alright And I can, talk and manipulate conversation I can coast through awkward social situations And it's as boring as all hell, I’d rather go home
7.
Insanity, I guess it’s just a figure of speech I was lost for so long It’s been five months How long is enough now? I’m saying it now You know I’m done And I slip back and forth But always more south Then my compass points north And in the present tense I have nothing going on How can I define that? Well how do you define that? I guess there is more to life than love But it’s just not that exciting I heard you ignore your loneliness Hoping someday someone comes along and it’s beautiful I recognize my fallacies I hope it’s time we make a treaty When the night comes and the only hand you’ve had to hold Is a wooden post to kill all those vampires and ghosts In my trench alone those are the longest nights Every move to get comfortable might as well be a Vietcong fight It’s not black or white; it’s different shades of red It’s just a complete mess
8.
08.Letters 03:25
Well you are my friend We hold hands at night Intermingle arms and legs Get twisted in blankets and sheets Will be like hospital patients When your mind has you down I won’t try to you drag you up Bring you tea and listen When my heart breaks into a million little pieces You won’t bring me glue You’ll touch my hand and let me be silent Oh god, I can barely remember the time we spent Or the mole on your face But I'll write you every Christmas To remind us of the space we spent acting like hospital patients And I’ve been walking slower The time I have to myself Notice time moves with the pace of my feet Now that I’m walking slower I meet more people I see more things But I haven’t seen you, I live in grime I get the feeling it’s going to be a long, long, time And grief it appears in stages I like denial, the idea it never happened I’m in acceptance, but I’m hoping that in the next ten seconds I’ll forget it, I guess that’s not acceptance at all
9.
Will I start every notebook feeling like this? Well I wish my metaphors weren’t metaphors at all I feel sick all the time, pressed with a hundred ton blankets Sits around my neck, it made my shoulders sore There is a lot of games to be played But I fold quick, just so I can sit and watch it And I watch the sky and I notice the change in weather And I see the sunrise and I see the stars set up the night sky And a moon can make my blood shake Bring me up and get me high But when it wanes away it makes my blood stay And fill up and go to that old place Honesty is loud, But if there is no one around, does it even make a sound? All these people, they look so happy Dressed in their Sunday best gowns Walk aimlessly through town And I don’t have a dress to impress with Paint it grows and shifts Like the words that came out when we were breaking down The tangy taste of soap and water And I might be a ghost Not the most social host And unless you’re down for the game Don’t expect words to burst aflame
10.
10.Closure 03:00
Finishing up loose ends Not making amends And I want closure from my attacker Does that even make sense? Well the screen is black, black on all those chapters And the screen it teared a hole, the screen it tears a hole And the screen is black on all those chapters and it’s over And I’ll be so gone by the time it comes around, I'll be so gone by the time this thing comes around And I was told I was dead inside That’s why I can’t cry It didn’t bother me Psychic pain, And I was told it gets better, I’m thinking I’ll have to wait I’m told it gets better, well close the door and go to sleep And I’ve been saying it over and over, Life is flat and that’s okay, And I’ve been saying it over and over, I want a better reflection I’ve been working on this reflection I want a better reflection Being alone is starting to be all right I told my dad and my mom there is nothing to be sad about or happy I’m not jumping for fucking joy but I’m not burning a hole in my arm either I can’t rehash the past but I can’t look pretty far beyond my feet either I want to get the hell out of here I’m getting older There may not be another chance to become the man I want to be I’m getting alright with my body and now I have to come clean with me I have to come clean with myself

credits

released September 1, 2012

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Bashful Hips Chicago, Illinois

Bashful Hips is an Avant Garde project from the mind of Ian Fellerman. Bringing his sometimes searing, sometimes hilarious but always poignant observations to bear over an entire stable of Noise Rock/Hip Hop informed Electronica, Ian's music is never stable, always changing and searching for the sound to express his feelings.
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