Field Report Route 18 Lyrics
Route 18 by Field Report
Elizabeth said last night the lake roared like the ocean
I was landlocked under the orange-white solstice moon
Imagine: imagining a place meant to conjure up another
Three degrees of hometown disconnect in my unborn daughter's room
Take the 18 Bus past the place my grandfather grew up
Before he got out and met a pretty Swede at the Bible college choir
Left his sister wearing saddle shoes in the care of the county
With her forehead covered in electrode glue, as to not disturb the wires
Mistakes were made. Grind it out: I can see the edges
The parts where the ends start hemorrhaging time and leaking love
Playing wounded so well, we fell like warm breath cooled
A class ring on a chain, the plastic jewel fell out
Got your ghost ghouling all over Milwaukee
Haunting the homes and the factories of captains of dead industries
I've been no place with the capacity to hoard shame like us
In the warehouses possessed and left unsold by the city
I was 20 in September in the Windex-dirty book store
And the cathode-green skinscreens were interrupted by the news
And those fuckers stole my story--my American narrative:
My connection, and my star-spangled nudes
Jimmer drew a minty Kool and a nine volt battery
And a pubic pile of grey steel wool
From his jacket on the balcony
He said we fucked up but won't admit it
Due to endless imperial vanity
I was landlocked under the orange-white solstice moon
Imagine: imagining a place meant to conjure up another
Three degrees of hometown disconnect in my unborn daughter's room
Take the 18 Bus past the place my grandfather grew up
Before he got out and met a pretty Swede at the Bible college choir
Left his sister wearing saddle shoes in the care of the county
With her forehead covered in electrode glue, as to not disturb the wires
Mistakes were made. Grind it out: I can see the edges
The parts where the ends start hemorrhaging time and leaking love
Playing wounded so well, we fell like warm breath cooled
A class ring on a chain, the plastic jewel fell out
Got your ghost ghouling all over Milwaukee
Haunting the homes and the factories of captains of dead industries
I've been no place with the capacity to hoard shame like us
In the warehouses possessed and left unsold by the city
I was 20 in September in the Windex-dirty book store
And the cathode-green skinscreens were interrupted by the news
And those fuckers stole my story--my American narrative:
My connection, and my star-spangled nudes
Jimmer drew a minty Kool and a nine volt battery
And a pubic pile of grey steel wool
From his jacket on the balcony
He said we fucked up but won't admit it
Due to endless imperial vanity