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An Evening In Room 205

from Even If Long​-​Winded Waits by Echuta

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lyrics

1-3 An Evening in Room 205 / Align / Be Nice, Be Funny
6:43 pm. The slow trend. I remember a seat by the window and the rain become a mist, trying to get a grip, trying to gather up the parts that I missed. The details, the depths of me, that’s right, that’s what I’d forget. Swung from the ceilings - Express yourself. The stories, a moth in a blade of grass and a cord around my neck. Express yourself. That puddle on the floor, its where I spilled out. What trick did you pull to get me out? Buried myself. This time, when I come back - all smiles. I remember a few phrases that I got hooked on - “Was I trick enough to be tricked?” “Was I pull enough to be pulled?” Out from similar roads, traced the exact route. Your impulse - took the one thing that I owned. I know my role - be nice, be funny. When the world starts cracking, starts skipping - Express yourself. The docks. The couples with their dogs - that’s what I’ll remember. That and your crumbling laughter. What do lovers talk about? Am I happy in love? Am I stuck in the details? A moth caught in a blade of grass, a worm stuck in a small clump of dirt. Burrowed itself in the back of my skull - the small notch just behind the earlobe, perched there with the assorted details, the stories. I spoke to myself from there. I said, “You traipse along similar roads, you can trace the exact route. One day you’ll get caught in a small crack and plummet through. You want to be caught up in the big things but box yourself in with the small. Your impulse is to align - so don’t align.” Tripped up beneath the tracks with the spirits and insects. Re-emerge - I’ve grown sour with envy. I’ve grown heavy and sluggish with anger. I’ve grown quiet. The worm in the ear. Followed the slow trend towards silence. Obsolete, abandoned, leftover. Debris, buried myself under dirt and insects. The extra of three - what do they talk about? Tending toward silence on the one hand - and on the other an easy drift was likely. What would I remember? The moth in a blade of grass, a puddle on the floor, a mist rain, a worm in a clump of dirt, abandoned houses, straight streets, the office. And your crumbling laughter. I’ve grown sour, and sluggish. “Your impulse is to align - so don’t align. Grow quiet.” Under cover of night, scan them for what’s living: the abandoned houses, the cargo of trains. Spirits and insects. Saw a herd streaming out and running with heads bowed, in the small cracks, fell through, beneath the tracks and pulled back out. Emerged again, but held back that I had buried myself. When I speak the words have a long way to travel in order to spill out, overwhelmed by the process. Spill out with details, the depths of me. What did I forget? The hundreds scanned, from the seat on my ear, speak to me - remind me, describe the contours of the apartment, and the office, and the rest of it. I never had the talent for it - you’ll tell the stories when I’m obsolete. Re-engage. This time, when I come back, remember what they told you. “Be nice, be funny, just have a good time.” Buried itself in the back of my skull. What did I forget? The days, the conversations don’t add up the same. “Be nice, be funny.” Auto-suggestion. “Each and every day, in each and every way, I’m getting better.”

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from Even If Long​-​Winded Waits, released June 1, 2018

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Echuta Vancouver, British Columbia

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