Leftover Monsterface

by The Fatty Acids

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  • Immediate download of 11-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

     

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03:09
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02:30
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01:49

about

Written, recorded and mixed by the Fatty Acids. Mastered by Justin Perkins at Mystery Room Mastering.

credits

released 21 July 2011
The Fatty Acids are: Derek De Vinney, Josh Evert, Matt Pappas, Kurt Raether, Cole Quamme, and Joel Van Haren.

tags

license

all rights reserved

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Track Name: Creature
This is the creature we made and then dressed in the winter. Laughing at looks we would get with true even tempers. It would sleep in our beds and would sit at the table content. And on car rides it never whined about stupid cassettes.

Even if we spent all day lounging on couches, for better or worse its presence made me feel accomplished. When it posed for our parents their pride just came bubbling out. With a stunning awareness it put the right words in my mouth.

This is the creature.
Track Name: Marks We Leave
We'll connect each dot in a nameless void, where there are no laws the humans exploit. And we'd like to think that the marks we leave are all permanent we are heaven sent.

And We'll be damned if you change our plans.

Will our lineage get a second wind? When the star explodes will we be remote? And we'd like to think that this means something, but what's happening will have never been.

But there's no reason to just fade away without beloved ones at arm's length. Try to remember an exodus could rightly lead to a welcome in.

I thought die, die, die, heaven's just a stone's throw away at all times. When you approach the throne they'll say, "Well done son, you've achieved your most precious of goals." But I'd like to live – just to see if we get to that turning point where all known existence climbs in body bags to relinquish bleach-white flags.
Track Name: Oven Mitts
Now, if you are afraid that you will scratch every single itch, you've got to plug up both your ears and on your hands wear oven mitts.

Are the shapes that we spend years forming worth anything if not permanent?

Is experiment without scientist just a waste of elements?

Please don't ask a thing of me, you know I can't turn you down.

I hear you screaming under covers, begging for a sway and snack. But, being so mammalian, you know I can't give you only that.

I try to concentrate on what's on my plate, always stabbing a stranger's food.

Should my happiness be gratuitous? Should I strangle each molecule?
Track Name: Football Team
In post-coital whispers and drunken, honest slurs I may have mentioned it. But let's be crystal clear. A zealot-blooded vision brought me here and left me like I beat it up.

And even statements of profundity were shunned.

Skinny and dressed like you were behind glass. Walking mannequin, I'll never understand how you took my mother's son.

Something's turning years to blurs and living creatures into furs, Lord.

Something's living in the Earth. Been reaching for me since my birth, Lord.

You had an air of confidence reserved for people without a thing hidden beneath their floorboards.

I smell it on you.
I smell it on me too.
Each word is a blood test.
Each sentence a prequel for something to come.
Can I get adjusted?
I had what it took, but I must have lost it.
A 100 pound settlement suitcase.
But look what I found, with each night a new face.

And I learned not to wear my thoughts like clothing, because mostly I'm wrong upon further investigating.

The look in your eyes.
Your cheeks hang like sandbags.
Your temper: a child's.
I think about running.
I laid on my back while you got abducted.
The city ain't safe for a football team, much less a 100 pound stumbling suitcase.
So head down the sidewalk and I'll try to keep pace.
Track Name: Feathers, Beaks and Gills
Oh, these times.
Still drunk backseat highway signs.
Wake up clothed, under someone else's coat.

Which decade will find me in urn or grave?
Pressure makes me accomplish things with haste.
To create is to be a thing that wastes.
Spend your days scoring things to keep awake.

When you gonna leave me in my filth?
The pity parade that I done built?
When you gonna let my oil spill without cleaning feathers, beaks and gills?
Track Name: AAA
You use us like we are AAA, only in a crisis.
And I keep predicting what you'll say, lucky psychic's client.
You took ages just to come around, you're a childhood birthday.
And next time you need us we'll be found somewhere oceans away.
Track Name: Argentinian Mistresses
If we were creative, we'd find a way to work this out. Things picayune - semantics and social norms - they leave my mouth with the taste of chemicals. Our minds are those of animals and try as hard as we might to be civil we're still taking tax-paid trips, visiting Argentinian mistresses.

I really wish full-heartedly we'd never started measuring our self-worth on reflections cast off from lovers born to be injurious like all of us. The wounded drive the ambulance. And now I've finally realized that we're all fucking someone's treasured ex, or best friend, whom their love for has not been confessed.

I feel like Woody Allen, but I also feel like Tucker Max. And I don't have the talons to make cavities in peoples' chests, but with the breath of chemicals our minds are those of animals and try as hard as we might to be cilvil we're still taking tax-paid
Track Name: Memory Banks
Any girl that runs away when I even get close
Oh I want it bad I want it bad why can't I give up?
And don't you know you're looking better with every milestone?
Oh I want you bad I want you bad why can't I give up?

Baby, slow down. Rob my wealthy memory banks.
Track Name: Where I Stay
So that's where I stay, I stay on the fence.
I don't stand for a thing, but I sure make friends.
If you ask me my name, I just might say, "Depends."
I'd like to intercede when I know something's wrong
But neutrality's theme keeps me humming along
and the moment I slip on a picket or trip it