Got a Lot of Hate in My Heart

by Speak, Priest

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about

I recorded all these songs in my bedroom. I'm not going to charge you for songs that I felt like singing, particularly since I'm not the greatest singer/guitar player ever. Um, what else? These songs are about the last few months, mostly the really shitty stuff. Except for "Fired From Life." It's sort of uplifting. But only sort of.

credits

released 25 January 2012
Ryan: singing, guitars, keys, strings, percussion, bass, lyrics, music, vinyls.

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Track Name: She Used to Call Me 'Boy'
I slept through your text last night, but the bad dreams become real. When I am awake, I clutch these chords and sing out your name. But these words fall on deaf ears and I start to forget my best year. You say you need time, but I need you. You say, "I need you, but I can't call..."

And this love is suicide in small increments. It's only love not an exact science.

I stopped eating when you left that night. My heart beats quickly whenever you're nearby. I know you miss me because your smile speaks as much. I hope one day you'll give a fuck enough.

You say you're unsure of the future, but we can walk that road together. I won't wait for too long, but with you, I'll always belong.
Track Name: The Cure and Moz are Raging Inside Me
I found myself away for the weekend. But I lived a lifetime in the best pretend world where you weren't real. A ghost story, a specter, a misguided feeling that I forget.

And I saw the sun rise and New Jersey beckoned. Because Seattle's been tainted from the bullshit you have painted.

I found myself and a new me. New friends, a new outlook, and a new "fuck you" song.

When you're fighting the cold, I'll sleep soundly. Having burned old worlds and smiling above the blue sea. And the fact (is) that you're dead to me.
Track Name: The Map, the Lake
I spent the fall becoming bitter, abusing drugs and alcohol to kill me quicker.

I spent the winter getting better. Futile shit, I won't quit until you see that crashing your plane into my chest is the cause of my death.

And I'd rather be alone than be a martyr to no one but my own (selfishness).

And now I am lost. I cut you out, but I wonder where you are. Fuck my mind. Fuck this insomnia. I'm losing sleep, maybe I'll dream when I die.

I'm tired of falling over myself. All of the Xanax isn't enough, so see you (rot in hell).

These cuts show me the hate that you bring out. Someday you'll see your mistakes. I blame you for the doubts, hatred, and all the ugly parts that I have avoided. I've spent my life in imperfection. Killing you, in my mind, is self-preservation.
Track Name: Molls...She Wrote
I called you the other day, I got your voicemail again. Feeling of rejection and the stress is just too much, I guess. Once again, I send unplayed mixtapes your way. I should have known from the start, your coolness eclipsed my heart.

Oh, Molly, I waste my time on you. Could you do the same for me?

I don't have movie stars' smiles, just this half-formed style. I can't compete with those other guys, so I'll just sit here alone tonight.

I called you, there was no answer. Time to cancel other plans.
Track Name: Fired From Life
My bus ride begins with dreams where I'm single and dead at 33. Though I'm sober, I still have black lung and no money. We can laugh at my addictions: food and DVDs. Yet I substitute God and love with sex and apathy.

Where am I going? Nowhere fast.

You traded "Crooked Rain" for an Ergs LP. I could be cooler with their discography. My friends laugh that I never have a beard. Mockery is silent the day I disappear.

Winter reminds us (that) we're cold and lonely. Broken hearts become shattered trophies. Just me and my TV, a waste of space. I'm dead at 33.