Friday, October 26, 2012

New Song: "Olly Olly Oxen Free"

I took a sick day last Friday and spent the entire morning and early afternoon in bed, which is something I tend not to do on sick days. Usually, I end up roaming around the house or running errands. But I decided to really treat myself to a sick day of reading in bed. Needless to say, by late afternoon, I had gone fucking insane. Sometimes, that's just way too much time to spend in bed by yourself.

While sweating out some shakes toward the end of the disease, I picked up my guitar and started recording a song that sounded like a bastardized garage buzz version of "La Bamba." Determined to do at least one thing that wasn't laying on my back and letting the aches sweep over me like an air raid, I wrote some lyrics too (and sang them with my very bogus sore throat). Anyway, this is the song that up until the very last second was actually called "Sick Day," because, hey, sometimes, I'm the laziest idiot alive.

Also, days later, I wrote more words to the chorus so that it wasn't just "hey you" (though, again, I must stress that I can be the laziest idiot alive). There was also a whole crazy thing of me yelling a few more sentences and then "olly olly oxen free" over and over at the end, but none of it was turning out and I got fed up with it. Whatever the fuck ever, song. You win. I either work on a song for months or I do a song in its entirety in a few hours. This jam very quickly proved to be the latter. Maybe I'll come back to it and add those other words when I understand how to actually play guitar or how to sing like a real human being. Until then, I'm just going to keep making music that sounds like noise because I have a shit-ton of fun doing it. Enjoy!

"Olly Olly Oxen Free"
by Jake Kilroy

Roll out the red carpet tongue to lick wounds,
filled to the salt-encrusted brims with doom.
I've got a mouth of hot teeth laced with swears,
a throat graffitied with words like a junkie prayer.

But, you, you were gorgeous,
whistling dixie on the porch of America,
and me with my fever,
it just wasn't enough to remember you.

No more barley wine or royal bloodlines.
She told me that I had a smile like a jack knife.
I said, "Your black dress keeps me honest."
She said, "You act like you could keep a promise."

Hey, you.

Debutantes in mini skirts
that want to take a thrashing and give a beating,
they put their lips together and they whisper,
"Every charming man's renaissance is fleeting."

I'll never forget when I dressed well
and posed as a pioneer out on the rails.
When spring came, I pulled out my heart
and drank its insides so I wouldn't starve.

Hey, you.

Are we really looking for Christ at night
or do we just want a drinking partner that'll tip right?
Sing me a tune, precious atrium rib cage,
because we can't sleep and we won't change.

Hey, you.

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