LYRICS TO OUR FIRST EP

THE FIRST EP

I. LIVING IN TONGUES

II. HARLEM, WAIT YOUR TURN

(UNTIL THE DEVELOPERS ARE FINISHED WITH BROOKLYN)

III. (A CALL & RESPONSE) OF LIGHT BULBS & EXPECTANCY

IV. "WAIT, WHAT'S THAT FROM?"

LYRICS

I. direct transcription: LIVING IN TONGUES: We re drowning in Personal Histories / And it s all boiling down on me / We re speaking in monologue and I m suffering / I m an ex-pat who s been stuck at home for years / “There was a story that began: / There was a story that began: / There was a story that began… “ / How can we remember it? / We are a swindled dishonesty / And it s all boiling down on me / We re living in a slanted dichotomy / Between things we accept and those we should be / “There was a story that began: / There was a story that began: / There was a story that began… “ / How can we remember it? / “There was a story that began: / There was a story that began… ” / There was a story, there was a story it begins again and again / We can make, make up the ending

end transcription

II. DIRECT TRANSCRIPTION: HARLEM, WAIT YOUR TURN (UNTIL THE DEVELOPERS ARE FINISHED WITH BROOKLYN): All our maps will get wider / All our maps will get wider / We will draw those lines ever heavier / We will build up new Towers of Babel / All our maps will get wider / We will draw those lines ever heavier / We will build up new Towers of Babel / And our windowpanes will cover oceans / All our maps (All our maps, all our maps, all our maps) will get wider (Ever wider, ever wider) / All our maps (All our maps, all our maps, all our maps) will get wider (Ever wider, ever wider) / All our maps (All our maps, all our maps, all our maps) will get wider (Ever wider, ever wider) / All our maps (All our maps, all our maps, all our maps) will get wider! (Wider!) Wider! (Wider!) Wider! (Wider!) Wider! (Wider!)

DIRECT TRANSCRIPTION

III. DIRECT TRANSCRIPTION: (A CALL & RESPONSE) OF LIGHT BULBS & EXPECTANCY: She said “Show yourself.” Oh what a commotion! / “How many lives do you live?” / She said “You re living with skeletons” / The closets are filling with the bones of ex s / Taped to the underside of a medicine cabinet / An old-key answer to the smoke-filled questions / It s never just one word / It s never just one word / It s never just one word / I d love to say those words / But it feels what brings them has just been broken down / Into all these guarded, caustic, impassive pieces / Into all these backwards, debased up-turned, straight-faced pieces / I want to write about hair, teeth and eyes / I want to write about hair, teeth and eyes / I want to write about hair, hair, teeth and eyes / What s left for us? / Is this just another thing I ll never get to see: / Two people who will never leave / Two people who will never, never leave / I want to write about hair, teeth and eyes / I want to write about hair, teeth and eyes / I want to write about hair, hair, teeth and eyes

END TRANSCRIPTION

IV. DIRECT TRANSCRIPTION: “WAIT WHAT S THAT FROM?”: And the TV / Is more dangerous than / Never turning it On / Because it s burning off / All our discussion / And we re speaking / Little more than quotations / Because we re bending from / Sixty years of / Sweeps Week Simulacrum / We speak with used-up tongues / We speak with second-hand lungs / We speak with used-up tongues / We speak with second-hand lungs / We speak with used-up tongues / We speak with second-hand lungs / We speak with used-up tongues / We speak with second-hand lungs / Oh second-hand lungs / Oh second-hand lungs / We re going to change the channel / And we re going to / Broadcast all their returns / Just to show you / What we re in it for / And we ll never / Air a thing with / All their signals / On our air / We ll cast the loudest anger / We re speaking with used-up tongues / We re speaking with second-hand lungs / We re speaking with used-up tongues / We re speaking with second-hand lungs / We re speaking with used-up tongues / We re speaking with second-hand lungs / We re speaking with used-up tongues / We re speaking with second-hand lungs / OH SECOND-HAND LUNGS / OH SECOND-HAND LUNGS / Because we ll repeat it / Our conversations / From the TV set / From the TV set / From the TV set / From the TV set

END TRANSCRIPTION

ALL LYRICS COPYRIGHT2009DANGALLO

EXCEPT #II COPYRIGHT2009DANGALLO

&JAREDTHOMPSON

LETTER TO THE MTA INRE: OUR 3:36PM TRAIN TO GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL

To whom it should concern:

Let it be known, first and foremost, that this is a "refund request letter." I am hoping that by using what follows I will bind you to my plight--but if it does not produce an actual, monetary refund, I am at least letting you know that you will sit eternally and forever on the wrong side of Justice and Beauty.

To continue, my brother and I stepped onto a 3:36pm train at 3:42pm at South Norwalk with one goal: Making it to the Williamsburg Waterfront by 6pm--in time to see a band called the Dirty Projectors. We figured we had plenty of time by way of your 70 minute train to Grand Central Terminal (a train, I notice, which used to take 55 minutes. But--I can only assume--this extension of the ride is some kind of Bargain Promotion. Think of it--15 more minutes of Train Scenery for the completely un-adjusted ticket price of $9.75?) So, we found two cramped half-seats at the left-hand-dead-middle of one of the cars and settled into our books and personal thinkings.

We started moving.

Then--Rowayton!

Next stop--Harlem/125th Street!

We are elated!

We are swelled with motion and the air our train whips behind us is throwing us into the World!

And then...

We are stopped. Our swirling Millennia of passed forceful men from our family have all, at once, been denied their Want: Motion.

We sit--are sitting.

We are told it will only be a few minutes (in the Marketing Arm of Capitalism, this is a true statement, we believe--"We have paid you with the profits from the proud and sober work of our backs--we have done right by you, in short, so that you will do right by us.")

After 15 minutes, we are told to hang tight.

"Oh, God!" we think, "we are now in the grips of Bureaucracy!"

I am trying to stay calm. After all, I rode this line twice a day, four days a week, for almost two whole semesters at a city college, and the trains, even when beleaguered, always got me where I needed to be. And besides--we have plenty of time.

No cell reception to call my girlfriend who waits for us on the Other Side (and would continue to wait faithfully until 6:30, sundress limping under the Midtown heat).

Then, the lights and air conditioning go off--come back--go off. The added heat of ninety bodies gives our modest half-back seats a new feeling of restriction.

On and on--we sit.

Vague announcements come and make us feel nothing.

Nothing happens.

And nothing happened for sixty minutes.

In short, after waiting for an hour, forced to squander a shining Sunday afternoon, at 5pm--at this point it was abundantly clear we were missing our show--another train arrived.

But by now, even at the sight of the new train, the MTA had made Nihilists of us all--we no longer believed in Salvation.

Then, in thirty minutes, we were standing, broke-backed and broke-spirited on our new train we were promised would work, regardless of the fact that it looked just as crest-fallen as our last one. But, as soon as we were all onboard after having to single-file (and in our case, Noah's Ark) over two ramps that were so conveniently placed at either extreme of the train--we were off again! And with only thirty minutes to get to Williamsburg-by-way-of-Grand Central!

You, Benevolent Eye of the Complaint Department, already know what happened.

We got to our destination at 6:30--a scant three-hour ride!

Our show missed, we turned on each other: My brother, knowing about my letter writing, told me I could write a strongly-worded letter to his ass. His nerves and ubiquitous smile had both soured by the weight of Time.

In closing, I know that Fate is not within the Jurisdiction of the Metro Transit Authority, but I say: We are living in a time in which the promise of Fulfillment lies only in those we pay, and so the buck has to stop somewhere down the line.

So, I am asking for a full reimbursement of our two round-trip Off-Peak tickets, totaling thirty-nine dollars. Not including the emotional and spiritual distress suffered at the hands of the touchie-feelie, short-haired yuppie couple that sat in front of us.

Sincerely,

DANIEL GALLO.

***

I will post their response if and when I get one.