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Do You Remember the Days When Women Weren't Allowed to Vote? Pepperidge Farm Does

from It's A Little Subjective by Rare Beasts

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lyrics

Whenever I think I'm the clay in your hands, you lift me above your head and look so proudly at the sky. Then I slowly, once again, fall, I'm the mud in your eyes. All the time. Maybe, hopefully, and violet blue. You always knew that it was all for you. I thought I'd rot in the grave that I dug for myself, but you helped. I wish your voice didn't make my skin crawl like it does now. You're far too loud. When you turn red, I won't point it out like I wasn't wise enough not to do so many minutes ago. It feels like years.I know this is what you want. Your friends were sick of having me around anyway. But I am your summer house, and I hope you come to stay. I'm not the clay in your hands, I'm the mud in your eyes all the time. I am your summer house.

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from It's A Little Subjective, released December 3, 2014

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Rare Beasts Woodbury, Connecticut

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