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We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

The Loveland Frogman

by Doog

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1.
The people we want don't want us We don't like the people who do It's us v. the city We don't need your cesspity But I think we need something brand new It sounds like the black box recorder Is sending a weak SOS And a pale imitation of sexual frustration Maybe we just need a new address With just these bridges left standing Which ones do you burn Which ones do you throw yourself off? Let's gather round and feel alone Even outside of the congestion zone Even inside a brand new postal code Welcome home And a pale imitation of sexual frustration Maybe I just need a new address Thank fuck for all this thick skin Bad feelings and good just can't get in Just the twitches and cramps Needles and pins Welcome home Sometimes I should just shut my mouth And stop all the bad things falling out But it's hard to get wet during the drought Welcome home
2.
I've written all these bad jokes But missing out the punchlines So all that's left is a setup That only sometimes rhymes I've got a message for you Without a return address It only says that your workplace crush Doesn't share, share in your interest Not sure if I'm falling ill Or just plain falling through love Sometimes you gotta snap some fingers off To make your hand fit the glove Cause every time there's fireworks Someone ends up getting burned I should've passed the test by now But I, I forget what I learned So I've been writing bad jokes Mr Sandman Don't be so mean You're pushing all of my buttons But I'm not a machine Not sure if i'm falling ill Or just plain falling through love Sometimes you gotta snap some fingers off To make your hand fit the glove Cause every time the spark goes out Things splutter to an end More friends with no benefits and we're, we're not even good friends So I've been writing bad jokes
3.
Piñata 03:17
The end of this rope Fits even better the second time around Come and take a swing Let's spill the stuffing all across the ground She said I miss the nightlife The empty shopping malls But I'm only here for for new material And I said fine, that's just fine Just cut me out a straight-jacket The colour of red wine Autograph the plaster cast And pick me out a bow-tie That'll go with the death mask A new set of teeth To puncture fluteholes up and down my back Come and take a swing Maybe the third time will open up the cracks She said I miss the nightlife The empty shopping malls But I'm only here for for new material I said I miss the taste of weekend cereal And the pressure building behind both my eyeballs And I said fine, that's just fine Just cut me out a straight-jacket The colour of red wine Autograph the plaster cast And pick me out a bow-tie That'll go with the death mask
4.
When I novelised my silent film I tried to fill the gaps with vapours and gas I dug my grave and then I planted a seed That won't ever grow In London in late August, there is no sun Just clouds and rain disrupting museum visits Plenty of chlorophyll but no photosynthesis It's the curse of my own gender A not-so hidden agenda It's the curse, it's the worst Maybe all anybody wants is Just a reflection of themselves Eye-to-eye so you don't have to try And maybe all anybody wants is Just a way to not grow up But the fountain of youth Isn't idiot-proof With a bow in your hair And my stomach in knots Not the famous arrow More like a rabies shot I hear the name in foreign tongues Nestled inside the blackened lung Inside specimen jars Inside the stillborn young It's the curse of my own gender A not-so hidden agenda In the summer you can find yourself But there's no guarantee that you will like what you find

about

So, I did what I'd always avoided doing; I wrote an album entirely about love.

Well, it's not really about *love*; more like mistaking other things for it and, at times, finding yourself alien and incompetent at the whole thing. Everyone needs to 'Pinkerton' sometimes.

So I guess it's still about love really... but it's no Mariah Carey album. AND it's not even an album, it's a 4-track EP.

*"NOT EVEN a Mariah Carey album" - Rolling Stone, 2017*

credits

released September 4, 2017

Written, performed, recorded, produced and 'enthusiastic hobbyist'-level drawing by Andy "Doog" Phipps, with the wonderful additions of:

- James Aslett: all drums, all the time.
- Salwa Azar: cello on 'In Foreign Tongues'

Huge thanks to them, as well as Andy "Gear Depot" Seear, and my flatmates for having to listen to mixing for 3 months

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Doog London, UK

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