We're Your Age was printed on recycled materials by Bellwether Manufacturing. It includes a double-sided fold-out "mini-poster" and you will also receive a sticker. HANDMADE LYRICS BOOKS ARE NO MORE!! We're Your Age is Anti-Swag Fiend Party's first full-length release and has 12 tracks.
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edition of 500
It was devil’s night just to set the scene. Found myself in a place where I’d never been in a foreign locale, somewhat alienated, but I never could have known the joy that awaited. Now you might be wond’rin’ why this house I did choose. A good friend of mine was on the ones and the twos. The designated one, so my lips stayed dry. Plus my eyes followed later-- not gonna lie. But all that noise is far from the point. Regardless, I found myself up in this joint. Expectin’ to know no one but with whom I came, but on my way downstairs I thought I heard my name. Confused at first, whence came this call? Saw a zombie girl, bloody-mouthed and all. Didn’t recognize that painted up visage, but I saw those eyes and formed an untainted image. Met her once or twice, familiar with the girl. Awed she remembered my face with the one on her. She’s got looks to spare, guess she’s aware today, because to my surprise, she’s castin’ them my way. When I stepped in here never imagined a chance I’d stumble on a staggering beauty that’s lookin’ to dance, be on this end of an interested glance, let alone in one night plant the seeds of romance.
I just keep staring, but I think by now you’ve noticed me. You give those eyes, I can’t keep from smiling. If you’re a daydream, you seem so very real to me. This can’t be happening. Now I’m wrapped up in your fantasy.
How did I manage not to know all this time that you existed? Like before you walked, I closed my eyes and missed it. Can't act too obvious, though you've become a muse to me. And now, inspired by your beauty, I'm writing all this poetry. You've got this look of sincerity that says I can spend my life with you. And my breath with its brevity could speak the words " I do." You make up's gone, at least it's calm, and that's just the way I like it. I wrote this song with sweaty palms because I'm just too excited. It's not about your curves as much as it's about your confidence, but don't be misled. I still love the way you look and dress. I may be less than you deserve, but I'd treat you like a princess; work up the nerve, ask you out, and give you my best from smiles to sex. I see your chest, but not just physically. Hear your heart beating. I know we can share moments intimately. I'm the man who'll hold your hand. I'll check on you when you need me. If we're apart, I'll drop a text, and reach you through circuitry. It's impossible for me to avoid these highs. I'm buried in your eyes and my stomach's filled with butterflies. I want to hold you tightly, but you still wouldn't be close enough. I want to kiss you softly and then take it up a notch. I'm obsessed. I know this. Maybe you've noticed you exist. You're sitting. I'm staring, not glaring, loving what you said. Don't worry. No hurry. I've caught you might be interested. So, here I am. I'll raise my glass. Here's looking at you, squid.
A boy-- he loves the sound she makes in the morning when she wakes. A girl-- she loves his art and counting stars before both hearts break. If I knew then what I know now, I’d still go through with it all somehow. (We needed something out there.) If any pieces linger around; it’s part of me, part of us now. (We needn't find ourselves in despair.)
Each night I come over, still sober. I just want to be intimate, lie together, each familiar with that arm that never fits. So, when they're tangled in ways our bodies are not sympathetic to, I leave my arms in their positions, sleep without my blood for you.