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about

Written in 2019

lyrics

Foghorns, a rugged, unkempt trumpet, forlorn when I’m sleepless and unbecoming, in a hotel room in my underwear, above the nickel arcade, smoked a bowl on the balcony, alone and afraid of smokestacks, growing apricots, sores in my mouth, eraser in my snot.

So sad, by the seaside, last one in the pack, hope it’s lucky this time.

Styrofoam, brushes up on the shoreline, in between, a dwindling fire and a kite that sinks while orchids decay, shading taxis that line the street aside corpses astray wading through slime and sleet.

Demons, clutch the napes of toothless sailors, bored and impatient with ecstasy.

The seamen, stationary and passive blushed at, the craters on the billboards in the East.

On strange days I stand alone, near dark, dead-alive, brain-dead, in a shopping cart.

The gay-shoe clerk deranged and stoned, beneath the ramparts, deprived and congested in a police car.

credits

from Weddings, Birthdays and Funerals, released November 6, 2020
All instruments, lyrics and vocals by Scott McRae

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Scott McRae Portland, Oregon

A dude who makes tunes and writes things sometimes, follow me on the grum for song posts and letterboxd for movie thoughts. Also comprises one half of Ishroyale.

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